Andersen-HTRakeHow To Tame a RakeMaggi AndersenNew Concepts PublishingCopyright © 2009 by Maggi AndersenRomance/Historical Fiction. 32128 words long. enNovellatext/xmlRomance/Historical Fiction

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How To Tame a Rake
by Maggi Andersen
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Romance/Historical Fiction

New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Copyright ©2009 by Maggi Andersen

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

* * * *

How to Tame a Rake

By

Maggi Andersen

© copyright by Maggi Andersen, February 2009

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, February 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-281-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

England

Northumberland

Summer, 1850

Willy threw the ball back to the tow-haired boy. “I declare you have finally exhausted me, Andrew,” she called. “I beg you allow me retire to rest. I am not as young as I once was, you know.”

This remark drew a laugh and a shake of the head from the gardener pruning the shrubbery. Eight-year old Andrew caught the ball and ran back to the neighboring house through a well-worn hole in the hedge.

Willy walked across the lawns towards the two-storey farmhouse where late-blooming pink roses climbed a trellis on its creamy walls. She heard her father call her name and gathered up muslin skirts, running lightly over the ground, her bonnet bouncing on her shoulders by its green ribbon.

Jeremy Corbet, a tall, lean man with the greying, fair hair, stood in the doorway.

Willy put a hand to her chest and gasped. “What is it, Father?”

“Come into the library, Wilhelmina.” He held a letter in his hand. “I have news for you.”

“My, you look so grave. I hope no one has died?”

He stood aside for her to pass. “It's wonderful news, Willy.”

Her serious grey eyes searched his. “Then why don't you look pleased?”

“Come, I wish to talk to you alone. When your inquisitive sisters get wind of it, I won't get a word in.”

Willy raised her brows. When he offered no more information, she hurried into the library.

* * * *

London, Autumn

Blake, Viscount Dangerfield rolled over in bed. The movement of the sheet uncovered a breast and he bent to kiss it.

“You're not leaving?” a sleepy voice asked. The woman turned her head toward him. He thought her face pretty, if a bit too knowing. She always made him laugh, and laughter did not come easily to him these days. She tossed her red hair off her shoulders, displaying her best assets to his gaze.

“I have to go into the country and I'm late already.” He ran his hands appreciatively across her soft belly.

“Not quite yet.” She leaned over and touched him, smiling at his immediate response.

He threw off the sheet, his intention made clear in his expressive blue eyes, causing her to gasp with delight.

* * * *

Blake rode out of the woods into a kaleidoscope of autumn color. Wind-blown clouds sent shadows racing across the massive roof of Hawkeswood as it perched on a ridge below a washed-out sky. The majestic house had housed his ancestors for centuries. Four stories of gray and redbrick decorated in ivy were reflected in the ruffled waters of the lake. He knew every detail of the view from its six-foot paned windows, the woodlands, the deer park and the green fields dotted with the estate's grazing sheep and cattle.

He rode up the lane toward the stable quadrangle. When he reached the avenue bordered by clipped hedges, he dismounted and walked his horse. All this was now his after the recent death of his detested father. Apart from sound of birdcalls and the clip-clop of his horse's hooves, it was quiet after the rumble of London, but that just allowed sad memories of a lonely childhood to crowd his thoughts.

He found his mother at her embroidery, sitting on a plum-colored velvet settee in the panelled drawing room—her yappy, Scotch terrier at her side. A black lace mantilla covered her shoulders. She frowned up at him. “Six months, good sir, since you last came here.”

“I do apologize, Mother,” he said, coming to kiss her cheek. “I had business in town.”

“I know what business, my lord. Don't try to flummox me.” Lady Elizabeth paused, fingering her shawl and added more quietly, “You've been gone since your father died. You didn't even remain for the reading of the will. My letter to you went unanswered.”

Blake removed the overblown cushions and tiger skin throw from his father's favorite leather library chair. It still smelt of pipe smoke. He stretched his legs over the blue-and-gold silk Turkey rug and gazed at his parent. “I've just ridden into Oxfordshire from London, Mother. Have a heart.”

“Why didn't you come by carriage? You keep one in London—at great expense—don't you?”

“It's being refurbished and you requested I come straight away. I like to ride in fine weather. You don't have to remain here on your own, you know,” he added.

“I agree. Things cannot remain as they are.” She reached for the bell on the table beside her. “You'll want some tea.”

“A whiskey, more like.” He stood. “I must change. We'll talk at dinner.”

“You may be surprised by the contents of your father's will, Blake,” she called after him.

He paused at the door. “As a peer of the realm he cannot have changed the will. I am his only son.”

She shook her head. “He sought a change from the Primogeniture law with the House of Lords, they have the power to alter it through a new creation.”

“Why would he go to all that trouble?” Blake frowned. “And who did he leave this pile to?”

His mother looked irritatingly mysterious. “I'll tell you at dinner.”

What had his father done? Blake wondered, as he climbed the stairs. Left the entire estate to a relative? How much he must have loathed him.

Entering his bedchamber, he found his manservant waiting. “You'd best let me attend to those boots, y'lordship,” Coffey said.

He sat on the bed and raised a leg. Coffey pulled the boots off one at a time. He rubbed at a scratch with his thumb. “I'll lay out your evening clothes.”

Blake removed the stopper on a crystal decanter and poured himself a large whiskey. “Have a maid draw a bath. I ache in places you could never mention in a drawing room.”

Coffey chuckled. “Right, y'lordship.”

Blake stripped off his riding coat and breeches. He stood naked, flexing his arms as his biceps swelled. He thumped the ridges of muscle across his diaphragm, hard as a laundress’ washboard. Riding, fencing and boxing kept his body in tip-top shape. He shook his head. Here he was strong as a bull, and with one glance his mother made him feel like a naughty school boy who'd just kicked a ball through a window. As Coffey helped him into his dressing gown, he hoped that after a long soak in the tub, he would be able to handle her company at dinner, when no doubt, she would give free rein to her grievances.

A new housemaid came to the door with a jug to top up the bath water. She bent to stoke up the fire. From this angle she was decidedly attractive.

Coffey slipped out, shutting the door.

“What's your name?” Blake asked.

“Sarah, milord.” She gave a bob, but met his gaze brazenly.

“Would you like to wash my back, Sarah?”

She giggled. “Certainly, milord.”

“Good Girl.” He threw off his gown and stepped into the bath.

Without a blush she stroked his back and shoulders with a wash cloth. She had a nice, light touch. He grabbed her hand and drew her around to face him where the evidence of his intentions revealed itself. She looked down and gave another giggle.

He laughed. “Care to join me?”

In the Long Dining Room, twin chandeliers blazed, turning the russet silk wallpaper to gold. The grooms entered with the covers for the first course and departed swiftly again. Blake's father would not countenance them remaining in the room while the family ate, one of the few things he and Blake agreed on.

“This chiné of mutton is underdone,” Blake said. He took some of the cod. “You look très elegant tonight, Mother, but must you wear black?” She was still a handsome woman at six-and-forty and surely wasn't mourning his father, who he'd never seen make a loving gesture towards her. Blake's governess had relayed the servant's gossip to him, after they began making love in the attic when he was fifteen. She was twenty years older than he and had never before been touched by a man. It worked extremely well for both of them, until his father got rid of her. She told him his father didn't visit his mother's bedchamber again after she gave him an heir. Blake was sure he wouldn't have taken a mistress either. He was as cold as the wind in January.

“So, Mother...” he pushed the plate of salty soup away, thinking he must replace the chef. “Tell me the worst. I know Father never liked me. Have I lost it all?”

“I believe he did like you, even loved you. He just couldn't show it.”

Blake frowned. “And?”

“He's left the entire estate to you, but...”

“But?”

She put down her spoon. “There's a codicil been added. A special condition.”

“I'm quite well aware of what a codicil is. Talking to you is like drawing teeth, Mother. Must it be so?”

The butler appeared and poured wine into Blake's glass. “That will be all, thank you, Crowley.” Blake took a sip of Claret and waited for the door to close.

“I'd just like to see a reaction from you, that is all,” she snapped. “You are just like your father.”

A red mist appeared in front of Blake's eyes, a reflection perhaps from the red wine in the glass he held. “I am nothing like my father,” he enunciated carefully. Rage rose to block his throat, and he swallowed it down with another mouthful.

“I suppose you have been trained never to show your true feelings,” she said thoughtfully.

He smoothed an invisible crease on his sleeve. “Must we go into this now?”

“I suppose not. The condition on which you inherit the estate and all the other properties and lands is this. You must marry your cousin, Wilhelmina.”

He half rose from the table. “What!”

“Your father wished you to marry and have heirs. And you are fast approaching thirty, Blake.”

He reached for his glass and took several long swallows. “I'm twenty-eight and I thought I had at least ten years of freedom left to me, even longer. Why in God's name did he pick Wilhelmina?”

“I suppose he had a plan.”

“A plan?” He slammed down his glass and wine soaked the white damask tablecloth. He traced the spill with his fork as it formed the shape of a large pink rose. “Father must have hated me, to wish Wilhelmina on me for the rest of my life.”

“Nonsense, he had a reason. Your father never did anything without thinking it through carefully first.” She put down her knife and fork. “After your wedding, I intend to live in London. I've had quite enough of rusticating.”

“Who says I'll marry that ungainly girl, even for all the ivory on the African continent?”

“It's quite a while since you've seen her.”

He thought. “The last time was over two years ago, at Barnett's wedding. Her hair was in braids and I believe I saw her climb a tree.”

She nodded. “To rescue a kitten. I thought she had distinct possibilities.”

“Did you indeed?” He reached for the carafe and waved it in his mother's direction. She shook her head. He poured himself another glass of wine. “To marry one's blood relative never seemed a good idea to me.”

“You are not blood related. Wilhelmina is the daughter of your Uncle Avery's sister-in-law, Amanda.”

“It won't leave me destitute. I have my grandmother's money. What happens to Hawkeswood if I refuse?”

“Cousin Hendley inherits.”

He thumped the table. “Hendley? He'll lose it all at the gaming tables.”

Lady Elizabeth raised her brows. “Quite so.”

Their conversation halted again as servants appeared carrying an apricot tart, a dish of fruit, nuts and sweetmeats.

Blake waved away a sweet wine and downed the last of the Claret. The little maid was returning to his bedchamber at eleven. “Well, perhaps I'll reconsider it in a year or two, Mother.”

Lady Elizabeth selected a bon bon. “There's a time limit to it, Blake, which is the reason I sent for you. You must marry before the year is out. That is why I took the liberty of demanding your presence here and why I asked Wilhelmina to visit for a couple of days. She arrives tomorrow.”

Groaning softly, he rose to draw back her chair. “I feel quite justified in being sorely manipulated.”

She rose from the table. “I suppose you have a right to.”

He offered her his arm and as he escorted her from the room, she said, “A game of cards before retiring?”

He glanced at the Grandfather clock in the hall. Ten o'clock. “Why not? But you always win, Mother.”

“That's because you let me. It is one of your endearing qualities.”

“Do I have many?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes as warm as his were serious. “I believe you do, although you've chosen not to exhibit many of late.”

“Ouch,” he said with a frown.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

Blake rose from his bed the next morning with a sense of foreboding. It took him a while to discover what had caused it. Then it all came rushing back. Wilhelmina! A skinny urchin, barely out of the schoolroom, with mousy hair, no bosom and a hoydenish disposition. His father must have owed Uncle Avery a big favor and he was to repay it.

His head ached. He'd drunk too much last evening. He thought of Sarah, no skinny wench, her. Perfect bottom.

Having washed and dressed, he made his way to the breakfast room. “I'll have a sirloin, Crowley,” he said to the butler. “I'm going to need fortification.”

Crowley's eyes twinkled. All the servants were up on the latest, no doubt. Perhaps they found it amusing. Blake scowled. He'd been pleasing himself for far too long to be tied to a woman's leading strings. And wives will try to do it. Hadn't Freddie Yate's life changed horrifically when he married Serena Borrowdale? None of them see Freddie now from one season to the next, except when accompanied by that string of brats.

There was no way out of it, though. He would do the right thing by Wilhelmina, give her a child to make her happy and then depart for London. His friends would welcome him back into the fold. Men were so reliable. They didn't get into a pet over nothing, and they enjoyed the same pursuits as he. Boxing at Whites, gambling and going home at dawn, foxed if one chose. Then, of course, there was the horse races, the best balls of the season, and the lovely women of the theatre, who knew just how to make a man happy. All his needs provided for. Well, Wilhelmina was welcome to enjoy everything else that was his to offer, provided she left him to his own devices.

* * * *

As the sun grew high in the pale autumn sky, a coach trundled down the raked gravel carriageway and pulled up outside the imposing, front entrance of Hawkeswood. The footman opened the carriage door and a girl climbed out, followed by her maid. Willy took a deep breath and straightened her poke bonnet. “Come, Alice,” she said to the maid. She raised the skirt of her dove-grey carriage dress a shade too high, showing a little more leg to the groom than was seemly. Entirely unaware of his appraising glance, she walked quickly up to the front door.

“Hello, Crowley, nice to see you again,” she said, stepping inside the panelled great hall.

“Very nice to see you too, Miss Corbet,” he answered.

Willy shed her travelling pelisse and bonnet, handing them to the waiting maid. “Is Lady Elizabeth here? Or Lord Dangerfield?”

“Her Ladyship is in the drawing room, Miss.” Crowley turned to summon the maid. “I believe his lordship is out riding.”

Willy's fine, straight brows met in a frown. “Very well, I'll freshen up and then see my aunt.”

Willy followed the maid up two flights of the carved wooden staircase to her room. She gazed around at the lovely room. Framed pictures hung on the flowery wallpapered walls, cream silk curtains framed lead-light windows and a fine view of the lake. The white-painted fireplace was already ablaze. Her father would be outraged at such extravagance. A quilted chintz counterpane adorned the brass and iron bedstead. The wash-stand held a set of delicate, pink china. She felt she was to be hopelessly spoiled, and possibly a trifle lonely. She had shared a bedchamber with her sister, Amabel, for the whole of her life. The thought occurred to her that she would not be lonely for long. She put her hands to her hot cheeks.

Willy walked into the drawing room and found Lady Elizabeth sitting on the settee with a small dog perched beside her on a blue, satin pillow.

“My dear child, how lovely to see you again. Come and kiss me. How are your Papa and your sisters?”

“All are well and send their love.” Willy kissed the powdered, fragrant cheek. She sat down and patted the dog's wavy, black fur. His lolling tongue sprayed droplets of spittle over her hand. She wiped it with her handkerchief. She was fond of all animals, but preferred bigger dogs that splattered through the mud after her, chasing her horse.

“You've filled out, my dear,” her aunt was saying. “And put up your hair.”

“Yes, Father implored me, and I finally got around to it,” Willy said briskly. “Not much use for it in the depths of the country.”

“Northumberland is very far away from everything, but surely you have town dances and the like?”

“I went to one, but I didn't enjoy it much.” Willy thought of the oafish young men who couldn't or wouldn't dance a step. Only the older, married men wished to and most of them had trodden on her toes.

Her aunt was eyeing her gown. “You'll need a new wardrobe befitting of your status.”

“I dare say.” Willy looked towards the door. “Is my cousin due home soon?”

Lady Elizabeth leaned forward and patted her hand, sighing faintly at the condition of it. “Don't call him your cousin, dear. Blake or Dangerfield, if you prefer.”

Willy leaned back on the settee, crossing her legs. “And don't sit like that,” her aunt added, looking alarmed. She glanced at the door. “I thought I heard a horse ride to the stables. Sit up dear, cross your ankles. Hasn't anyone instructed you in the ways of a young lady?”

“There's only Father, and I don't think he notices much.” Willy sat up. “I'm a bit of an outdoor girl, I'm afraid.”

The door opened and Blake strode in, pulling off his tan leather riding gloves. His royal blue coat was sculptured to his broad shoulders and tapering waist. As if that wasn't enough, it also matched his deep blue eyes. He removed his hat and smoothed back his dark hair. Willy drew in her breath. He was still exceedingly handsome. Her heart began that strange, pit-a-patter that happened the last time she saw him. And the time before that. How old was she then? Twelve.

“Wilhelmina, welcome to Hawkeswood once again,” he said crossing to take her hand. He raised it to his lips.

A thrill passed through her body, reaching her toes. “Thank you, Cous ... Blake.”

He sat down on the opposite chair. “Out of the schoolroom, I believe.”

She frowned. “I've been out almost two years.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. And what have you been doing with yourself? No season in London?”

“Father doesn't put much store by it. Chloe has a beau. Amabel came out last year and is yet to choose one. I would have this year, except...” she was unable to finish the sentence. Why did she always lose her confidence around him?

Blake went on smoothly. “Yes. We have some arrangements to make, eh? But first, I think we should take some time together, to get to know each other. Perhaps a ride later this afternoon, and I'll show you a little of the estate.”

“Oh, capital! I mean, thank you, it sounds wonderful. I believe you have some very fine horseflesh in your stables.”

“Not without a chaperone,” Lady Elizabeth interjected. “Perhaps my maid, Gertrude can go along, although she hates to ride.”

Blake groaned. “Not that namby-pamby church mouse! What nonsense. Wilhelmina and I have never needed one before.”

“I agree.” Lady Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “You haven't needed one before.”

Blake looked at Wilhelmina. She appeared to be all grey. Her hair was arranged very badly, pulled back tight from her face, and it was mouse coloured. Her eyes seemed grey, too, as well as her gown. At least she'd filled out a bit, although it was hard to tell what was under that dress buttoned up to her neck.

“I assure you, Mother, we shan't need a chaperone. You have my word that I'll be the very figure of proprietary.”

His mother stared at him silently, pursing her lips.

* * * *

When Willy arrived at the stables, Blake was nowhere to be seen. The groom brought out the mare that Blake had chosen for her. It was not much above ten hands and appeared to be half-asleep.

“Not that one, I think,” Willy said. She wandered along the row of stalls. A tall, black horse caught her eye. As she went to stroke his nose, his nostrils flared and he dug at the floor of his stall with a hoof. “What about this one?”

The groom shook his head. “That's Thunder Clap. ‘is lordship would have my ‘ead on a stick if I gave you ‘im.”

“I shall take full responsibility,” she said. “Please saddle him.”

The groom, shaking his head and muttering to himself, brought out the saddle. He led Thunder Clap from his stall to the mounting block. The horse snorted and fidgeted.

She patted his nose. “Poor boy. When is the last time you had a good run?”

“Not since he threw his rider,” the groom said. “And that was Johnson, who can ride fast asleep. Are you quite sure, Miss Corbet?” He looked as if he was about to face the gallows.

“I am, Tarrow. Please don't fuss.” Willy arranged her skirts on the side-saddle as the horse danced about. She led him away from the stable quadrangle, down the path a way and back again. He was a perfect lamb. By the time Blake appeared, she felt she and Thunder Clap were old friends, almost. She suspected no one would ever completely tame him. And possibly no one would tame his master either. Blake walked down the avenue, looking anything but eager for her company.

The groom rushed over to him and engaged him in conversation. When Blake spied Willy atop Thunder Clap he looked much like thunder himself. He gestured for her to return to the mounting yard.

“You are not riding that animal, Wilhelmina! That stallion was a misjudged purchase of my father's. He's the very devil.”

“As you see, Cou ... Blake, I am riding him.”

“Come here.”

She rode up to him and Blake unceremoniously pulled her down from the horse. “Take him back to his stall, Tarrow,” he said, tossing the reins to the groom.

More breathless from the touch of Blake's hands at her waist than at the confrontation, Willy studied the handsome man, hating to see the world-weary expression in his eyes. She was just a nuisance to him and he wished her gone. “I assure you I can handle him. He was a perfect angel.”

“An angel one minute and the devil the next.”

Willy folded her arms. “I would have thought you could ride him.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can.”

“But you're a bit wary of him,” she said politely.

Blake frowned. “I'm not a bit afraid of him. I prefer Ebony Fire—he's a far superior horse.”

“Oh, I understand.” She gazed up at the sky. “One is entitled to have a favorite.”

“Thank you,” he said, in an ironic tone.

“Not at all, I quite understand.” Willy tapped her riding crop on the ground.

“You are repeating yourself,” he said suspiciously.

“But I do, honestly.”

“Why, you horrendous girl,” he said in an amused tone. “I believe you are toad-eating me.” He called to the groom. “Bring Thunder Clap back, Tarrow, and put a saddle on him. I'll ride him.”

“Oh, if you're sure?” Willy said. “He really does need some exercise.”

“And shall you be glad if he throws me over a hedge?”

“Oh no,” Willy said hurriedly. “I shan't like that at all. But you can ride him can't you ... I wouldn't...”

“Enough!” Blake roared. “We shan't travel down that road again.” He looked around. “Where's that horse I picked out for the lady to ride?” he bellowed at the hapless groom.

Willy crossed her arms. “I'm not riding that ... that sleepy pony.”

Blake gave a grudging laugh. “Sleepy pony, is it?” He walked along studying his stable of fine horses. He stopped in front of a solidly built grey of about fourteen hands. “What about Silver Shadow?”

She came and rested her arms on the box and the sturdy horse nudged her hand looking for apples. “Very well,” she said. But she intended to ride Thunder Clap one day. She would fight to prove her worth to this man.

They clattered over a stone bridge and rode out over the fields. Willy thought the big, black stallion suited Blake to perfection. She hoped that Thunder Cloud would behave, although she was sure that Blake could handle him. She tried to urge Silver Shadow into a gallop, but he seemed content to canter a long way behind the other horse. She felt annoyed and helpless when Blake had to circle more than once to wait for her.

When they reached the river, Blake helped her dismount. His hands at her waist sent another rush of warmth through her body. She prayed she didn't blush. Her fair skin was annoyingly prone to it. She leaned against a tree and stripped leaves from a willow frond, as Blake tied up their horses. He went to stand and stare down into the river.

She joined him. The river was wide and fast flowing. “How big is the Dangerfield estate?”

“Around six hundred acres of woodland and eight hundred acres of pasture.”

'My, that's a lot.”

“There's hardly a fish in this river,” he said. “And the woods are so overgrown you have to fight your way into them. My father let the lands run fallow.”

“Why not get the work done, then?”

“I haven't been here much of late.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because I have business elsewhere,” he replied in frigid tones.

“I mean, it's so lovely here. I'd want to be here as often as I could,” she said hastily.

“I'm glad you like it.” Blake walked a few paces off along the river.

She stood where she was and watched him, resisting the urge to follow him like an eager puppy. No doubt something he was used to from women.

* * * *

“I'm sorry, I was caught up in my thoughts,” Blake said, walking back to the girl.

“Contemplating nature has that affect on one,” she said.

At least she didn't force idle chatter upon him. He looked down into her small face with its pointed, rather determined chin. Her riding outfit left much to be desired, another drab colour that didn't suit her, but it couldn't disguise the feminine curves beneath. Her large, serious grey eyes gazed into his and he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see into his very soul. It made him feel strangely hollow.

“Why doesn't your father buy you nice gowns?” he asked almost savagely. “Doesn't he care for you?”

Her delicate, fair skin flushed a fiery red. “There are five daughters, as you know,” she said stiffly. “We all need to be fed and clothed. Father's not as wealthy as some.”

She made it sound like an accusation. Don't say she was one of those modern misses that felt the landed classes should be a dying breed, he thought, sighing. “I'm sorry. That was rude of me.” He wanted to add that he seldom talked at any length to well-brought-up young women these days. He'd been avoiding them, since he appeared to be on every mamma's prospective husband list.

“What do you do at home?” he asked, searching for a common thread of conversation. “Do you sew and paint?”

“Not a lot. I like to ride, help my father around the farm. I read a lot.”

He was suddenly hopeful that she may not wish to marry him, either. Perhaps she wanted to join that new suffrage movement he'd heard about.

She glanced at the sky. “Hadn't we better be getting back? I don't like the look of those clouds.”

He turned to see a bank of dark clouds advancing on the horizon. A fresh wind sent dead leaves swirling across the ground. Wilhelmina's hat blew off. Her ash-blonde hair, turned to gold by a fleeting ray of sunshine, was ripped from its pins and went flying about, almost down to her waist.

He ran to retrieve her hat before it sailed into the river. “You have pretty hair,” he said, returning to hand it to her. He was surprised, and her flushed face looked pretty enough to kiss. He reached out and took her shoulders, pulling her to him. “A fiancé should have certain privileges, don't you agree?”

He expected her to go all maidenly on him and protest. But she didn't. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, keeping her mouth firmly closed. He toyed with the idea of prying her lips gently open, to read her reaction in her eyes. But it could lead to certain difficulties. It was neither the place nor the time. Quiet waters do run deep, he thought with amusement. Perhaps it would not be such a chore to teach her the pleasures of lovemaking. And make that baby. Then he would be free.

When he released her, she quickly turned away. Her fingers busily gathered up her hair, securing it with pins and combs. It looked like a swallow's nest before she jammed on her hat.

It began to pour. Hard, stinging needles of rain attacked them and made the horses pull at their reins and neigh. Blake picked Willy up and set her on the saddle. He jumped onto his horse. Unfortunately, Thunder Clap proved to be well-named. As a flash of lightening hit a tree in the distance and deafening thunder rumbled across the heavens, he bucked violently. The terrified horse danced around on its hind legs, desperate to throw off its rider.

Willy peered through the blinding rain, her heart in her throat as Blake hung on. Filled with admiration, she watched him calm the stallion in a low tone. With a whinny and a shake of its head, the horse settled. Without giving her a chance to praise him, Blake galloped off towards the house.

She hurried to follow. Perhaps at the prospect of a feed and a dry stall, Silver Shadow got up a reasonable canter. Willy's thoughts returned to Blake's kiss. He'd given it so carelessly, as though it meant nothing to him. And to her, it meant so much. She kept reliving the touch of his lips on hers all the way back to the stable yard.

By the time they made it back to the house, they were both soaked through. Willy sneezed.

“You'd better get out of those wet things,” Blake said, eyeing the dismal riding habit clinging limply around her body in wet folds. “The first thing I shall do is obtain a lady's maid for you.”

His look of disapproval made her feel as if he'd hit her. His sharp tone jolted her from her feeling of joy, back into reality. Her gaze flew up to meet his before she turned quickly away to hide the hurt in her eyes.

* * * *

Blake went to his room, his mind returning again to the easy friendliness of the upstairs maid, Sarah. She gave her favors willingly, no complications or demands. He swore under his breath. Who was he fooling? A wife would change his life completely.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

At dinnertime, Wilhelmina failed to appear. An upstairs maid brought a note to the dining room. Blade read it. “She sends her apologies. She's abed with a slight fever.”

“A fever! My goodness.” Lady Elizabeth put her hand to her throat. “I do hope it's nothing catching.” She waved the maid away. “Tell Crowley to summon the apothecary.”

“We got soaked out riding this afternoon,” Blake said. “I should have been more alert to the weather.”

Lady Elizabeth raised her brows. “Perhaps you had more on your mind?” It was a still, humid night after the rain. She pushed away her plate and opened her fan.

He chose to ignore the provocative remark. “I agree that it's too hot to eat.”

“Shall we retire to the drawing room?”

“I think I'll go and see if Wilhelmina is all right.”

Elizabeth closed her fan with a snap. “To her bedchamber?”

“You may come with me if you wish, Mother. I'm not an ogre. I have no intention, indeed no desire, to ravage the girl.”

She opened her fan again, and studied him as she fanned herself. “I'm sorry Blake, for you and for Wilhelmina.”

He frowned as he came around to pull out her chair. “And what are you sorry about?”

Rising, she shook out her skirts. “A woman wants her husband to desire her.”

He read the sadness in her eyes. “Not all of em,” he said brusquely.

“No. Not all. But I think Wilhelmina would.”

He stared at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I'm an old and wise woman,” she said firmly. “But I've said enough. Go if you must.”

* * * *

Blake knocked on Wilhelmina's door. A croaky voice answered. “Come in.”

He swung the door open and gazed in. The draft made the candles gutter and threaten to go out, sending shadows oscillating over the walls.

He crossed to the window. “I'd better close this.”

“No, please don't. I hate stuffy rooms. Shut the door.”

“That would be improper,” he said.

“I don't care.” Willy sneezed.

“I suppose we need not bow to convention,” he said going to shut it, “As you are quite safe with me.”

“I have no doubt,” she said sniffing.

Blake walked to the side of the bed. Her nose was red and her small face looked lost among the pillows. A thick plait hung over a bare, rosy shoulder, making her appear even younger than her eighteen years.

“How are you feeling? We've sent for a doctor.”

“That's kind of you, but you shouldn't have bothered.”

“Nonsense. We must take care of you.” Blake perched on the edge of the bed and put his hand to her forehead, feeling her body tense beside him. Her brow was hot but not burning. Her big eyes gazed up at him. “This is my fault,” he said. “We shouldn't have ridden so far.”

“Oh pish. I can ride all day. I'll be fine by tomorrow.” She struggled up in the bed and the bedclothes fell away. He caught a glimpse of pert breasts beneath the white lawn nightgown, before she reefed the blanket up to her neck.

“Wilhelmina...”

“I wish you'd call me Willy. Everyone does.”

“Very well, Willy. When you're feeling better I thought you might go to London, stay at Dangerfield House. Mother will take you shopping.”

She fumbled for her handkerchief. “I'm to return home on Wednesday.”

“Perhaps that can be changed.” There was a knock at the door, and he stood. “Enter.”

The door opened and a grey-haired gentleman came in with the maid. “Here's the apothecary,” Blake said. “He'll put you to rights.”

Blake left Willy in the care of the apothecary and went to join his mother. He'd come to the conclusion that if she was to be his wife, she would need instruction and a touch of town bronze. He was damned if he would be leg-shackled to a country waif. His mother would delight in taking care of it all. It would distract her from him and kill two birds with one stone, leaving him to take up life where he left off.

“But the season doesn't start until Parliament begins,” she said. “London will be nigh-on deserted.”

“I thought you'd rush at the chance of a trip to London.”

She cocked her head. “I would, but I know your motives only too well, Blake.”

“It would be better for Willy to find her feet without too many social engagements to fill, don't you agree?”

“It's Willy, now is it?”

“That's what she wishes me to call her,” he said frowning.

She laughed. “All right, you've convinced me. And I see you are right. I'll send a message to her father. We'll leave at the end of the week.” She looked into his face. “What do you plan to do while we are in London, by the way?”

Blake smiled at his mother's acuity. “I must oversee the work needed about the estate. I'll join you there shortly.”

* * * *

After the apothecary departed, leaving a foul-smelling brew for Willy to take twice daily, she lay back on the pillows and thought about Blake. This was not unusual, for her thoughts had hardly strayed from him since she was first told of his father's wish for her to marry his son. She still didn't understand why. She had only met Lord Dangerfield on a few occasions. The last had been when he'd helped her out of a tree with a stray kitten. He'd taken her to the kitchen and found a saucer of milk. Such a kind man. Blake was endeavouring to be kind, but that only made her feel a deep foreboding. She would use the months before their marriage to try and measure up to what he wanted. If only she was more of a natural flirt like Amabel. She fluttered her eye lashes at every man in proximity!

She sighed. It would be awful to marry a man who didn't love her. And yet if she didn't, he would lose Hawkeswood. That horrid will. If she couldn't detect any sign of love in Blake's irresistible blue eyes, she would leave straight after the wedding. But where could she go? Her father would be shocked if she returned home and she would be unable to wed anyone else, of course. Father may relish a companion when all the other girls had left home. And she might become a blue-stocking—reading was, after all, a favorite pastime. These thoughts lowered her spirits even further. She sighed again and closed her eyes, allowing Blake's chiselled features and strong, manly body to swim into her mind's eye. She could draw him perfectly from memory. In time she may have to.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

Another day passed before Willy felt well enough to get up. She found the breakfast room empty and ate her muffins and tea by herself. Crowley told her that Blake rode out early and her aunt took breakfast in bed. It was not yet eight o'clock and one of those perfect autumn days when the sun still retained enough heat to warm one's bones.

Donning her pelisse and bonnet, she ventured out and went for a long walk. The gardens were dressed in their autumn foliage, the trees a stunning variety of crimsons, russets and golds. She ambled along the path and down a graceful, stone stairway flanked by enormous marble urns. They led to a long sweep of lawn. Spying a statue on a plinth in the distance she strode towards it. Before she reached it, she saw something lying stretched out on the grass. At first, she thought it a pile of autumn leaves. On closer inspection she found a fox cub. As she knelt down to him, he lifted his head, his dark eyes pleading.

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she said, stroking the red-gold coat. How beautiful he was. He'd hurt a leg, probably in one of those horrid traps. It was broken, dangling at an odd angle. She knew just what to do about it. She'd splinted one of her dogs back home when he broke his leg jumping from a high wall.

Picking the cub up carefully, she cradled him against her chest. He didn't struggle. Perhaps he knew that she was a friend, or was too weak to care.

Willy carried him along the path. As she rounded the corner of the house, she came face to face with Blake.

“I'm glad to see you out and about,” he began. He looked surprised. “What on earth do you have there?”

“A fox cub. He's hurt his leg. I'll have to splint it.”

“You'll do what?”

“A splint. You use a straight piece of...”

“I know what a splint is, Willy! But this is fox hunting country. We can't keep a fox here.”

“Why not? When his leg is healed he will go and join the other foxes.” Her lip trembled. “And then you can hunt him down and kill him.”

“For Lord's sake!” Blake searched her face as she hugged the animal in her arms. “Come on, then. It's destroying your gown. Fortunately, that's no great loss.” He turned and headed back towards the stables. “We'll get my groom to splint it.”

“And feed and water him until he's strong again?” she called after him.

“All right!”

Early the next morning, Willy returned to the stables. Blake found her there. The fox had a stall all to itself. He was sitting up, his ears pricked. “Won't be long before its leg is mended,” he said. “Then you must let it go, Willy.”

“Of course. He's a wild thing.” She stroked the fox's back.

“Arrangements have been made for you and my mother to go to London. Tomorrow.”

Willy gazed up at him. “You'll look after Felix?”

“Who?”

“That's his name. Felix. “Promise you'll look after him after I've gone.”

Blake tilted his head, gazing down at her. “You are a strange girl, Willy. I would have expected you to be far more interested in your trip to London.”

She stood and shook out her skirts. “I'm very excited, I assure you. I must go and pack.”

“The maids will do it,” he called after her. “But you can leave most of your clothes behind.”

Willy had a strange impulse to turn and poke her tongue out at him. But she didn't want him to think her a child. She put her fingers to her lips. She would always remember her first kiss.

* * * *

Lady Elizabeth and Willy were soon to depart for London. The carriage stood in front of the house, packed with their trunks and bandboxes. She made a final visit to Felix. She found him trying to stand on the leg and gave him a farewell pat. He would be gone before she returned.

Blake came to see them off. He promised again, sighing heavily, to take good care of Felix. As the carriage headed off down the long avenue, Willy put her head out the window and looked back. Blake had already disappeared inside the house. She bit her lip and frowned, but couldn't suppress her excitement. She had never been to London.

The carriage passed a farmer and his men hedging and ditching in a field. An hour went by and they didn't see another soul. Her aunt's eyes were closed and her maid, Gertrude's head was nodding. Willy grew tired of watching the landscape, but was far too excited to sleep. She tried patting the dog, Charles, but he felt it beneath him to respond and rested his head on his paws, closing his eyes.

It was close to dusk when the carriage entered a dark wood, turning the day into night. Suddenly, a pistol shot echoed through the trees. The carriage swerved violently and the coachman heaved the frightened horses to a halt.

A man's voice roared out a command to the coachman and the groom. “Step down with yer hands on yer heads.”

Willy stuck her head out the window and saw three horsemen with handkerchiefs over the lower part of their faces. They had pistols.

Lady Elizabeth opened her eyes, gasping. “What on earth...?”

Her lady's maid, Gertrude, began to wail when a heavy-set man dragged the door open and climbed inside.

He turned to Willy. “I'll have your valuables now, if you please.”

“As you see I have none,” Willy said. She felt the tiny locket nestling between her breasts. He would not have that.

“Oh, my goodness,” Lady Elizabeth said. “We are carrying very little.”

The man gazed at her. “There's enough jewels on you to feed an army,” he said roughly. “I'll have those pearls around your neck for starters.”

Lady Elizabeth unclasped the smoky pearls and removed the four rings from her fingers. She unpinned a pearl broach with shaking fingers.

Gertrude sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

“Shut yer mouth or I'll hit ye one,” the man said and she gasped into silence.

He reached across Willy to grab the jewels in his big fist. “A maid too, are you?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yes, she is,” Lady Elizabeth said. “You find nothing of value there.”

“I disagree.” The highwayman put a hand on Willy's thigh. She felt the heat through her gown and gasped. His eyes gleamed wickedly above his mask. “I fancy a ride with you.”

Hearing the other man snicker, she pulled away from him. “Get your hands off me.”

He stroked his black beard. “Don't sound much like any servant to me.”

Willy desperately looked out the window for a way of escape. One of the rogues had their trunks open on the ground. He was sorting through them, pulling dresses, lawn petticoats and camisoles out into the mud. The coachman and groom sat on the ground with their hands on their heads. “Be careful,” she called down. “There's no need to ruin everything.”

“Quiet!” The big man glared at Willy and shoved his pistol into her ribs.

Lady Elizabeth grabbed Willy's hand. “Hush, my dear. Possessions don't matter.”

The carriage had filled with the smell of unwashed male. Willy wanted to hold her handkerchief to her nose, but she worried it would be seen as a sign of weakness.

“Ready, Joe,” the man on the ground yelled.

“I'll have you, girl.” Joe grabbed Willy by the waist and pulled her from the carriage as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. She kicked her legs in the air and beat him with her fists, but he just laughed. She heard her aunt's horrified shriek above Gertrude's hysterics. “That's a lady you are absconding with,” she yelled. “Her future husband, the Viscount, won't rest till he sees your necks in a noose.”

He threw Willy up onto his horse and mounted behind her. His arms and knees cradled her as he held the reins. The other man hurriedly packed the rest of the items from their trunks into his saddlebags. Then as he mounted, the third, a ginger-headed boy, ran from where he held the carriage horses to vault onto his horse from behind.

Willy could feel the man's big, hard body pressing into hers. As if he couldn't wait, he held the reins in one hand and pulled at her skirt, his fingers tangling in the cloth as he groped down between her thighs. She felt a scream rise in her throat but choked it off into a strangled sob, worried that her aunt would hear. She struggled so much he took his hand away to grip the reins.

“Let's go,” he urged the men. Her heart banged against her ribs as he kicked the horse into flight.

They galloped through the dark wood, the cold air freezing the tears on her cheeks. She barely held on, thinking she'd rather be dead than have them ravish her. They rode for miles, finally leaving the road and heading off down a track deep into the woods. When she felt she couldn't stand another minute and would soon start screaming, they reined in beside a mill house, the wheel turning with a chugging sound. The dark-haired devil dismounted and dragged Willy down. He bundled her through the door. She fell onto her knees on the bare, dirt floor. A rough table, two stools and some straw bedding in a corner was the only furniture in the room. She climbed to her feet and backed into a corner, her knee throbbing and her chest so tight she could hardly breathe.

The youth went off with the horses. The black devil and the other man ripped off their disguises. They spread their spoils over the table, gleeful about their haul from Lady Elizabeth.

They seemed to have forgotten Willy. They sloshed rum into tankards and discussed the merit of moving their loot to their hideout. It apparently involved quite a climb and the place was dank and cold. She slowly backed towards the door. When she'd almost reached it, the black-eyed man turned and eyeballed her. He threw back his chair and in two strides had grabbed her as she turned to run. He dragged her over to the table and pulled her down onto his lap. “I'd drink a bit of rum if I was ye. It will go better.”

She held the tankard in her trembling hands and took a long swallow. It burned its way down her throat like fire and she coughed violently.

He roared with laughter and slapped her on the back. “Ye'll get used to it.”

“How dare you treat me like this?” she gasped, fighting to move away from him. The rum had put some heat and fight back into her. “Take me back at once.”

The man had black hair like Blake, but that was where any similarity ended. His black eyes were the eyes of a beast with no compassion or humanity to be found in his gaze. His plate-like, dirty hand pinched her breast. “I like my women meatier.”

“Then let me go.”

“I'm not that fussy.”

“You go first, Joe,” the other man said.

Joe stood and set Willy on her feet. As soon as he let go of her, she grabbed the stool and swung it with all her might.

He fended it off with a beefy arm and laughed. “Bit of a spit-fire, are ye?” he said. “I like that in a woman.” He grabbed her hands, holding them in one of his, he half-lifted, half-dragged her over to the straw bedding. She heard herself whimper in fright, hardly aware she'd opened her mouth. She looked around desperately for something else with which to defend herself. There was nothing.

He pulled her down and tore away the front of her gown, revealing her chemise and her breasts heaving with distress. But before he could act on his villainous impulses, the youth came rushing into the room.

“I hear horses comin'. A lot of ‘em.”

The brute jumped up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. When she began to fight him, he punched her hard on the chin and she went limp. He raced to the table and snatched up his pistol and the jewels.

“Shoot her, Joe,” the other man shouted as he raced out the door. “She'll get us lynched.”

Joe dropped her so fast she staggered. He aimed his pistol at her head and cocked it.

Reeling from the blow to her jaw, Willy stood, paralysed. She closed her eyes. She heard a shot and crumpled to the ground.

Her head throbbed. When she opened her eyes again, the men had gone. She saw a band of men on horseback racing by.

She closed her eyes again.

When she opened them, a man crouched down beside her and she flinched, moving away. “Tis alright lass. I'm a policeman. We've been after those three for months.”

He helped her sit up. She felt dizzy. “He tried to shoot me.”

“I reckon he managed it,” he said. He put his handkerchief to her brow and it came away covered in blood.

The blood began to gush down stinging an eye.

He dabbed at her forehead. “Not a gunshot. The bullet must have splintered that post behind you.” He gently wiped the blood away. “You'll be fine in a day or two.”

“Thank heavens,” she said before blackness descended.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

Willy struggled up onto her elbows. The room swirled and her head throbbed. She put her hand up to her forehead and found it bandaged.

“Where am I?” she asked a woman she found sitting beside her bed with a book in her lap.

“I'm Susan Gray. You're in my cottage. A member of the Watch brought you here. He had to rejoin the chase.”

Willy looked out the small window at the dark sky. “What time is it?”

“It's early in the morning. You've been out to it for hours.” Susan had a pleasant face framed by chestnut hair. She looked to be not much older than Blake. Rising, she went to add a log to the fire. “I'll bring you a hot drink and something to eat.”

Willy threw back the covers and cautiously put her feet to the floor. “I have to tell my aunt I'm all right. She'll be waiting for me at the inn.”

Susan looked surprised. “Which inn would that be? There's none close by here.”

Willy's hand flew to her mouth. “I don't know the name of it.”

Susan came to pat her on the shoulder. “I told the policeman I'd take you into High Wycombe when you've recovered.”

A sob burst from Willy's throat. “Oh, Blake and Aunt Elizabeth will think I'm dead, or ... or worse!”

* * * *

Returning from visiting his tenants with his bailiff, Blake found a servant waiting with a note from his mother.

He read it and frowned. “Curse it.” He read it again. She had obviously written it in great haste. The ink was smudged and her usually faultless script was difficult to decipher. From what he could make out, Willy had been abducted by highwaymen. His mother was at an inn in High Wycombe and awaited his instructions.

He felt icy anger grip his heart. Racing into the house he shouted orders at the startled servants. By the time he arrived in High Wycombe, his frantic mother had news.

“Has she been hurt?” he demanded.

“A slight head wound. There wasn't time, apparently, for them to do worse,” she said faintly.

“Where is this farm where she stays?”

“Close to the village of Bennett End. The coachman knows of it.”

Blake nodded. He donned his riding coat and pulled on his gloves.

“But there's no need for you to go there,” she said. “The farmer is bringing her to us tomorrow.”

He shook his head and headed for the door. “That infernal girl always seems to be in some scrape or other.”

“Oh Blake! How shabby of you!” Lady Elizabeth cried. “What is the matter with you?” she asked the empty room.

* * * *

Willy was feeling better, but somehow different. She knew that her place in the world was small and accepted the hand of fate in the scheme of things. It had the effect of making her even more determined to have a say in her future. She strolled around Susan's tidy farm enjoying the peace and the beauty. A riot of flowers grew round the honey-hued stone walls of the thatched cottage. A small stream rambled through the trees at the bottom of the garden. Chickens, ducks and geese roamed at will. Black-and-white cows and a horse grazed in the field beside the red-painted barn.

Returning to the cottage, she entered the small sitting room where almost every wall was lined with books. A bright rug covered the boards and a patterned sofa and pink plush chair were pulled up close to the fire. By the window a desk was piled high with papers and pens. That explained why Susan's fingers were stained with ink.

“Do you write a lot of letters?” Willy asked her, as Susan laid out the tea tray.

“Stories.”

“What about?”

“People mostly.”

“May I read one?”

Susan went to a shelf and took down a book with a brown leather cover. On the binding in gold letters it read, The Family at Ravensdale Hall by Samuel Greenly. “I write under a man's name,” she explained. “I wouldn't be published otherwise.” She poured the tea from a brown china teapot. “A writer likes to be read. And with the little I make, I employ a young maid-of-all-work and a laborer from the village to help with the farm.”

“Have you always lived here?” Willy wanted to ask if her if she'd ever been married, but she didn't.

Susan nodded. “My parent's owned the farm and my grandparents before them. After I married, I remained here with my husband and my boy.”

“You have a son?”

Susan put down her cup. “Named John after his father. He and my husband were killed in a carriage accident several years ago. He'd be ten now.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” Willy swallowed, reminded again of the precariousness of human existence. She was surprised to see how calm Susan appeared.

“Time passes and we must get on with our own lives.” As Susan handed her a plate of biscuits, Willy saw the pain in her eyes.

After Susan returned to her chores in the garden, Willy wondered if she was lonely here on her own. She appeared to be a very independent person. Pouring herself another cup, she took one of Susan's biscuits and settling down by the fire with the book. Hours later, she was still engrossed in the vivid descriptions of life at Ravensdale Hall. Willy looked up at the sound of a carriage bearing down on the cottage at great speed. She rushed to the window. At the gate, the horses were pulled to a stop, rearing and plunging, sending the rooster, attempting to round up his hens, flapping away.

Blake emerged from the carriage. Frowning heavily, he strode up the path. Her annoying heart began its usual pit-a-pat as she rushed to the mirror to attempt to straighten her hair. Her face looked so pale she pinched her cheeks.

Blake bowed to Susan and thanked her warmly. He turned to study Willy. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, this is just a scratch.” She touched the bandage on her temple. “How kind of you to come all this way to get me.”

“May I get you some tea, Lord Dangerfield?”

“Thank you again, Miss Gray. My mother waits eagerly for us to return to High Wycombe.”

“I quite understand,” Susan replied.

Willy rushed to give Susan a hug. “Thank you so much for looking after me.”

“I enjoyed it,” Susan said. “Please come and visit me sometime, both of you.”

During the carriage ride to High Wycombe, Blake asked Willy to describe the men. They had not yet been caught. His voice was clipped and his questions terse. She wondered why he was so angry with her. She gave a good description of the men, but found she couldn't remember much of what happened at the mill house.

When they reached the inn, Lady Elizabeth threw her arms around Willy and kissed her. “You look so pale. Come and sit down, my dear.”

When Blake went off to speak to the Watch, Lady Elizabeth carefully began to quiz her. “Did they do anything, of a personal nature, to you?”

Embarrassed, Willy shook her head. All the questions were taking her back there. It was odd, at the time she'd kept a clear head and now she felt in danger of breaking down. She took several deep breaths to calm herself.

Aunt Elizabeth patted her hand. “It's all over now, my dear. We'll go on to London in the morning. Once there, London's appeal will wipe this from your memory.”

Willy clasped her hands together tightly. She doubted she would ever forget the intensity in those black eyes as the pistol was aimed at her head.

Blake returned and took tea with them.

“I'm sure you intend to travel with us to London tomorrow, Blake,” Lady Elizabeth said.

“I'm afraid not. Matters await me at Hawkeswood.”

“But surely...”

“I will arrange an armed guard to escort you, although I believe the danger has passed.”

Lady Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Another muffin, Wilhelmina?”

“No, thank you, Aunt.” Willy was almost relieved Blake wasn't to accompany them. She had had enough of him glowering at her. She had to make plans for her future, as she didn't see it lying in his direction. The very thought of giving up a life with him almost caused her to gasp aloud, and she pressed her lips together.

* * * *

Blake looked across at the pale, silent girl. He felt his muscles unwind a fraction, relieved to find her unharmed and returned to his mother's care. It was natural for a man to want to protect a woman, wasn't it? But an icy wedge of fury still lodged in the region of his heart and he was not ready to let it go.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

Late the next afternoon, Willy and Lady Elizabeth and the highly nervous maid Gertrude, arrived in London. Blake had done as he promised. They travelled with an armed guard, a brawny fellow who Willy thought quite fierce.

The first things Willy noticed about London was how grey and smelly and busy it was. The narrow cobblestone streets, wet after the rain were jam-packed with coaches, barrows, traps, riders, tinkers, street vendors and street walkers, performers and workers pushing through the crowds. Women held their skirts aloft above the putrid, gushing gutters.

“The tide is out on the Thames,” Lady Elizabeth said, sprinkling cologne on their handkerchiefs. They held them to their noses. As if the smoking air and stinking roads weren't enough, the cacophony of noises jangled the nerves, and yet as they rode past the east front of the majestic, newly built Buckingham Palace, there was an underlying excitement that Willy had never known before.

Dangerfield House in Park Lane was a tall, narrow building of four stories forming part of a row. A bridge with an iron railing led to the front steps. A liveried servant assisted them from the carriage before it was driven to the stables in the mews in the lane behind.

Inside, were cold marble floors, a grand sweeping staircase and a snobbish butler nowhere near as nice as Crowley. Willy's bedchamber had a view over the western aspect of Hyde Park. The Serpentine River wound through it and the Ton drove their vehicles along its southern border in the season, Agnes, her new lady's maid, informed her. And they exercised their horses at midday in Rotten Row, she added, but didn't return to London in any numbers until Parliament formed at Christmas. A small girl with ginger hair, she talked non-stop while she unpacked Willy's trunk, until Willy longed for some peace to gather her thoughts.

The next morning Willy went down to join her aunt in the breakfast room. The day was to be spent shopping in Bond Street and Regent Street and visiting the dressmaker.

“In a day or two, callers and invitations will begin to arrive,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “We shall have to purchase several quality, store-bought dresses and evening gowns to carry you through until some can be made.” She crumbled a muffin onto her plate. “And then, there is your wedding gown to consider.”

A gamut of emotions swirled through her, blurring into worry and sadness. Somehow, she had to protect her very vulnerable heart. “Shall we walk to the stores?” Willy suggested.

Lady Elizabeth looked shocked. “No one of any consequence walks the streets of London. Not unless you wish to be jostled and pushed to pavement and have your pocket picked.” Her hand went to her throat. “I've already lost my favorite pearl brooch.”

At the mention of the robbery Willy blushed and her heart beat faster. Lady Elizabeth placed a calming hand on her arm. “My dear, it was clumsy of me to remind you of it—forgive me.”

* * * *

As soon as his mother and Willy departed for London, Blake went straight to join the police posse searching for Joe Gore and his two cohorts. They rode out at dawn the next day, determined to cover as much of the woodlands and the high open ridge of the chalk downs as they could in one day. They were certain that the highwaymen remained there, secreted away in a hide out.

It was a very cold morning. Their breaths turned into steam as they gathered in a huddle to work out a plan.

“In this cold they'll be forced to light a fire,” said Ben Nye, a tall rangy man with grizzled mutton-chops. He mounted his small roan. “We'll ride to the top of Dunlow Hill. We can see smoke for miles around from there.”

The men entered the woods. They rode in a tight bunch, pounding along the dirt trails, hurdling fallen trees and dodging low branches, as flocks of birds erupted into the air and deer bounded away through the trees. The path narrowed and Blake slid in behind Ben, marvelling at the skill of the rider and the speed the small horse could maintain. The man and his mount rode as one. The men reached the bottom of Dunlow Hill and began to climb, the horse's hooves scattering a bevy of rocks behind them. It took them close to half an hour of hard riding to reach the top.

The men dismounted and made their way to the edge of a cliff. They looked down over the sea of treetops below. Minutes passed in silence as they scanned the horizon for any sign of movement.

The weather was changing. Clouds were rolling in bringing mist and rain. “I think I see smoke!” one of the younger riders cried. He pointed some miles away into the distance where a fragile wisp of smoke hovered above the tree tops.

Blake felt the damp mist settle on his face. “We'll never get there before the weather turns.”

“We can try,” growled another and the men strode to their horses.

Descending the hill was slower. The horses fought to keep their balance, slipping in the loose rocks and damp soil, the men mindful of their horse's fetlocks. Fine rain blanketed the woods, making it difficult to see further than a few feet in front of them. Once on solid ground, they took off again in their tight pack, riding towards the area they'd pinpointed in their minds. Their knowledge of the area impressed Blake who could only follow.

Another hour of solid riding and the horses were almost blown. The men dismounted beside a stream and allowed their mounts to drink.

“We won't find them today,” a heavy-set man said grimly. “I know the weather here like the back of my hand, there'll be driving rain in the next hour.”

The others agreed. Mounting they rode on, but the urgency of the morning seemed to have lessened. The men's faces had changed from expectation to resignation.

When they reached a cleared area where the wood from the fire still retained a fragile heat, the rain began in earnest, running down Blake's neck and dripping off his hat. They combed the area for any sign of where the outlaws had gone, but already the wet ground had covered its secrets.

“Let's head for home,” Ben said in a low voice, mounting and turning his horse's head back towards the trail.

“We could return tomorrow, if it's fine,” the younger man called after him.

He shook his head. “This rain has a set-in look to it. That Joe is clever, he keeps ‘em moving. They never stay in the same place long enough for us to catch ‘em.”

“But they must have a camp,” Blake argued. “A sheltered place to keep their food and bedding. They couldn't survive out here for more than a few nights without it.”

“I've no doubt they do,” Ben said. “And one day, soon I hope, we'll find it, but not til this bout of bad weather runs its course.”

Blake's shoulders knotted with anger, the depth of which he couldn't quite fathom. He prepared to return to Hawkeswood, mentally rolling up his sleeves. In three or four weeks he would return to London, if nothing else to appease his parent, and meanwhile Sarah was there to wash his back each night.

* * * *

Dressed in her chemise, drawers, corset and petticoats, Willy stepped into the billowing, lilac silk gown. Agnes began to button her up the back.

“This color does suit you, Miss Wilhelmina,” Agnes said.

“Thank you. You have done a splendid job of my hair.” Willy gazed in the mirror at the coiffeur smoothed over her ears and braided into an intricate design at the back of her head.

“You don't have need of false hair. Not like some of the ladies I've dressed.”

Willy reached in her jewelery box. She chose an amethyst ring and pendant to hang around her neck. Blake had not suggested an engagement ring, and she wondered if he would buy one for her when he came to London. The thought made her hands shake.

“Would you like me to do that?”

“Thank you.”

Agnes did up the clasp. “Perhaps, you should take off the locket,” she said, studying the effect.

Willy fingered the silver locket. “I never take this off.”

“Did someone special give it you?”

Willy smiled. It would be all around the servant's quarters in no time. “No. I'm a trifle superstitious.”

The maid's eyes grew large. This she could well understand.

“I believe the Duke of Wellington will be at tonight's soiree,” Willy said to divert her.

She gasped. “My goodness.”

Willy realized that she no longer felt nervous meeting important people. She had met so many since she first came. They had only been in London for a few days when cards began to appear, ranging from Dukes, to poets to politicians. When Blake arrived, she was to appear before Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. That thought did cause her to catch her breath, but she was not sure if it was Queen Victoria or Blake that produced it.

They were first to attend a play at the Adelphi Theatre in The Strand. It was the season's most successful production, School for Tigers. The critics had hailed it as an unequivocal success and singled out the actress, Sarah Woolgar for particular praise. Willy did look forward to it.

“I've heard it said that Sarah dresses as a man,” Agnes had said disapprovingly.

Willy shrugged, feeling rather blasé. “It's a tradition in the theatre.” A thought struck her. She would find it hard to return to Northumberland now. The post brought a letter from her family that morning. Her older sister was to marry her beau, a businessman from their village. And Amabel had many suitors following her about, moon-faced. But the two younger girls would love to come to London. Mary was very musical and Amelia a talented artist. As Blake's wife she could do much to help them. At the thought of him, her eyes flashed and her lip trembled. He had not seen fit to come to London in over a month.

Willy came downstairs to find Lady Elizabeth waiting, dressed in a deep violet gown trimmed with jet lace, her lovely black hair, so like Blake's, swept up in a regal knot with only a sprinkling of grey.

“Oh, you look lovely, aunt,” Willy said.

“As do you, dear.”

“We compliment each other perfectly,” Willy said, giving her a hug.

“You're a sweet girl, Wilhelmina,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “I do hope...”

Willy gazed at her. “Hope what, Aunt?”

Aunt Elizabeth gathered up her bag and evening wrap. “Never mind. Here is the carriage.”

The soirée was held in a mansion north of the city. The grand reception rooms were filled with beautifully dressed and important people. Willy met the Duke of Wellington. He proved to be an elderly man and not at all the romantic, flamboyant figure that she imagined. Most of the talk was about the recent death of the eminent poet, William Wordsworth. A foppishly dressed man, standing with a hand on the fireplace mantle, recited one of his poems which began ‘It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ... the broad sun is sinking down in its tranquillity....’ Willy felt confident that the poem wasn't about London and it's yellow fog. She yawned behind her fan as a dark-haired, soberly dressed woman entered the room, causing quite a stir.

“That's Baroness, Angela Burdett-Coutts. She is the grand daughter of Tomas Coutts, founder of the London Bank, and quite a philanthropist,” Lady Elizabeth said quietly. “Come and meet her.” She went to shake the lady's hand.

“I'd like you to meet my son's fiancée, Miss Wilhelmina Corbet.”

The lady had lively eyes and quickly drew Willy into conversation. They discovered they had a common love of animals. She had a quick wit that defied her appearance and soon had Willy laughing.

On their way home in the carriage, Willy asked her aunt to tell her more about the Baroness.

“My goodness, such a lot to tell. She is a philanthropist,” Lady Elizabeth said. She began to outline the good deeds that Angela had accomplished. “She has also helped to set up an organization for the prevention of cruelty to animals,” she concluded. “It's called the RSPCA.”

“I do hope I meet her again,” Willy said thoughtfully.

The carriage drew up in front of the house. “I'm not sure about you, Wilhelmina,” her aunt said, “but I'm ready for my bed. A late morning tomorrow, I think.”

Willy sighed. She longed to go riding in Rotten Row.

“Blake has sent word, he will be with us by nightfall,” her aunt added.

Willy swallowed as excitement gripped her stomach. Would he find her much changed?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

Blake entered the drawing room. He had just washed and his dark hair was still wet, brushed back from his brow. The scent of his musky cologne hovered on the air. His masculine good looks seemed to overpower the room and Willy's heart started that annoying pit-a-patter.

“We have waited dinner for you,” Lady Elizabeth said, rising.

Blake kissed her cheek. “You look remarkably well, Mother.” Lady Elizabeth was dressed in a maroon gown trimmed with black jet beading. There were roses in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. “I'm glad to see you've abandoned your widow's weeds. London agrees with you.”

“It agrees with Wilhelmina, too, don't you think?”

Blake turned to Willy. “You look charming,” he said raising his brows. “I am blessed to be dining with two such beautiful ladies.” He kissed Willy's gloved fingers.

Willy bit back the suggestion that it was now he who was toad-eating her. She smiled up at him and laid her hand on his arm as he escorted them both into dinner.

She listened as Blake and his mother discussed the improvements to Hawkeswood at some length. When he had finally concluded his impressive list of renovations, she asked, “Has Felix returned to the wild?”

He shook his head. “We set him free, but he chooses to make our home his for the time being.”

Willy clapped her hands. “How grand.”

“Is it?” he asked coolly. “He has already eaten two of the chef's chickens and a goose he was fattening for the table.”

“Well, he must eat something.”

“He is extremely well fed.”

“It can't be the food he likes,” Willy argued.

Blake's eyes narrowed. “No, he wishes to catch his dinner himself and I wish he would go far away and do it.”

Willy opened her mouth to protest but caught her Aunt's warning glance and closed it again. “This asparagus soup is nice, isn't it?’ she said mildly.

* * * *

“Wilhelmina, tell Blake about your experiences here in London,” Lady Elizabeth suggested. They had retired to the drawing room after dinner to play a game of whist.

“Oh yes. Blake, have you ever met Lady Burdett-Coutts?”

Blake had expected mention of the more glamorous members of the Ton, but hardly the earnest and rather dour baroness. “I met her once, I believe.”

“She has helped to form an organization for the care of animals. It is called the RSPCA.”

“Very noble indeed.” He wondered where this was heading.

“There are so many animals in need of it,” Willy said. “Just think what a difference it will make.”

“I'm sure it will.” Blake didn't like to see animals mistreated anymore than the next man, but felt a twinge of unease at Willy's enthusiasm.

“Can you take me riding in Rotten Row tomorrow morning?” she asked him.

Relieved to be off the subject of animals, he said, “I should be delighted.”

He waited for her to clap her hands and say something countrified, but she just lowered her lashes and said, “Thank you. You are most obliging.”

He grinned. “Obliging, indeed, to give up a few extra hours of sleep to go riding with you—considering I've just spent a whole day in the saddle.”

“You shall enjoy it. It will be such fun. We can ride to the river and feed the ducks.”

He frowned. “Ducks? I don't think so.”

“I don't know why this very polite conversation is making me want to reach for my smelling salts,” Lady Elizabeth said. She picked up the bell. “Are we ready for coffee?”

* * * *

The next morning before breakfast, Blake came downstairs to find Willy impatiently waiting in her new, blue velvet riding habit and hat.

“You look fetching,” he said, “That blue turns your eyes to violet.”

“Thank you,” she said carelessly. “I am still the same person inside.”

His gave that wolfish grin that set her heart beating. “I haven't seen inside. I look forward to it.”

Her face grew hot. “That's not what I meant.”

“Don't you like pretty things?” he asked.

“Yes. But it's a person's character that matters most.” This is what her father had told her, and here she was madly in love with a rake.

His eyes gleamed and a corner of his mouth lifted. “How commendable,” he said soberly.

“The horses are being brought round from the stables.”

“With little more than a dish of tea?” he asked wearily.

“You will enjoy a huge breakfast when you return.”

They went to mount their horses. While crossing to the park they passed shiny carriages, phaetons, barouches and landaus, travelling up Park Lane to meet and be seen on the south carriage drive. Blake was greeted by many who knew him. By the time they reached their destination, he and Willy had a long list of invitations.

The bridlepath was already quite crowded with riders cantering through the leafy green grove. Seizing a gap, Blake urged his horse into a spirited canter and Willy, glad to be riding a better horse, followed closely behind. She loved riding and being among trees again. She tried to ignore an inexplicable bout of homesickness. How could she be, when Blake reined in and turned to see how she fared? It was not home she missed precisely, it was to be among those who knew and loved her, she decided.

“You've lost your bonnet,” he said. “Shall I help?”

He brought his horse up to hers and reached across, grabbing the bonnet that hung down her back by its loosened ribbons.

“Thank you,” Willy reached back and their fingers touched sending a wave of heat to her cheeks. Vexed at her weakness, she stuck the bonnet back on her head.

“I'm glad to see you enjoyed the ride,” he said. “You have roses in your cheeks.”

“Riding brushes away the cobwebs.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “You know, you are full of surprises, Willy.”

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Mostly. Your want of propriety will vanish with age and experience.”

“I suppose I should be thankful for that.” Willy turned her horse's head and galloped back the way they came, forcing a man riding a white pony to pull up to make way for her.

Blake rode fast to catch up and reined in beside her. “I didn't mean that as a criticism.”

“Shall we return to the house? I'm sure you are hungry.”

* * * *

That evening Blake took Willy to the ballet. Their crimson plush, private box was just above the stage. Perhaps because he'd hurt her feelings, he was at his most charming. He complimented her on her gauzy, pastel-pink evening gown decorated with flowers, his eyes lingering for a moment on her bosom and shoulders. He was behaving like a beau. She found she loved it when he laughed at something amusing she said, and when he lightly stroked her skin above her glove, and particularly when his hot blue gaze made her tremble.

The night was simply perfect until the end of the performance and the gas lamps lit up the theatre. As the patrons began to leave their seats, a red-haired woman in the box opposite raised her opera glass in their direction. She wore a cerise gown and feathers in her hair. Her low bodice seemed to barely skim her nipples, making Willy's gown with its modest flounce, look like it was meant for a convent. Diamonds sparkled at the lady's throat and in her ears. She made a sign in their direction. Willy turned to see Blake nod at her.

“Do you know her? Who is she?” she asked.

Blake frowned. “No one of consequence.”

“But she must be someone.”

“Really, Wilhelmina. This is something you do not do.”

She hated that he was vexed with her again. “But I merely asked who she was.”

“Ladies do not acknowledge those of the demi-monde.”

“Why ever not?”

He looked away. “I don't intend to discuss it.”

“Then perhaps I should ask Aunt Elizabeth when she joins us afterwards.” Lady Elizabeth had chosen to sit with friends, but she kept an eagle eye on them from her box.

“Please don't. It will only offend her.”

“I see,” Willy said in a small voice. Suddenly she did see, all too well.

As they descended the stairs, Blake said, “I shall have to return to the country at the end of the week, to make sure the work is going as planned. I'll return as soon as I can.”

She waited in the foyer while he went to the cloakroom, suspecting it was she who was driving him away from London. As she stood to one side to allow the crowd to file out of the theatre, a handsome blond man came up to her and swept off his top hat. He looked quite cavalier in his black cape lined with red satin.

“I saw you from my carriage riding in Rotten Row with Dangerfield. I thought you a neat rider,” he said, taking her hand. “Forgive my manners, my name is Vincent Loudon.”

'How do you do,” Willy said smiling. “Are you a friend of Blake's?”

'I most certainly am.” The man looked at Willy warmly. “I have the advantage of knowing who you are, Miss Corbet. And now I know why I've seen so little of Blake these last few weeks.”

Blake came to join them and proceeded to assist Willy into her evening coat. “How do you fare Vincent? Did you do well at the races this Saturday past?” He turned to Willy, “Vincent has some very fine racehorses winning cups every time they run.”

“Blake, you sly dog,” Vincent cried, slapping Blake on the back. “Where have you been keeping this beauty? Why haven't we seen Miss Corbet at any of our social gatherings?”

“I've been seeing to things at Hawkeswood—country houses don't look after themselves. You don't seem to mind that your ancient abbey crumbles into the ground.”

“Highly romantic, don't you think?” Vincent threw back his cloak, his brown eyes smiling into Willy's. “Don't tell me Miss Corbet has been all alone in London.”

“Oh no, Aunt Elizabeth has been here with me,” Willy said.

“That's hardly exciting is it, for a young girl on her first trip to the Capital.”

Willy felt Blake's hand on her arm. She opened her fan and held it up to her face, smiling up at Vincent over the top of it, just as she'd seen Amabel do a hundred times. Warming to the role, she made a moue with her lips. “Blake tells me he must return to the country at the end of the week.”

“Then please allow me to escort you around. I should be delighted,” Vincent cried. He turned to Blake. “With your permission, Blake.”

“Thank you. I'll keep it in mind, should I feel it necessary.” Blake's tone made it clear the question would never arise.

His friend laughed good-naturedly. He bowed and kissed Willy's hand. “Then I must hope to find you at soirées, Miss Corbet.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “I know, how about a day at the horse races? Do you care for it?”

“I've never been.” Willy was genuinely delighted. “I would love to go.”

“Next Saturday, perhaps?” Vincent raised his fair eyebrows. “Blake? If you're not in London, your mother might come as chaperone.”

“I'll send you a note,” Blake said.

“Good man,” Vincent slapped Blake on the back again, returned his top hat to his head and rushed out into the street. Darting dangerously between carriages he hailed a passing handsome cab.

“My goodness,” Willy said faintly.

“Vincent is a lively character,” Blake said. “You like him?”

“Yes. I believe I do. Has he a wife?”

“No.”

Feeling him glance at her, Willy smoothed her gloves.

He said little after his mother joined them for the carriage ride home. The lovely atmosphere Willy had so enjoyed had long deserted them. As she and her aunt went up to bed, she heard him go out again.

Agnes waited to help her undress. “Did you enjoy the evening, Miss?”

“The ballet was lovely,” she said. “But I'm so tired, just undo me, Agnes, and go to bed.”

The next morning, Willy was surprised when Blake appeared at the breakfast table. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Willy ... I'm sorry about last night.”

Willy had tossed and turned for hours. She preferred the truth, although at times it was hard to bear. She had grown weary of crossing swords with him. “Do you love that red-haired lady?”

“What! Of course not.” Blake gave a short laugh. “You extraordinary girl. You have a way of turning everything topsy-turvey.” He took her hand in his. “Let's forget it shall we? Call a truce?”

At his touch, all her concerns were swept away. She smiled. “Very well.”

“I tell you what, I'll take you boating on the Serpentine, how about that?”

“Oh, would you, Blake? I would like that above anything.”

He smiled. “Then we'll go this morning.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

Blake had bribed her maid, Agnes, who was to accompany them, with the money for a ticket to a matinee at the music hall. He picked Willy up in his arms and lowered her into the rowboat. As he pushed off, she gazed askance at the murky, dark water from which a nasty rank smell rose, but felt reassured by the ducks and swans swimming around in it. It was pure bliss to be here with Blake. She was determined to enjoy every minute. Even the weather was in agreement, it was remarkably mild with just a light breeze ruffling the fringe of her primrose, silk parasol.

Blake rowed strongly towards the middle of the river. He seemed to enjoy the exercise. “You row very well,” she said.

“I did quite a bit up at Oxford.”

Crowds wandered up and down the riverbank. When Willy saw two people enter the river and begin to wash, she looked quickly away across the chestnuts and oak trees, the grass still green. But winter was not far away. Where would she be then? The winters in Northumberland were long and harsh. Why, there would be frost on the ground now.

She smiled at Blake. A laden picnic basket lay at her feet.

“You look very fetching under that parasol. I'll row up river and find a spot for that picnic lunch,” he said.

She leaned back and allowed the fragile autumn sun to touch her face, careless of her complexion. It seemed here in the city those that could afford it, lived mostly indoors, sleeping til noon and staying up far later than country folk. London seemed to lack both light and air—in fact it was often horrid, with dreadful sooty fogs advancing without warning. They grew worse in winter she was told, making many people ill. She decided that although she enjoyed much of it, she wouldn't want to stay here too long.

The rhythmic swoosh of the oars dipping into the water became soporific. She closed her eyes.

“Tired?” Blake asked, his voice gentle.

She opened her eyes. “No, I love it.”

“There's a likely spot. I'll pull in.”

“It looks perfect.”

He angled the rowboat close into the shore and jumped onto the grass. Storing the oars he pulled the boat up onto the bank. Willy stood up, worrying for her new, ivory kid boots, mainly because her aunt had just purchased them for her. Her primrose, bell-shaped skirts were cumbersome enough with their ruffles and ruche and flounced muslin petticoats. What she would give to be dressed in trousers as Sarah Woolgar had been in the play, School for Tigers.

Blake helped her climb out, his hands encircling her waist. That morning, Agnes had pulled the lacings of her corset so tight she found it hard to breathe. Discomfort outweighed the effect and she vowed not to do it up so tight again.

As she found her feet on the grass, Blake's hands lingered longer than necessary. “You are pretty, Willy. I can believe Vincent would find you so, but be careful when I'm not around. He's a man who likes a challenge.”

“He would not risk damaging your friendship surely?” she said breathlessly.

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Risk what we have.”

She shook her head. She was not at all sure they had anything worth risking. Perhaps it was just a matter of pride to him. She knew he had little choice but to marry her. This stung at her every time she thought of it. She turned to unstack the basket as Blake threw a rug over the grass. Kneeling, she tucked her billowing skirts around her. Spreading the table cloth, she began to arrange the damask serviettes, china and silver ware, a bottle of Burgundy and two crystal glasses, chicken and eel pies, bread and Stilton cheese and fruit.

Blake threw himself down and began to eat and Willy, smoothing her gown decorously over her stockings, did the same. The food was wonderful, perhaps it was being out in the open air with Blake, the river rushing by and the ducks waddling up the bank, but it seemed more delicious than anything she'd ever tasted.

She threw crumbs to the ducks and they gathered squabbling around them.

“Enough, Willy,” Blake implored her. She stopped and the ducks wandered back to the river.

She peeled a banana and began to nibble the end. It was wonderfully sweet. Blake coughed and she looked up to find him watching her.

“A lady eats a banana with a knife and fork.”

“We don't see them in Northumberland. Why can't I eat it like this?”

“If you must.” He laughed and shook his head as he handed her a glass of Burgundy.

She drank the whole glass and half of another.

He pushed his plate away and lay back on the blanket, throwing an arm across his face. Minutes of silence passed. He seemed to have fallen asleep.

“When I'm with you, Willy, the world seems a different place,” he said, surprising her.

“Do you mean a better place, my lord?” She waited for the cutting remark that would undoubtedly follow.

He removed his arm and looked at her, honest emotion in his blue eyes. “I do believe it is.”

Her heart swelled. “Thank you.”

“Come and give me a kiss, my tormentor.”

“That would be most improper,” she said longing to do just that.

“There's no one around,” he raised himself on his elbows, “just that couple over in the trees.”

Willy turned to see a man and woman locked in a passionate embrace. She quickly averted her eyes, and then turned back curiously to see the man touch the woman's breast.

“Come and sit here, Willy.”

She came to sit beside him, gazing down at him. She felt a bond between them that had never been there before, or was it just her imagination? He had a generous, well-shaped mouth. Her fingers itched to touch the cleft in his chin.

“My god, Willy, can't you take off your gloves?” he asked in despair.

“You're mother would have my guts for garters,” she said frankly.

He laughed uproariously. “I do believe she would.”

He grasped the yellow bonnet ribbons and gently pulled. The brown silk bonnet adorned with creamy flowers came away in his hands. “Well, that's a start. I hate the way these hats hide the nape of a woman's neck.”

He pulled her down to him, his hand on the back of her head, moving to stroke her nape and throat.

“I wonder if many people picnic along the river, it seems such a nice thing to do,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You talk too much,” he said running his thumb along her bottom lip. He kissed her. It was not the indifferent kiss he'd given her months ago, but a passionate, demanding one. When he gently pried open her mouth with his tongue, Willy felt warmth rising from her toes to radiate through her lower stomach. She kissed him back, her hand resting on the strong muscles of his chest as her body suddenly became foreign to her, throbbing and demanding to be touched. She wanted to lie down with him like a wanton.

Blake rolled over and hovered above her as she lay on the blanket. He gazed down at her, his expression difficult to read. “Good God, what am I doing?” he muttered. He jumped to his feet and leaned down to help her up.

“I'm sorry, Willy,” he said as he threw their things into the row boat. “I behaved like and oaf. Won't happen again.”

Willy found she was still holding her breath as he sat her down in the boat and took up the oars.

He began to row quickly back the way they'd come. They passed several boats on the way and the people waved and yelled hello. Willy waved back. As they grew closer to the boathouse, she saw a man throw something into the river. It caused a large splash. As she watched a head appeared. It was a dog. As it tried to swim back to shore, the man threw stones at it. Desperate, it turned and swam towards their rowboat.

“Blake! That dog, it's going to drown,” Willy said, wringing her hands.

Blake continued to row. “It will swim back to shore. It's probably fetching a stick.”

“No, no. He wants it to drown. He threw stones at it.”

Willy stood up in the boat and began to call out.

“For goodness sake, sit down will you! You'll have us both in the water,” Blake roared.

The dog swam close to the boat. She could see it was tiring—it began swimming in circles. “Come here, doggy,” she cried. She leaned over the side and the boat tipped alarmingly.

“Willy, be careful,” Blake said. He moved to steady her as she grasped the wet animal in her arms. She heaved it aboard. She and the big, brown dog fell into the bottom of the boat, her petticoats riding up her legs.

“Willy,” Blake's voice sounded strangled, as the dog shook filthy water over them both, “you are incorrigible! Whenever I begin to believe we might suit, you go and do a damned thing like this.”

“I couldn't let him drown.” Willy patted the dog, as Blake picked up the oars and rowed to shore.

When they landed, the dog, overjoyed to find a friend, jumped up, putting his malodorous paws on Blake's trousers. “Get down, you ugly animal,” he said, pushing it away.

Willy searched for the man who tried to drown the dog, but he had disappeared. “We can't leave him here,” she said. “That man might come back.”

“Surely you don't propose taking it home?” Blake snapped. “What about my mother's lap-dog? This one would probably eat it.”

The dog was a middling size, an ungainly mix of poodle and something larger and less refined. His big, soft black eyes gazed at Willy with new found love. “I'll look after Frederick,” she said. “You'll never know he's there.”

Blake pushed the dog away as it attempted to lick his hand. “Frederick?”

“It suits him don't you think?”

“A watery grave would have suited him better.”

“Oh!” Will's eyes widened. “You can't mean that.”

Blake removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hand. “Perhaps not, but we can't keep him. He can't stay with us here and my hounds would give him a very bad time at Hawkeswood.”

Willy came to put a hand on his arm. “Could I just keep him until I can get in touch with Lady Burdett-Coutts? I know she will find a home for him.”

“I don't know, Willy...”

“I'll take him to the stables and wash him. “He'll come up very nicely. You'll see.”

Blake looked at the dog's stubby legs and bushy tail. “Not unless you're into miracles.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. I'm wet and cold and so must you be. Let's go home. But you must promise me,” he added, as Willy led the dog towards the waiting landau, “Never to bring another animal into our home.”

“I promise,” she said. She wished to add only in desperate situations, as this most surely was, but she was beginning to understand how to handle a man. It required a great amount of tact.

On the short ride home, Frederick stood up on the seat and barked at passing carriages. Blake groaned as people pointed and laughed.

When they arrived home, Frederick obligingly followed Willy to the stable block. He lapped thirstily from a bowl of water. He was far less obliging in the tub filled with soapy water. Willy's best walking gown was left looking worse than her old ones. But at least Frederick emerged smelling sweeter, his long, curly fur hanging over his face. She took him to the kitchen and begged a plate of mutton and a bone from the horrified chef.

Willy left Frederick wolfing down the food and went to her bedchamber. She'd only just changed her gown when a shriek erupted, followed by a crash. She flew downstairs and rushed into the shadowy drawing room and stood for a moment, disorientated in the half-dark. The heavy, velvet drapes had been drawn to protect the furnishings from sun and smoke. Dark-green patterned wallpaper and sombre paintings hanging from the picture rail made the room even gloomier. Her vision cleared. In his search for his beloved mistress, Frederick had startled a maid dusting the china. She had dropped a blue-and-white urn and climbed sobbing onto a fragile, decorative papier-mâché chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a sure reason for dismissal if the housekeeper found out.

“It's all right,” Willy said. “He won't hurt you.” She helped the maid down and kneeled to pick up the pieces of what she suspected was very expensive china. She handed the pieces to the maid. “This is my fault and I'll take the blame.”

Willy tied a curtain cord around the dog's neck and led him towards the staircase. “Come, Frederick.”

“To the stables with him, please.”

She looked up to see Blake descending the stairs. He had changed into a crisp, white shirt, and necktie, blue embroidered waistcoat and grey trousers. He carried his top hat and cane. “I am going to my club,” he said, shrugging into his coat with the help of the butler who had appeared like magic. “And I expect to find that creature gone from the house when I return.”

“Very well, Blake,” she said demurely.

“Will you obey me?” he asked, looking down on her. “Can I trust you, Willy?”

She nodded, longing for him to take her in his arms, but he turned away. “Take care. If he is still in the house, I'll have him thrown out into the street. I shall see you at dinner.”

It hurt her that he felt he couldn't trust her and even more that he didn't understand her. She led Frederick down to the stables and left him with the coachman who promised to care for him. She tried to ignore the dog's whine of protest as she returned to the house.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

After Blake departed for the country and Hawkeswood, Willy headed to the stables, armed with a pair of Agnes’ scissors. Frederick was overjoyed to see her.

“He's a very friendly dog,” Ernest the coachman, told her. “He's a great favorite with the young grooms.”

“I'm here to give him a trim,” she said, brandishing the scissors. Frederick looked better. His caved-in stomach had filled out, but his long, curly coat hung in his eyes, blinding him.

Ernest shook his head and laughed. “Oh, he won't like that, Miss Corbet.”

“Then perhaps you could hold him for me? I'll start with his tail.”

“I'm glad he had a bath,” Ernest said, his eyes twinkling.

Willy began to cut. After Frederick's initial whimper of unease, he sat still, enjoying having his fur stroked and petted.

An hour later, he emerged from the pile of fur lying on the ground. “There,” Willy said surveying her handiwork. She had trimmed a fringe above his eyes and cut the fur close along his back, leaving it thick and curly around his legs and sides for warmth. His tail had a stylish bobble on the end. “He looks quite exotic, don't you think?”

Ernest could only nod. He was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“As a treat, you shall come for a ride in the landau today,” she told the dog as it danced about.

“I think he's relieved he still has his skin intact,” Ernest said.

Their drive around the park almost brought the traffic to a standstill. Frederick stood like a ship's figurehead, his face into the breeze, his nose seeking new scents. Every now and then he would bark at passing vehicles. A carriage pulled up beside them. A man and woman and their two children hung out the window, calling to Frederick. “Is he a rare breed?” the woman asked Willy.

“He's the only one of his kind in the country,” Willy answered, “Are you looking for a dog?”

The children both cried yes, but their father shook his head. The carriage and the landau parted at the corner.

“A white lie, but it might have found him a good home,” Willy said to Agnes.

“I'm sure it's true.” Agnes agreed. “There could only be one Frederick.”

* * * *

On his way into the country, Blake did not go directly to Hawkeswood. He stopped to visit Ben Nye at the police station in High Wycombe.

“Gore and his cohorts have since robbed a coach and a farmer on his way to market,” Ben said. “But we aren't any closer to finding him, your lordship.”

Blake rode on to Hawkeswood. He consulted his bailiff, visited his tenants, and discussed the planting with his head gardener and the stocking of the woods with his gamekeeper. He checked on the progress of work being done about the estate. The floors of the big house echoed under his heels, gloomy and far too quiet. He rode miles each day, threw himself into his work and retired exhausted at night. He did not send for Sarah. On the third night, a full moon shone silvery light through the gap in the curtains. Blake lay wide awake debating whether to rise to close it. The door opened and a figure slipped in. Sarah lifted the blanket and climbed into the bed beside him.

It was too much to resist the soft body lying beside him. Afterwards, he felt shabby because his mind remained elsewhere. He was determined it would not happen again.

After a week of hard labor working alongside his men, Blake was making plans to return to London when a clerk from the police station brought him a note from Ben Nye. Joe Gore had been sited, shots had been fired. A policeman killed. Would he care to join the chase?

* * * *

Aunt Elizabeth had a suitor and Willy was thrilled for her. Henry was a widower with greying hair, new to London from Kent. He escorted them to concerts, recitals and soirées. Willy watched them dance together—it was so romantic. She missed Blake and longed to be with him, even though he was more often displeased with her than lover-like.

At a reception for the visiting ambassador from France, the blond man she had met at the theatre, Vincent Loudon, came to her side and swept her a bow. “You look most charming this evening, Miss Corbet. Would you grant me the next dance?”

As he swung Willy around the floor, Vincent said, “Blake gave me permission to attend you while he is rusticating. I planned to call on you in a few days time. Have you asked Lady Elizabeth about a day at the races?”

Willy hadn't given it another thought. She knew that Blake didn't like the idea and he was already annoyed with her about Frederick. “Perhaps I'll wait until Blake returns to London.”

“A pity, my horses are to be spelled after the next meeting.”

“Next season, then, Mr Loudon.”

“Call me Vincent, please. I feel we are already friends.”

“Please call me Willy as all my friends do.” After she said it, she remembered Blake's warning. The handsome man smiled down at her, his guiding hand resting lightly at her waist. She felt it an unjust criticism. He had never broached the lines of propriety.

The music stopped. As he led her back to her aunt, Vincent said, “If there's anything I can do for you while Blake is away, please get in touch with me at this address.” He handed her a blue-edged, calling card.

“There is something. Do you know where I can reach Lady Angela Burdett-Coutts?”

“I do. The baroness is a neighbour of mine in London. Do you wish to meet her?”

Willy hesitated. “I have something I wish to ask her.”

“Then I'm sure I can arrange it.”

“When Blake returns I would be most grateful.”

Mr Loudon's brown eyes studied her. “Very well.” He bowed and left her.

Willy went to tidy her hair. She was at the mirror when a woman wearing an emerald green dress came to stand beside her. The woman gazed into the glass, tweaking a red curl. “Miss Corbet, isn't it?”

Willy recognized her as the woman from the theatre. “I'm sorry. I don't know your name.”

“It's not important.” She looked around, but the maid was busy folding towels. “You are in for a treat, Miss Corbet.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Blake is an excellent lover. Or do you know that already?”

Willy blushed and turned to leave.

The woman placed a restraining hand on her arm. “He will still come to me,” she murmured. “He cannot live without me.”

“We shall see,” Willy said. She shook off the woman's hand and hurried out into the ballroom. She looked around for her aunt. Through the tears of anger blurring her vision she saw her dancing with Henry.

She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and looked up to find Vincent by her side. “Are you all right?”

“I've changed my mind, Vincent,” she said. “I shall ask my aunt about the races.”

His eyes brightened. “Wonderful.”

“And if you could arrange a meeting with the baroness. I should be very grateful.”

He smiled. “Consider it done.”

Willy lay awake for hours that night. Even though her aunt had agreed to attend the races after Henry voiced his wish to go, she couldn't banish the red-haired woman's face from her mind, the spite in her green eyes. How could Blake desire such a woman? The answer was clear—she had oozles more sex appeal than all the regal women at the ball put together. Even Amabel's flirtations could not equal a glance from those green eyes.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

Two days later, Vincent Loudon called at Park Lane and sent up his card. Willy came down to greet him.

“Can you come for a drive?” he asked. “I have arranged for you to meet Lady Burdett-Coutts.”

“Wonderful. I'll just tell my aunt and get my coat.” Willy paused. “Should I bring Frederick?” She felt a pang. The dog was a favorite of the chef's. And most of the servants had grown fond of him. He was almost like one of the family. If only Blake would allow him to stay.

“Frederick?”

“A stray dog. I want the baroness to find a home for him, where he'll be well cared for.”

Vincent laughed. “What an extraordinary girl you are. You may bring him if you wish. Is he carriage-trained?”

“Oh yes. I take him out most days. He's very well-behaved.”

When Willy and Agnes brought Frederick out to Vincent's barouche, he roared with laughter. “What do you have there? Are you sure it's a dog?”

“Of course he is,” Willy said. “Get in, Frederick.”

Frederick jumped in and assumed his position, nose directed into the wind.

Vincent assisted the two ladies into the barouche. Willy arranged her lavender skirts and unfurled her new, matching parasol.

Vincent gazed at her. “Blake must be decked in the nob.”

“Pardon?”

“He's crazy. Doesn't he know what a treasure he has? Where the devil is he?”

“Oh, he's very busy. There's a lot of work to be done at Hawkeswood.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that explains these constant absences.”

Willy bit her lip and looked over the park. “Where are we going?”

“Only a few blocks. Mivart's in Brook Street. Lady Angela keeps an apartment there.”

They climbed the stairs to the Baroness’ apartment—part of a row of townhouses that formed Mirvat's Hotel—Frederick pulling on his lead.

At the sight of Frederick, the butler's mouth hung open.

“I'm Miss Corbet and this is Mr. Loudon. Lady Burdett-Coutts is expecting us,” Willy explained.

“Who is it, Beaks?” A lady's voice enquired.

“Mr. Loudon, Miss Corbet and her ... dog, my lady.”

“Send them in.”

The dark-haired lady rose and came towards them. “Heavens! He's a strange breed.”

“I trimmed his fur, it was falling in his eyes,” Willy explained.

“Astonishing.” Lady Angela smiled as Frederick licked her hand. “How do you do, Frederick?”

Two hours later, the carriage pulled up in Park Lane.

“It was very generous of the Baroness to keep him,” Vincent said. “She will find a good home for him, I'm sure.”

“I hope so.”

He studied her. “You miss him.”

“Already,” she sighed. “But Blake will be pleased.”

Vincent reached for her hand and put it to his lips. “I would not have asked you to part with him, Willy.”

“It's for the best,” Willy said loyally, gently removing her hand.

* * * *

At noon, Blake, Ben Nye and a posse of men reassembled at the last place Joe Gore and his bandits had been seen. The hunt for Joe had taken on an even greater urgency since a young policeman had been killed.

Ben rode his small, feisty mare. “We shall split up. You two men will go south,” he said pointing, “You two, north. Bill and Edward go east. His lordship and I will go west. We'll meet back here around four o'clock before it gets too dark. If you catch sight up of ‘em, fire two shots into the air, or at their backs if you prefer.” He winked. “We'll come running.” He stroked his bushy moustache. “We want ‘em dead or alive, men, but don't be heroes. I don't wish to see anymore of you buried before your time.”

Blake and Ben rode off through the oaks, limes and beech trees, their eyes searching, their ears straining for human noise above the screech and twitter of the birds. Escaping Roe deer flattened the bushes only to have them bounce back into the horse's way. Squirrels flung themselves along branches sending showers of leaves to the ground. The men rode for hours along the narrow trails in relative silence.

A red fox emerged from the bushes, running for its life. Startled, Ben's horse left the trail galloping into a thicket. It stumbled over a badger sett. “Whoa!” Ben cried, pulling the reins. He dismounted and carefully checked the horse's fetlocks. “Nothing wrong there.” About to remount, something caught his eye and he knelt down, examining the ground. “Horses have been through here,” he said. “Recent like.”

“They leave the trail over here,” Blake said, pointing. The land sloped down to a river. “Maybe they crossed there.”

“Maybe they did.” Ben mounted and rode his horse into the water. Blake followed.

There was no sign of the fugitives. On the opposite bank a steep rocky cliff blocked their way forward. Blake and Ben rode up and down both sides of the river for several miles, but found no sign of them.

“Quite a trick that,” Ben said, dispirited. “Disappeared into thin air like phantoms.”

Just then, a shot rang out. Startled, Blake turned his mount to search the woods. “Can't see anything, can you?” He looked back to see Ben crumple from his horse.

“Devil take it!” Blake jumped down and ran to the man lying face down on the ground.

He carefully rolled him over. Ben was dead. He'd been shot through the heart. “They're real all right,” Blake said bitterly, searching the sheer cliff face on the other side of the river. “And I promise you, Ben, we'll get them.”

* * * *

After two hours in the carriage, Willy, Lady Elizabeth, Henry and Vincent Loudon travelled over the Banstead Downs to the pretty village of Epsom where they stopped for lunch. In anticipation of a good crowd, the eating places had all stocked up with boiled meats, roasts and pies, the cottages had boards outside, offering hot water and loaves of bread. Carriages waited at the railway station to carry people who wished to pay a penny, up the mile of steep hill to Epsom race track.

Willy gazed out the window as the carriage rattled up the rough, narrow lane, passing an unending line of exhausted people. The racetrack was already full of Londoners who walked from the city to camp or bed down on the ground and under carts overnight. Hawkers moved through selling two and a half penny loaves and saveloys, pedlars, boot blackers and shiners, and pickpockets shouted their wares.

Vincent took great care of them. He escorted them to the grandstand, a large building built to house the gentry. They drank champagne, served by Vincent's groom as the crowds swarmed over the lawns and gathered standing shoulder to shoulder to watch the first race.

Lovely Lady, the chestnut thoroughbred Vincent owned, was in the third race. They all moved to the rail to watch her as the horses lined up across the grass. The starter dropped his handkerchief and they took off. Lovely Lady was soon in front. A roar went up in the crowd as the horses grew close to the winning post. “Go, Lovely Lady,” Willy yelled, jumping up and down, holding on to her hat.

Lovely Lady sailed past the post in first place, a head in front. Vincent picked Willy up and spun her around before putting her down again. She saw her aunt beckoning. When she joined her, her aunt said crossly. “Wilhelmina! You behave like a hoyden.”

Henry laughed. “We all had money on Lovely Lady, Elizabeth. I felt like doing that myself.”

As usual, at his calm words, Lady Elizabeth's face softened. “Nevertheless, please remember you are a betrothed, young lady.”

Willy felt her spirits drop. “Yes, Aunt.”

After the champion, Volitgeur won the next race. Vincent took Willy to meet the owner of the Derby winner, down in the mounting yard. The Second Earl of Zetland shook her hand and laughed when she told him she'd won two shillings on his horse.

“You are funny, Willy,” Vincent said, as they returned to where her aunt sat, fanning herself.

“I am?” she asked in surprise.

“But in the nicest way,” he said, gazing at her.

“Why, thank you, Vincent.” Willy picked up her skirts and hurried up the stairs. “I must tell Aunt Elizabeth what the Earl said,” she said hastily.

They arrived back at Park Lane in the evening. Vincent escorted them both to the door, doffing his hat. Lady Elizabeth thanked him for a delightful day and continued inside.

“Thank you for coming Willy.” Vincent kissed her hand. “Your company made the day special. I hope to see you again very soon.”

Willy watched from the doorway as his carriage drew away. Aunt Elizabeth came to join her. “A light supper and an early night are in order, my dear. Tomorrow,” she said. “You have a final fitting for your wedding gown.”

Willy climbed the stairs, the word ‘final’ ringing in her ears.

* * * *

Willy stood in front of the mirror. She should feel joy at wearing the wedding gown, but her stomach was churning horribly. She could not deny it was lovely, ivory silk taffeta trimmed with tassels and lace, with a long white veil trimmed with orange blossom. She wiped away a tear. She'd always dreamed of wearing orange blossom.

“There, there, my dear,” Aunt Elizabeth said, patting her arm. “It is a very emotional time in a young woman's life, to be sure.”

Willy longed to tell her the truth of her feelings, but her aunt was busily inspecting the lace on a ruffled sleeve. “I wish I still had my pearls,” she said. “They would have been perfect for you to borrow to wear. You know the saying. Something borrowed, something blue, And a silver sixpence in her shoe. Never mind,” she continued. “I'll find something else just as nice. Let's try on the going-away costume.”

They buttoned Willy up in the plaid, beige, pink and black silk taffeta dress with the toning silk bonnet. She had never worn anything quite so smart and grown up.

“When Blake returns,” Aunt Elizabeth continued, “There will be the presentation at Court, followed by the engagement party, and the ring of course,” she gave Willy's arm a squeeze. Then shortly after that will be the wedding. An announcement must be placed in The London Times. We don't wish to delay it, do we? You cannot be seen in public after the engagement is announced, not until your wedding day.”

“Not at all?” Willy gasped.

“Oh no, my dear,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “We can't have your reputation compromised.”

Willy thought of the times she and Blake had been alone and his kisses. She doubted he'd be bothered much by etiquette.

* * * *

Blake arrived after Willy had gone to bed. The next morning he joined her in the breakfast room. She sipped her tea, hoping it would restore her. She had not slept well.

“You aren't sickening for something, are you?”

She shook her head. “I have good news for you. Frederick has gone.”

He looked surprised. “Where has he gone?”

Willy explained about Vincent taking her to see the baroness.

“Good news indeed. She will find him a good home.” He cut a slice of ham. “I thought we'd visit the jeweler today and choose the setting for your ring.”

“Oh, can't we do that tomorrow?” Willy begged him. “I have a dreadful headache.”

Blake gazed at her. “Was your day at Epsom fatiguing?”

“No. It's was thrilling, Vincent's horse, Lovely Lady won.”

“Vincent?”

She flushed. “He asked me to call him that, I hope you don't mind.”

“What does he call you?”

“Willy, of course.”

“Of course.” Rising, he threw down his napkin. “I do believe I'll visit my club in that case. I shall see you at dinner.”

Willy watched him go. She thought of Frederick's trusting face and misery descended again, banishing any regrets at not spending the day in Blake's company.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven

Blake stalked into the lofty corridors of the Reform Club. He knew just where to find Loudon. He was always with his fencing master at this time of day, when in town.

As Blake expected, he found him in the Salle. He had just finished his lesson and was about to dress.

Blake shrugged off his coat and donned the wire fencing mask. He picked up an Épée de Terrain and performed a lunge, testing the sword in his hands.

“Enguarde,” he said to Vincent as he moved into position.

“You are hardly dressed for this, my friend,” Vincent said, amusement in his voice. He joined Blake in the center of the room.

The swords met in a clash of steel. The two men moved around the room, testing each other. Vincent lunged and parried. Blake, anger spoiling his aim, attempted a misjudged thrust, only to have his foil knocked from his hand. He bent and retrieved it. The sound of steel meeting steel echoed and both men began breathing heavily.

Vincent, already fatigued after his class, appeared to be tiring, wanting to end it. He performed a lunge, but Blake averted it, retreating with a Passé.

Blake grew calmer with each riposte, his aim more deadly as he continued to attack. He formed a Semi-Circular Parry, trapping Vincent's attacking blade. Feeling he had him on the ropes, he followed it up with a riposte and a Trompement, his sword hovering inches from Vincent's chest.

“Assez! You have me,” Vincent cried, pulling off his mask. “You are fired up today. Enough before you kill me!”

. They lowered their swords and bowed.

Sweating, they went to towel down. Blake attempted to restyle his limp necktie.

“Nice to see you back in London,” Vincent said, wiping his neck.

The bout had done little to lessened Blake's anger at his friend, but he said mildly, “I believe you have been escorting my fiancée about town.”

“Only to the races.” Vincent threw down the towel and began to strip off. “Surely you don't have a problem with that. Your mother was there. And her new escort, Henry. Nice fellow.”

“I believe you also took Willy to Mirvat's to find a home for Frederick.”

Bare-chested, Vincent paused, frowning. “Willy's maid accompanied us. She was upset, Blake. She's fond of the dog. But she did it to please you.”

“None of this is your concern.”

Vincent tilted his head. “You know, Blake, there's a rumor doing the rounds that you must marry Willy or lose Hawkeswood.”

“And if it's true?”

“It appears to me that you don't love the girl. Not at all.”

“Many marriages are thus.” Blake's voice held a warning.

“But not Willy,” Vincent said. “She loves with all her heart.”

Blake's hands curled into fists. “You seem quite an authority on my fiancée.”

“I can't help it,” Vincent said shaking his head. “She deserves so much better than your casual disregard.”

As Blake pulled on his coat, he said, “We are entering dangerous ground. We've been friends since Oxford and our competitive spirit has had us vying for the affections of a woman more than once, but I've never known you to push me so far.”

“I've never known you to be deliberately callous or cruel. Leaving that sweet girl and traipsing off to the country where you no doubt have some wench installed.”

His remark was so close to the truth, it stung Blake into saying, “Remember the barmaid at Oxford you worked so hard to steal from me? And the opera dancer? Perhaps you carry our spirited friendship too far. You see Willy as a challenge, a naive girl from the country ripe for the plucking?”

Vincent's face suffused with color. He took a step forward. “I say, I'm beginning to wish for another chance to run you through.”

“Stay away from my fiancée, or I'll give you that chance.”

“You always said you didn't care much for that old house, Blake. “It is filled with sad memories for you. Surely, your grandmother's inheritance and your mother's handsome fortune is enough.”

“That old house, as you so eloquently put it, has been my family's home for centuries. Wilhelmina is free to leave anytime she likes. But I doubt she wishes to return to the country.”

“She is doing this for you.”

“Nonsense.”

Vincent looked at him. “Then you don't know her.”

Blake turned on his heel and left the Salle. He nodded at several acquaintances who called for him to join them, and left the club. Walking up Pall Mall, his mood was darker than he could remember. Wishing his father in hell, he gave a bitter laugh. He probably was.

He began to walk home and then changed his mind, hailing a hackney.

The cab pulled up outside a house in Chelsea. He vaulted the steps and banged on the door.

Dora opened it, her red-hair gleaming in the light. She laughed and grabbed his necktie, pulling him inside.

* * * *

Blake didn't appear at dinner. The only sound was the loud ticking of the Grandfather clock in the hall as Willy and Lady Elizabeth pushed their meals away uneaten. Willy watched her aunt purse her lips. She no longer had the energy for anger, or hopes or dreams. She merely wished she could go home, but that was something she could not do.

* * * *

Blake came back the next day looking tired and strained. She opened her mouth to comment, and then shut it again when she saw the misery in his eyes. His feelings seemed to match hers.

“We'll go and see about the ring after lunch,” he said in a tone that brooked no objection.

“Very well,” Willy murmured.

The carriage ride to Bond Street was spent in silence. It occurred to Willy that seldom would a jeweler see a more despondent pair about to marry.

When the jeweler brought out the Dangerfield diamonds, Willy gasped. A huge blue-white solitaire ring flashed all colors of the rainbow in the light. He opened a box, on a bed of crimson velvet lay a sparkling, diamond necklace and drop earrings.

Willy's fingers trembled as Blake took her hand and slipped the ring on it. She searched for a sign of love or joy reflected in his blue eyes, and waited for him to smile and say the words she so longed to hear. Marry me, my love.

“The ring's too large for her finger,” Blake said. “And the setting too heavy.”

“I have a more delicate setting in mind for Miss Corbet,” the jeweler said.

“Very well. Let me know when it's ready.”

They left the shop. Blake turned to assist Willy to the carriage.

“Could we walk a little, Blake?”

“You wish to do more shopping?”

“No, I want to talk to you.” It was easier somehow when she didn't have to look at him across the carriage.

“Very well,” Blake signaled for the carriage to follow them.

They began to stroll along Bond Street and turned a corner. Willy searched for the words to ask Blake to release her immediately after the wedding ceremony. She would not remain to be a nuisance to him. It would have to be before the wedding night. She blushed at the thought. If he made love to her, all her resolve would be lost. No, as long as the knot was tied, he could retain his inheritance and she would ... she would...?

She sighed and looked away.

“Stop!” she cried.

Across the road, a burley man was beating a thin, soot-covered boy with a broom and yelling curses at him.

“Stop that, this instant!” A horse and cart swerved to avoid her as she gathered up her skirts and ran across the street.

“Confound it, Willy, you'll get yourself killed.” Blake rushed to grab her arm. He ushered her up onto the footpath as a brougham swept by.

Willy seized the big brute by the arm. “Stop hitting that boy ... you ... monster!”

Surprised, the man turned to look at her. “This ‘ere's my employee, madam. ‘e sweeps chimneys for ‘is room ‘n board. Lazy little thief ‘e is.”

The boy stood quietly watching. Beneath a thick, dusting of soot, he had a narrow face and his brown eyes reminded Willy of Felix, the fox cub. His wariness must come from a precarious life, she decided, as her heart turned over with pity. “He is to come with us,” she said to the man.

“Do you want your chimneys cleaned?”

“No. I intend to keep him.”

The man's eyes opened wide. “What'd want ‘im for? The boy's no good, I tell you.”

“Willy...” Blake began, as she took the boy's arm, oblivious to the coal dust spoiling her gloves.

She turned to Blake and said fiercely, “Do this for me please, Blake, and I'll ask nothing more of you.”

Blake searched her face. “Very well.” He took some money from his pocket. “How much do you want for the boy?”

The man eyed the money. “But ‘es one of my best. Works hard ‘he does.”

“You just said he is lazy,” Blake said. He tossed some coins into the man's palm. “Take it or leave it.”

After counting them, the man began to bluster.

“Perhaps I should call a Bobby,” Blake added.

The man's gaze slid away to check the street. “Take ‘im and welcome, sir. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.”

Willy was already shepherding the boy over the road. They climbed inside the carriage after she'd assured the coachman, Ernest, that the boy was to come with them, inside the carriage.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“Dix Briscoe, Miss,” the boy said sniffing. He ran his grubby hand over the velvet seat beside him and leaned back against the squab.

“You shall call me Willy,” she said, as Blake climbed in beside her.

“And any disrespect from you and you'll be begging that man to take you back,” Blake said.

“You needn't worry, guvnor, I'll be on me best behavior,” Dix said. “Prime horses you have. Got any more?”

“You like horses?”

'Top animals they are,” Dix wiped his nose with the back of his hand smearing more coal dust over his cheek.

“Then you can reside with the coachman and the grooms.”

“After you have a bath,” Willy said.

Dix stared at her in horror. “A bath? Oh no, Miss.”

“The coachman can arrange it, and a change of clothes.” Blake frowned at her. “Dix is not going to be another Frederick,” he warned.

Dix looked interested. “Who's Frederick?”

“A dog,” Willy said.

“I like dogs.”

“How old are you, Dix?” she asked.

“Twelve, I think, Miss.”

“You're not sure?”

He shook his head.

'It doesn't matter.” She met Blake's gaze as she patted the boy's knee. “We'll take care of you.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Willy walked to the stables. She found Dix polishing a leather saddle. She took his hands, checked both sides, and then looked behind his ears. “That's better.”

“Ernest scrubbed them raw, Miss Willy,” Dix said scowling. He was wearing a groom's livery with the legs and sleeves rolled up.

“You look very handsome,” Willy said.

“Hansom is as hansom does,” Dix said inconsequentially. He blushed and smoothed his hair.

When Dix had returned to his work, Willy went to talk to Ernest. “I believe Lord Dangerfield has given the order for Dix to earn his keep mucking out the stalls, polishing the carriages and helping the coachman with the horses.”

Ernest removed his cap. “Didn't like his bath anymore than Frederick,” he said. “But he's proving to be quite a good worker.” He scratched his head. “Don't trust him, though. He's been trained to be a pickpocket, among other things.”

“He no longer needs to resort to such behavior,” she said.

“But I suspect it's become a habit, Miss Corbet.”

“Why do you think so?”

“I found my pocket watch under his pillow.”

“Oh!”

Ernest nodded.

“He must still feel very insecure. In time, he will realize he doesn't have to do such things.”

Ernest rubbed his jaw. “If you think so, Miss Corbet.”

“Yes,” she mused. “Time and kindness shall heal all his wounds.”

He donned his cap and turned to go.

“Oh, and Ernest?”

Whipping his cap off again, he turned back to her. “Yes, Miss Corbet?”

“I don't believe we should worry Lord Dangerfield with this.”

“Very well, Miss Corbet.”

Willy was returning to the house when she met Blake coming down the path. “Good morning, Willy,” he said. “I thought I'd go for a drive in the phaeton and take Dix.”

“He'll love that,” she said. “How kind of you.”

“We'll see how we go. If he behaves he can continue in the practice.”

After lunch, Willy met Dix outside the house. “How did you like being groom for Lord Dangerfield?”

Dix's eyes were huge in his pale, thin face. “He went so fast around the park, I couldn't catch me breath.”

“Heavens,” she said.

“It was very dangerous.”

She frowned. “It was?”

“The best thing ever.”

“You weren't frightened?”

“I was bloody terrified, pardon me, Miss Willy. It was capital.”

“Shall you go again?”

“His lordship said I was very good because I didn't curse or cry or fall off. He said I would make a good Tiger.”

“I'm sure you would. Now you'd best hurry or you'll miss your lunch.”

She watched the boy run off to the servant's quarters. She tapped her foot, where was Agnes? She planned to go to Mirvat's to see how Frederick was fairing.

“Sorry Miss Willy, Lady Elizabeth asked me to fetch her shawl,” Agnes said tripping down the steps.

Lady Burdett-Coutts was pleased to see Willy and Frederick was overjoyed. “He has not forgotten you, it appears,” she said.

“I'm surprised to find him still here,” Willy said patting the dog's head.

“I planned to take him to the yard, but he's such an obliging, friendly dog. I thought I'd keep him with me for a while.”

“What is the yard?”

“It's where they keep the stray dogs until they find homes for them.”

Willy frowned. “But they don't always succeed.”

“No.”

“What happens to them, then?” Willy asked.

Lady Burdett-Coutts gazed at her. “At present, they remain there. It's certainly not ideal.”

Willy wiped her eye with a gloved hand. “No.”

When she arrived home, she found Blake in the drawing room reading the newspaper. “I have just been to see Frederick,” she said.

“I wondered where you'd gone. You can't go off with your maid and not tell me where you're going. This isn't the country.”

Willy sat down beside him as he turned the page and folded the paper deftly in two.

He was good with his hands, a skilled rider. She thought of the red-haired woman and her words. Apparently, he was a good lover, too. Willy suppressed the thrill she felt at the thought of his hands on her body. “Frederick still has no home to go to.”

He looked up, his blue gaze seemed impatient. “He will. I'm sure.”

“If he doesn't, he'll remain in an enclosure for the rest of his days.”

“He'll be fed and treated kindly.”

“But he can't run free. Should I have left him in the park?”

“But you didn't, Willy. There's not much point in putting yourself through this now, is there?”

Willy gave a sob. “I suppose not.”

"Oh, Willy." Blake put his arm around her, easing her shuddering body against his shoulder. “Have I been a beast?”

She nestled against his chest, breathing in his manly smell mixed with cigar smoke and cologne. “Just more sensible, I suppose.”

Blake placed a finger under her chin to raise her gaze to his. “What a child you are.”

“Oh, I am not!” She tried to struggle free.

He held her tight, kissing the tip of her nose. “A determined little goose,” he said softly. He kissed her mouth lightly, returning again for a more passionate kiss.

“My goodness,” Lady Elizabeth's voice came from the doorway. “What about the servants?” She looked pleased. “The jeweler has sent a note. The ring is ready.”

“Fine,” Blake said, returning to his paper.

“Time for the bans to be read,” Lady Elizabeth said as she gathered up her skirts and turned to leave the room again. “The wedding date must be announced soon. There's a lot to organize.”

As the door closed, Blake looked at Willy. “Are you ready?”

She swallowed. “Ready?”

“For all this. Do you need more time?”

“I don't think so,” she said.

“Such a passionate response,” Blake said dryly.

“Did you expect a passionate response?” Willy said, surprised.

“Do you want to marry me, Willy?” he asked.

“I will, of course, but I think we need to talk about it, Blake,” she said. “I was going to talk to you the other day, only we found Dix...”

The door opened again and Lady Elizabeth rushed into the room waving a letter. “Blake, such news. Your cousin Hendley has died!”

Blake jumped to his feet, the newspaper falling to the floor. “Died? When?”

She gave him the letter. “Read it.”

“He was in Paris. Someone accused him of cheating at cards and shot him,” Blake read.

“Poor Henley,” Lady Elizabeth said tearfully, wringing her hands.

“A shocking demise,” Blake said, handing her back the letter. “Though not that surprising.”

“I must write to his poor mother at once.” She hurried from the room.

“Willy?” Blake said, sitting down beside her.

Willy took a deep breath. “Yes, Blake?”

He looked so serious. “You know what this means? It alters my father's will.”

“You inherit now? Whether we marry or not?”

He nodded. “Tell me...” he was interrupted by a scream. “Has this house turned into the madhouse?” he asked his mother, as she rushed in again.

“My sapphire earrings, the ones I was planning to lend to Willy for the wedding ... I left them on my dresser, and now they've gone.”

Blake leapt to his feet again. “Are you sure?”

“They're not of great value, but I'm fond of them. Who would take them?”

“I think I know,” Blake said grimly, looking at Willy. He took her hand. “Come with me.”

He kept hold of Willy's hand as he strode to the stable mews. She struggled to keep up with him. “Please, Blake,” she begged, “I'm losing my breath.”

“You'll lose more than that if Dix has anything to do with it.”

“Where is he?” Blake asked Ernest.

They found Dix rubbing down one of the horses in its stall.

“My mother seems to have mislaid her earrings, Dix. Do you know where they might be?” Blake asked him.

Dix said nothing, but he looked at Willy, his eyes pleading.

“We might look under his pillow,” Ernest suggested, “for I seem to have mislaid my pocket watch again.”

“Again? So careless of you, Ernest.” Blake said dryly, as he climbed the stairs, pushing Dix ahead of him. Willy and Ernest followed behind.

In the tiny attic room, Blake turned over Dix's pillow to uncover a veritable treasure trove.

Dix stood with his head bowed, as Blake and Ernest discussed their findings. Lady Elizabeth's earrings, the butler's silver collar studs, Ernest's pocket watch, and the housekeeper's missing string of highly prized, crystal beads.

Willy took him by the shoulders. “Why, Dix?”

He hung his head even lower. “I need a hoard. In case you let me go.”

“As if we would,” she said.

Blake took her arm and walked her down the stairs and out into the lane.

“I'll handle this,” he said. “You go back to the house.”

“I won't have you treat him shabbily.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Shabbily?” he roared. “What about what he's done to us?”

“You must understand what made him do this. It is fear.”

“It is biting the hand that feeds him.”

Ernest appeared at the doorway holding Dix by the collar.

“You've never had to worry about where your next meal comes from, my lord,” she said coolly. “If you did, you might exhibit more compassion for your fellow man.”

“Leave this to me, please.” Blake's eyes turned ice blue. “It's bad ton to talk like this when the servants can hear.”

“Well, perhaps I'm as much out of place here as Dix.”

She left him in the mews and returned to the house. Taking her cloak, bonnet and umbrella, she let herself out the front door and walked down the street. All of a sudden the way seemed clear to her.

She walked along Park Lane to Upper Brook Street. She passed tradesmen, clerks and footmen, busily going about their business. The few women she saw were accompanied by their maids or male companions. She began to feel conspicuous. The blatant looks the men gave her made her tremble. Did they think her a prostitute? Had she dressed more plainly, would she then be invisible? She had worn her new cloak with the fur collar. No maid would dress like this, unless they stole it from their mistress. Feeling more alone by the minute, she hurried across Grosvenor Square where ladies walked with their maids, giving their small dogs an airing. Their lives seemed so ordered, so calm and safe compared to hers. And it was all her own doing. She should have waited for Agnes. She admitted to her worse faults—she was too emotional and impulsive. No wonder Blake didn't love her. She hovered at the corner of Davies Street for the crossing sweeper, disorientated by the noise of the iron-shod wooden wheels of the carriages rattling over the cobbles, hawkers shouting their wares and omnibus drivers yelling their destinations above the din. Business men and a pair of maidservants came to wait with her.

It began to drizzle. She put up her umbrella and picked up her damp skirts. It grew heavier and she began to hurry. Very soon the gutters would overflow and filthy water would flood the footpath.

Ahead was Mirvat's where she'd just been, and further down the road, Vincent Loudon's townhouse. She bit her lip, trembling and determined. She would do what she had to do. She wouldn't miss London.

* * * *

Willy returned to Park Lane to find Blake walking a track in the silk rug of the drawing room. He whirled around as she entered. “Where have you been?”

“I have settled things, Blake. You do not have to send Dix back.”

He frowned. “What I do with young Dix will be my decision, alone.”

Feeling calmer, she sat down and pulled off her gloves, catching sight of her bare finger never destined to wear the ring. “I plan to take him with me.”

Blake stood in front of her. “Confound it, Willy, take him with you where?”

“I'm going home, and shall take both Dix and Frederick with me.”

He stared at her. “You prefer that to marrying me?”

“I prefer to be among loving companions than live with you.”

“Willy...”

“Please don't try to dissuade me, Blake. I've made up my mind. I've just asked Vincent to take us and he's agreed.”

Blake's eyes went hard, their expression foreign to her. It made her draw breath. “You went unescorted to his house? What about your reputation? What about mine, Willy?”

Dismayed, she said, “I wasn't there above a minute or two. And he kindly brought me home in his carriage.”

Blake cocked an eyebrow. “So, that's it, is it?”

“Yes,” she said gazing at her gloves. “That's it.”

“You are entitled to marry whoever you wish.”

She could not look at him. “As are you, now.”

“Then there's nothing more to say on the matter.” Blake strode from the room and, minutes later, the front door banged shut.

Fingering her locket, Willy felt a sob rise in her throat. She hated to see him look at her like that. She dabbed at her eyes and went to tell her aunt.

She found her in her bedchamber discussing clothes with her maid. “I've just been deciding the color of my gown for the wedding,” she said, as Willy came in. “What do you think of maroon satin?”

“Could I talk to you alone, Aunt?”

“Yes, of course. That will be all, Agnes.”

Willy sank into a chair. “The wedding has been called off.”

Lady Elizabeth looked bewildered. “What are you saying, Wilhelmina?”

“There's no need for Blake and I to marry now. And, as he doesn't love me, I've decided to return home.”

Lady Elizabeth came to sit beside her. She stroked her hair. “Not love you? Are you so sure of that? What about that kiss?”

Willy shrugged. “Blake enjoys kissing women, that's all.”

Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “My dear...”

“He wishes to be free to pick the bride of his choice.” Willy swallowed and steadied herself to continue. “I believe we have too little in common for a good marriage.”

“Then my son's a fool. Oh, my dear. I so wanted you as a daughter-in-law.”

“I'm sorry, Aunt Elizabeth. I will miss you.” As Willy hugged her aunt she bit her lip, determined not to cry.

When she reached her room, she threw herself on the bed and sobbed so hard she thought her heart might break in two.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Thirteen

Willy had hardly seen Blake before the morning she was to leave. Her trunk stood in the hall and she was tying her bonnet as he came down the stairs.

He came to her and surprised her, sweeping her into a hug. “Be happy, Willy,” he said his breath soft on her cheek.

“Thank you, Blake.” She fought her body's annoying reaction to his touch and swallowed the lump in her throat that had lodged there since she'd said her final good byes to her aunt. “I wish the same for you.” It was disturbing to discover that her aunt and Blake had become more her family than the one she returned to. If only he loved her and wanted her.

If Dix was grateful for Willy's rescue he had yet to say it. He stood pale and silent as they waited for the carriage to arrive.

When Vincent's coach pulled up and they climbed inside, the boy's face changed. “What a great dog,” he said putting his arms around Frederick who paused from his intense scrutiny of the road to wag his tail and give Dix's face a lick.

“What's that crest on the door of the coach, Vincent?” Dix asked.

“My family's coat of arms.”

“You're a toff then,” Dix said.

Vincent laughed. “Yes, I'm a toff. Don't be too disappointed Dix.”

After thanking Vincent for his grand gesture, Willy settled in the corner of the coach. Not only was she going home in disgrace to face an irate parent and siblings, she was bringing a rag-tag pair along with her. Her harassed father's disappointed face appeared before her and she shivered. How had she failed so badly? She had been prepared to fight for Blake's love, but somehow she was unable to be the kind of woman he wanted. The woman with the red hair knew much of love that was plain. Willy would fight for anything and anyone dear to her, but not this.

As the coach approached the outskirts of London, she sat up. “I'd like to call to see a friend on the way. She lives on a farm just outside Oxford. Would that be possible?”

“I don't see why not. We can make that by nightfall and then stay at an inn nearby.'

“Does she have a barn?” Dix asked. It was the first time he'd spoken since they began the journey.

“Yes, why?”

“I'll sleep in the hay, I've done worse,” he said. “I like farms. I remember when I was very small and my parents were alive. My pa worked on a farm. I took him his lunch. A ploughman's lunch he liked.” He closed his eyes as if he could see it. “Bread and cheese and pickles. He loved pickles.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“Cholera got in the water. Many people died.”

“I'm so sorry, Dix.” Willy thought how sadly his life had turned out. She prayed he would be made welcome in Northumberland. She should have written to alert them of their coming. What was the matter with her? She was behaving like a coward.

Frederick was asleep, locked in Dix's arms when they arrived at Susan's farm. It was growing close to dusk. They found her rounding up the chickens.

“I'll help with that,” Dix said. Frederick joined in causing the birds to flap about in all directions before Dix grabbed him.

“Who's the lad?” Susan asked after Willy introduced Vincent. Willy began to tell her Dix and Frederick history.

“Vincent is kindly taking me home to Northumberland,” she said.

“Stay here and welcome,” Susan said. “I can offer you a humble repast, but will be filling. I have enough for your coachman and groom.”

“Thank you but there's no need. They have a relative in the village and are keen to visit them for the night,” Vincent said. “And I'll stay at an inn.” He doffed his hat. “I shall see you in the morning, Willy. Early.”

They sat round the small table eating cold mutton with potatoes and rhubarb and apple pie.

Susan heated milk for Dix. After he'd drunk it, his eyelids began to droop. “It's off to bed with you,” Willy said.

“Can Frederick sleep with me?” Dix asked. Willy saw that the act of false self-confidence he'd adopted to survive in London was already falling away. He was just a needy young boy.

“You can keep each other warm. Tonight will turn cold,” Susan said.

Willy had noticed how much colder it was, colder still as they headed north.

After Dix and Frederick retired to the small attic bedroom, they sat in the small kitchen talking. Susan yawned. “You must excuse me. I'm up before dawn.”

“I'm tired too,” Willy said, as she followed Susan up the stairs. She peeked in at Dix. He slept with one arm out across the counterpane, with Frederick stretched out beside him.

They prepared for bed in the small room they were to share. As Willy undressed, she said to Susan, “I wish I didn't have to go back to Northumberland.”

Susan continued to puff up the pillows and said nothing.

In the morning Willy rose with Susan. As the first rays of a wan sun shone through the cottage windows, Dix woke and clambered down the stairs to take Frederick outside. He refused to wash his face, offering to milk the cow by way of compensation.

Willy wrapped a warm shawl around her shoulders and was picking strawberries when the coach arrived. Vincent came to help her, popping fat juicy strawberries into her basket.

He watched Dix feeding the plow horse an apple. “Dix seems to like it here.”

“He'll be happier and healthier in the country.”

“We should start out straight after breakfast.”

“Why are you being so kind to me and my motley group?” she asked again, as he took her basket and they started back to the cottage.

He stopped. “Don't go in yet. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?” She sensed what was coming and her heart sank.

His warm brown eyes gazed into hers. “Willy, would you consent to be my wife? I promise to take good care of you.” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I swear I won't grouch at you or neglect you.”

Willy hesitated. “Vincent,” she said gently. “Why do you wish to marry me?”

He looked surprised. “I like you better than any woman I've ever met.”

“But you don't love me.”

“I'm sure it will swiftly follow,” he said smiling.

She shook her head. “And though I like you excessively, I don't love you.”

Vincent studied her. “Who do you love, Willy?”

“Blake,” she said simply.

He frowned. “Then why not marry him?”

“Because I love him. He's happy when he's free and that's the best thing I can give him. He doesn't have to marry me now.”

He shook his head. “What a girl you are. No wonder I like you. I'm sorry you won't marry me.”

She laughed. “You will fall in love as most men do, when you are ready.” She didn't say as Blake would, because it pained her to think it.

“Let's go in to breakfast,” she said taking his arm.

It occurred to her that Blake had been right. She may be more attractive to Vincent because she was Blake's fiancée, even if it was no longer true. Would she ever feel that ardor for any man again? She sighed. She would remain a spinster, and perhaps take up writing, like Susan.

They sat around the table and ate pancakes with strawberries and cream. Dix ate quickly and sat back rubbing his stomach. His thick, creamy moustache made them all laugh.

“After I've tidied the kitchen we'd best get ready to leave,” Willy said to Dix.

His smile fell away and his eyes became shaded. “Can't we stay for a while?” he begged. “There's a grand horse in the meadow and Susan said I could ride him.”

“I'm sorry, Dix. There'll be horses where we are going.”

As Willy gathered up her things in the bedchamber, Susan came in and sat on the bed. “It's been so wonderful to have you here,” she said. She plucked at the counter-pane. “You told me last night that you hate the idea of going home.”

“That's true,” Willy confessed. “I doubt I'll be royally welcomed.”

“Why not stay here, then?”

Willy stared at her. “Would you want Dix and me to stay?”

“Yes.”

Willy sank down on the bed. “I could,” she said, thoughtfully. She looked up and smiled. “Thank you, dear Susan. We should love to stay.”

“That's wonderful, Willy. This is a very humble place for someone like you to live. I wouldn't have suggested it if you hadn't told me how sad you were to be going home.” She laughed and held Willy's hands. “Stay as long as you like. Stay forever.”

“We shall see how Dix goes,” Willy said. “If he misbehaves, I shall take him away.”

“I don't believe he will. He's so happy here,” Susan said.

“I'd best go down and tell Vincent,” Willy said.

Vincent's brows rose in surprise. “You'd stay here, in preference to your family home?”

“For the time being. I want to thank you for being a stalwart friend in my time of need,” she said, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“I hope it works out for you here,” he said doubtfully. “If you should need me, send a note to my London home or to Loudon Abbey in York. I go there now and shall remain there for a while.”

She watched the carriage until it was out of sight. Then she went to find Dix. He was up in the meadow throwing a stick for Frederick, who gambled about like a spring lamb.

“Stay here?” he said uncertainly. “Can we really?”

When she nodded, his eyes shone. “For the time being,” she amended. She had no idea how long she could stay and would hate to disappoint him. She made her way back to the house. She would help with the chores and then begin to put pen to paper. She had to pay her way. A handsome face and strong, manly body swept uninvited into her vision. Would she ever be free of him? And did she wish to be?

* * * *

Lady Elizabeth gazed at her son over the dinner table. “I must say, you have behaved exceptionally badly,” she said.

He scowled. “I have?”

“You know you have.”

“It was not me who began this distressing charade, Mother. It was my father and I still have no idea why.”

“Your father was far wiser than you give him credit for.”

Blake shrugged. “How can I know? He was always closeted in his study with his magnifying glass, examining his latest collection of butterflies. If I ran in the corridor he'd come out though—to yell at me.”

“It was his interest.”

“His only interest.”

She tilted her head. “We are all complex in our way, Blake.”

“I dare say,” Blake said with a note of finality in his voice.

“Henry is escorting me to the theatre. What do you intend to do this evening?”

Blake shrugged. “The usual.”

“Do you like Henry?”

“Like him? I don't dislike the fellow, if having him around makes you happy, Mother.”

“He makes me very happy.”

“Then I'm glad.” Blake thought him not a bad sort of chap. A trifle dull perhaps. But he saw a change in his mother. She was far more content these days. “Don't tell me I hear wedding bells.”

She touched the napkin to her mouth. “Henry has asked me to marry him when the official mourning period is over.”

Blake's eyebrows shot up. “Deuced if he has!”

“Have a nice evening,” she said, rising to kiss his cheek.

He watched her leave the room. London seemed rather dull of late. Was everyone out of town?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fourteen

The days passed into weeks and before Willy knew it she'd been at Rose Cottage for three months. She woke up one morning and found the first crocuses pushing up through the ground.

Dix came in carrying a pitcher of warm milk. As she took it from him she noticed he had to duck his head in the doorway. He had filled out, too. His cheeks were red as apples and his shoulders appeared broader. “I promised Susan I'd muck out the pig pen today,” he said.

“She intends to teach you your lessons when she returns from the village,” Willy said.

“Bah,” he said sitting down at the table as she spooned porridge into bowls. “I don't want to.”

“Don't you want to be able to read and count?”

“I can count. I learned real quick in London. When I pinched money from a cove's pocket, I knew just how much it was and what I could do with it.”

“Dix!”

He looked sheepish. “I'm going to be a farmer just like my Pa. Why do I need to read?”

“So you plan to be a farmer, then?” she asked smiling at him.

He nodded.

“It's useful for farmers to read too, Dix. Promise me you'll be good about it.”

He looked at her the same way Frederick did. “I promise, Willy.”

“Good boy. If you study hard, we'll go for a ride in the woods this afternoon.”

“Capital!”

* * * *

Blake left St George's church in Hanover Square and walked home. His mother and Henry were now on their way to Paris for their honeymoon. He arrived back at the house and walked into the empty drawing room. Suddenly, he found he could not stand to be home. But he wasn't eager to go out, either. He sat down and held his head in his hands. Tonight, he and two friends were to go to a music hall. They would separate later, he to see Dora and they to their own assignations. He gave himself a mental shake and went to change out of his grey morning suit. Tonight might prove to be better.

But it wasn't. He found the music hall show stale, he found the company shallow. At Dora's flat he was accused of being bad tempered and a poor companion, and finally, he stormed off home. In the street, he ran into Vincent Loudon.

“Back in London?” he asked Vincent coolly.

“As you see,” Vincent said.

“Where have you been all this time?”

“In York.”

“I hope you saw Willy safely home, seeing you took it upon yourself to do so.”

“Blake,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “I have not seen Willy these three months.”

Blake's blue eyes opened wide. “I thought...”

“I did ask her to marry me.”

Blake flushed. “When's the happy day?”

“She turned me down.”

“She did?”

“Willy loves you, Blake. Surely you must have known it?”

Blake rubbed his chin. “I believed it was you.”

Vincent cocked his head. “You didn't want to know she loved you, perhaps.”

“You are doing it too brown,” Blake said, frowning, “bending the friendship to breaking.”

“I've been talking to friends. They say you've been impossible since she left.”

Blake laughed ruefully.” Willy's impossible to live with and impossible to live without.”

“I saw her at some ball or other. She was followed from the ladies room by none other than Dora. I'm sure something was said, for Willy seemed upset.”

“Damn,” Blake muttered.

“Is Willy so impossible to live with?”

Blake shrugged helplessly. “I love her, did almost from the first. But she's so...”

“Precisely,” Vincent agreed. “But utterly charming.”

“She is, damn and curse it.” He frowned. “And may well have found another beau by now. Her father would see to it.”

“She was in Oxfordshire when I left her last, with Susan Gray.”

“Oxfordshire?” Blake roared. “Why didn't you say so, you retched fellow.” He raised a hand to hail a passing hackney.

“Good luck,” Vincent yelled after him.

Racing home to pack a portmanteau, Blake anxiously looked at the thunderous dark clouds hiding the moon. Suicide to ride out now. He would have to leave at first light tomorrow. What a fool he was to let Willy go. He gasped as he thought of her sweet face, her tenderness and compassion. He yearned to prove his love to her, to instruct her in the delights of lovemaking, to discover the secret places of her lovely body.

Would she still be there and would she still want him?

* * * *

Willy and Dix rode out into the woods. Cooped up after the rain, Dix tried to urge the draft horse Susan had recently purchased into a canter, but it was having none of it and plodded along. Willy rode the cart horse, and she was soon well ahead. The trees dripped and the air was moist, thick with the woodland smells of damp earth and rotting leaves. A startled flock of birds burst into the sky. Most probably a fox, she thought, as she rode on. Her thoughts returned to Felix and then very quickly to Blake. When would she stop wanting him? She shook her head, dismayed that her heart refused to mend.

She planned to wait for Dix at the top of next rise, but before she reached it, a rider emerged from the trees. She was not afraid, merely surprised. The man's hat was pulled low over his face. When he came up to her, he looked up. She cried out. The rough face of Joe Gore looked back at her with a cruel grin.

“I'm glad I came back. This is a nice surprise, eh, wench?”

She tried to kick her horse into flight, but he brought his mount in front to block her. For several desperate minutes, the two horses danced around, until he got the better of her, grabbing her with his huge hands. She did not cry out, hoping that Dix was too far away to rush to her aid, for this brute would surely shoot him without pause. If only she could escape into the woods. She bit his hand and, when he withdrew it with a foul curse, she broke away from him. He caught her again, clenched his giant fist and hit her.

Willy was aware of everything happening as if in slow motion, crumpling and falling from her horse, her limbs turning to water, Joe catching her as a dark mist descended.

Willy came to, to find they were crossing a stream. Her chin ached and something dug into her stomach. She found she was lying like a rag doll, across his pommel. Her first thought went to Dix. What had happened after she had fainted? Had he been hurt? She prayed he was safe. When she asked Susan what was known of the highwaymen, she said that two had been caught and hanged. The third not sighted for months. It was thought he had left the area.

Joe dismounted and led the horse through a small gap in the rocks. Willy pretended to be unconscious to give herself more time, as they began to climb. Up and up they went. She opened an eye to find they'd reached a rocky ledge high above the river. They entered a cave, big enough for the horse to pass through, which it did without hesitation. It was gloomy inside, with grey light filtering in from the entrance. Joe pulled her down and laid her on a filthy blanket. It was all she could do not to gag at the smell. The air was stale and musty and made her want to gasp for oxygen. She fought to keep her breathing regular and deep. Her best chance was to appear comatose, although she doubted he would care one way or the other. Would he ravage and kill her, or keep her around for a while? Those thoughts brought another strong desire to gasp for air, as icy sweat ran down her spine. She must stay calm.

* * * *

It was late in the afternoon when Blake arrived at the farm in his carriage. He found Susan, pacing the garden, clearly worried.

“Why, Lord Dangerfield,” she said rushing over to him. “This is a surprise.”

Blake removed his hat and bowed over her hand. “Miss Gray. I've come to see Wilhelmina, does she still reside here?”

“Yes, she does, and Dix.”

Blake felt relief rush through him like warm ale. But her next words turned his veins to ice.

“She and Dix went riding some hours ago. The draft horse Dix rode has returned home without him.”

Blake put on his hat. “I'll go to look for them.”

Just then, with a distressed cry, Dix rode out of the woods.

“He's riding Willy's horse,” Susan said.

Blake ran to the boy and pulled him down from the horse. He was white-faced with shock. “A man's taken Willy.”

Susan looked at Blake, her eyes wide with horror. “It must be Joe Gore.”

As fear and anger at his own actions began to paralyse him, Blake squared his shoulders and said grimly, “Do you know their direction?”

“I followed ‘em,” Dix said. “They crossed the river and disappeared among the rocks.”

Blake knew it to be the place where Ben Nye was killed. “Good lad,” he said. He went and removed his portmanteau from the carriage. He took out the pistol and knife he always carried when travelling.

He pocketed his pistol and tucked the knife into his boot. “Lead me to the river and then you must return to the house,” he said to Dix. Then he addressed his coachman. “Take Miss Susan to the police in High Wycombe, as fast as you can.”

“Right you are, your lordship,” Ernest said.

Blake mounted Willy's horse, cursing at the slowness of it. Dix rode the draft horse which was even slower. He followed Blake into the woods.

How long had that devil had Willy? Blake thought. It must be hours. Time enough to do his worse. The anger he had felt when Joe first took Willy rose afresh to choke him, and he tried again to control it. It would be his undoing if he couldn't keep a cool head. He wasn't about to capture the man—he intended to kill him and save the law from the expense of hanging him.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Fifteen

While Joe's attention was caught up with his horse, Willy searched around on the ground where she lay. Her fingers closed over a rock and she tucked it under the skirt of her riding habit.

Joe was muttering to himself. She heard him say he'd better not light a fire—someone may come looking for her. Who would be looking for her? Dix didn't know where she was and the police had never been able to find this hideout. She reached out to touch the rock again, tracing its sharp edges with fingers that itched to strike Joe down. Her fighting spirit overlaid any sense of fear, if she died here, Susan and Dix could be next.

Joe came to her side and knelt down. She blanched at his foul breath as he stared into her face. “Hope I didn't hit ye too hard,” he said. He rolled her over. Panic washed through her afresh as his hands worked at her buttons. She grabbed the rock and lashed out at him.

He reeled back, cursing.

Willy jumped to her feet. Seeing Joe was between her and the mouth of the cave, she turned and ran back into the tunnel's dark, inner depths. Stumbling, she banged her head, but kept moving. The grey light faded to pitch black and the air turned stale. Something brushed her face and she swallowed as hysteria bubbled up, her heart beating like a wild thing.

“Damn ye,” Joe roared, his voice echoing eerily around her. “It will take more than a rock to stop me. Just ye wait until I get my hands on ye.” He began to list the things he would do to her. Terrible, shocking, brutish and violent acts that made her long to cover her ears. Go slowly. Be careful, she repeated to herself, over and over. It wouldn't do to fall and break a bone. She heard him strike a match. Flickering candlelight lit up the darkness somewhere behind her. He couldn't see her. Yet.

The tunnel began to tilt steeply downwards, water dripped from the roof and the ground was slippery under foot. She banged her shin on a huge boulder, large enough to hide her. She crawled in behind it. It would not protect her long.

* * * *

Once deep into the wood, Blake followed Dix. They rode as fast as the horses and the track would allow them. Miles passed, taking far too much time for his liking, before they reached the spot where he'd witnessed Bill's shooting. Across the river rose the steep cliff still appearing as impenetrable as it did before.

“I followed them to here,” Dix whispered. “Willy was lying across his horse and he led it between those rocks.” He pointed. “Then I saw him again, higher up. See those bushes up there? They disappeared behind them. I waited for as long as I dared, but he didn't appear again.”

“Good lad,” Blake said, patting his back. “Now you must go back.”

Dix shook his head violently. “I want to stay and help Willy.”

“You can help both of us by leading the police here.”

Without a word, the boy turned. He was gone before Blake crossed the river.

Blake tied his horse to a branch and searched on foot until he found the narrow opening between the rocks, blocked by a pile of dead bushes. The well-hidden path meandered up the slope, wide enough for a sure-footed horse. He began to climb. When he reached the ledge he spied the cave, impossible to see from below. Pistol in hand, he ran up to it and flattened himself against the rocks, peering inside. He heard Joe shout and saw the faint glow of a candle cutting through the darkness. He cursed that he could not make out more. Where was Willy? He darted inside, keeping low. No sound came to confirm he'd been seen, so he continued. Using the rock wall as a guide he crept into the darkness.

“I have ye now,” Joe yelled.

Blake moved fast, entering yet another cavern. He saw the candle waver as a figure stooped and pulled someone to their feet. Willy. She wasn't pleading. She was cursing, and using words she must just now have learned. Words a gently reared woman would never hear. If he hadn't been so afraid for her, he might have grinned.

They came closer to where he crouched against the wall. He could not shoot Joe with any accuracy. Bullets might ricochet off the rock walls and hit Willy. So he waited.

Joe moved further into the light, dragging Willy with him. She was fighting, forcing Joe, big as he was, to struggle. “Come easy,” he urged her. “I don't want to knock ye out again,” he said. “It will go better for ye if ye give in.” The sound of a slap echoed as he yelled, “Spit in my eye, will you? Hellcat!”

“Let her go, or I'll put a bullet through your head.” Joe looked up and saw Blake's pistol aimed at him.

Joe shoved Willy in front of him as a shield and put his pistol against her forehead. “Drop your weapon, or she'll get one first.”

Blake cursed and dropped his pistol. It skittered away in the dark. “All right, don't hurt her.”

As Joe backed out of the tunnel he fired in Blake's direction. But the bullet went wide, hitting the rock wall behind Blake's head. The echo nearly deafened him.

Blake fell to his knees fumbling for his pistol. He saw that Joe had reached the path. He gave up on it and raced out of the cave in time to see Joe shove Willy away. She stumbled back and fell, rolling off the path, grabbing at a branch as she went.

He ran to her.

“Blake!” Willy looked up at him imploringly. She hung by one hand from a slender branch, suspended over the sickening drop. The branch bent alarmingly. Its roots appeared as it was pulled from the small pocket of soil in which it grew.

Crouching close to the edge, Blake leaned down. “Easy,” he said, “I've got you.”

Pebbles and soil gave way under his boots, bouncing down to the bottom of the cliff and he felt his feet slipping. He tried to plant his feet firmly and, reaching down, grabbed hold of her wrist. “Now, let go of the branch.”

She swung below him, her grey eyes huge and dark with fear. “I can't Blake. I'm afraid.”

“I've got you, sweetheart. Trust me.”

Willy released her grip on the branch, just as the bush came apart. Ripped from the ground, it fell, and its bare roots scattered soil as it went. Willy hung from Blake's hand, her half-boots scrabbled for purchase on the rock face, but could find not even a tiny foothold.

“Give me you other hand.”

She reached up. Blake took hold of her hand. He began slowly to raise her.

Several minutes passed with only the sound of their rasping breaths. Then she reached the top and fell into his arms. “Thank God!” he cried. He hugged her shaking body to his as he pulled her away from the edge.

Over his shoulder he saw Joe was still close, climbing the cliff like a mountain goat, searching for cover. As he searched for purchase on a steep boulder, Blake pushed Willy behind him. He reached into his boot for his knife, took aim and threw it. The knife found its mark. With a cry, Joe arched his back. He fell, bouncing off the rocks all the way to the bottom.

He lay still.

“That's for Bill Nye,” Blake said quietly, as Willy hugged his waist and leaned her head on his chest.

“Let's go down, my love,” he said.

“I can't wait to leave this place,” she said shuddering.

He led Joe's horse down the rough path. When they reached the bottom, he took off his coat and placed it around Willy's trembling shoulders.

Dix and two policemen appeared across the river. Dix jumped from his horse and ran full pelt into the river. At its deepest, the water was mid-thigh.

“Willy, you're safe,” he cried, rushing to her, tears running down his cheeks.

“I am, thanks to you,” she said hugging him, “but you're making me wet.”

“Wet?” he said, gazing at her soiled clothes and smudged, bruised face. “You're as dirty as a coalman!”

Blake grabbed him by his collar. “We are grateful to you lad, for your courageous action, but don't be rude to a lady.” He winked at Willy over the top of the boy's head.

“No, your lordship,” Dix said, still grinning at Willy.

Blake went to greet the policemen standing beside Joe Gore's body.

* * * *

Over a cup of tea, Willy spoke of the horror of being abducted by Joe Gore again. Not wanting to upset Dix, she'd left a lot of gaps in the telling, but Blake knew how close she had come to a dreadful, violent death. He knew how she'd fought Joe, how brave she'd been. He was proud of her. And knew he'd never regret killing him. The anger that burned within him at Willy's abduction and Bill Nye's death was gone. He had laid a few ghosts to rest this day.

He took Willy's hand and led her out into the garden. They walked quietly through the dusk, the perfume of spring flowers sweet on the soft air. An owl flew into a tree with a hoot and a rush of wings.

“It's lovely here,” she said.

“Do you wish to stay?”

She turned to face him. “I'd rather live with the hero of my dreams.”

She felt him tense. “I haven't been much of a hero, have I?”

“You were always a hero in my eyes.”

“I was?”

“From the first moment I met you when I was twelve, remember? I wandered into your bedchamber when your manservant was cutting your hair. You were scandalized and shooed me out.”

He laughed and swung her around to face him, his blue eyes dancing. “I promise never to shoo you out again. You do love me, then.”

“With all my heart, but are you aware that you've never asked me to marry you?”

He went down on one knee. “Marry me, please, Willy. Save me from a life of lonely misery.”

She wiped her eyes. “So much has happened today. So much that's fine and good amid so much wickedness.”

“Let's try to forget the bad. This grass is damp—give me your answer, please.”

“Yes,” she said laughing. She fell to her knees beside him. She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his lips. “Yes, yes.”

He helped her up, and took a jeweler's case from his pocket. The huge diamond twinkled in the moonlight. He slipped it on her finger and without giving her time to respond he led her towards the cottage. “Pack your bag. We're travelling to Peak Village tonight.”

She gasped. “All the way to the Peak district. Are we to visit my family?”

“In a month or two we shall pay a visit to your father and sisters. The law in Peak Village allows a preacher to marry us immediately. And I've wanted to make love to you since that day by the river at Hawkeswood. I can't wait any longer.”

She laughed and stroked his cheek. “Neither can I.”

He gathered her up in his arms and kissed her—a long, passionate kiss.

“Wait,” she said, breaking away from him as a thought occurred to her.

“Now Willy,” he warned, sensing trouble.

“We can't leave Dix,” she insisted. “And he won't go without Frederick.”

Blake groaned. “My romantic carriage ride and honeymoon are to be ruined by a boy and a damned dog.”

“If you truly love me, Blake,” she said smiling, confident of his love, “You will not make me break my promise to Dix.”

“I must have bats in my belfry, but yes, let's go and tell him.”

Delighted, Susan kissed Willy and hugged Blake. Dix sat quietly, his face pale and expressionless.

Willy went to him. “You've been through so much, my young knight in shining armour,” she said. “What do you wish to do?”

“I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't want to leave here, but...”

“May I say something?” Susan asked quietly.

“Go ahead, Susan,” Blake said.

“If Dix would like to stay here with me, I would love to have him. He could go and visit you both on occasion.”

“What do you say to that, Dix?” Willy asked.

“May I keep Frederick here with me?” Dix asked.

“It's a huge sacrifice I make, but you may,” Blake said, smiling.

The boy nodded.

“Then it's settled,” Susan said, coming to give Dix a hug.

The boy stood. To Blake he suddenly appeared years older as he said, “I'll miss you, Willy. But it's better I stay here. Susan needs me.”

“If you're sure...” Willy began.

“You've made a wise choice.” Blake shook his hand. “You may come and visit at Hawkeswood anytime you wish.”

Willy kissed Dix goodbye and patted the dog's head. “Be good, Frederick, and look after Dix and Susan.”

“Come, my love,” Blake stood. “We have a long trip ahead of us.”

The coachman and the groom had been slumbering in the hayloft. They backed the horses into the traces. Rejuvenated by a chicken pie washed down with ale, the coachman picked hay out of his hair, brushed down his coat and climbed up onto the coachman's step and took his seat. The groom followed.

Under the carriage rug, Willy settled herself against Blake's chest, his arm around her.

“What made you come to find me?” she asked sleepily.

“Vincent told me where you were.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “When he said you'd refused his offer of marriage, I knew there was hope for me.”

“We got off to a very bad start,” she said.

“I didn't put much store in marriage. My parent's weren't happy. My father was a cold man.”

“Was he? He was very nice to me.” Willy fingered her locket. “And now Aunt Elizabeth has found happiness with Henry. I'm so delighted for her.”

“Mother and Henry made me view the institution of marriage differently. I felt hopeful for our future together. I've been a stubborn fool, Willy.” He kissed her fingers. “I hated being without you.”

The rocking of the carriage made Willy's eyes droop. She was soon asleep.

“You are worn out, my love. Sleep well.” He arranged her comfortably against him, drew his hat over his eyes and began to doze.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Sixteen

After a night spent in separate rooms at an inn and a change of horses, Willy looked out the carriage window to see at last the wild beauty of the Peak District, miles of dry-stone walls dividing the hills into a patchwork of fields. She watched a train puff its way through the green valley. They crossed the River Derwent, stopping at villages for refreshments along the route, with Blake keen to go on.

They talked honestly for the first time, really talked. She told Blake about her life in Northumberland with her sisters, their lives saddened by the untimely death of their mother. And she felt for the first time that she knew the man soon to be her husband. A passionate man whose gaze made her limp with desire. A man of honor who would not touch her before marriage, beyond kissing her lightly on the forehead, the corners of her eyes and her cheek. A man so handsome that women turned to stare after him in the street. A little of the boy remained in him too, who had suffered his father's rejection and his mother's misery. It left him with mixed feelings for his childhood home—a home he felt his duty to maintain for the rest of his life and for his descendants.

“I won't kiss you again,” he said at one point on the journey. “If I do, we may celebrate our union in this carriage.”

She would not have minded. She was not nearly as honorable as he. Passion rose in her like a hot flame and she longed for him to make love to her.

Peak Village was small and charming. Blake secured a bedchamber and private parlor at the Station Hotel. He left Willy to bathe and change and went in search of the preacher. She dressed in the best gown she had brought with her, a pale yellow silk. She dressed it with a seed pearl necklace and earrings and of course, her locket. Blake came knocking on the door an hour later. When she opened it, he held out a bouquet of daffodils, tiny, white crocuses and purple irises.

“Oh, how lovely.” She held them to her nose.

“Not the exotic flowers you would have had in London, but you look so pretty, Willy. Do you mind not wearing the wedding gown?”

“Not a bit.”

“We are due at the church at two o'clock. The preacher's organist is to attend as a witness. I must wash and change.”

“I'll wait in the parlor,” Willy said.

“For the last time, my love,” he said as she went to the door.

Willy's heart was full to overflowing as she gazed in the parlor mirror tucking tiny, white crocuses in her hair.

When her handsome man appeared and offered her his arm, she walked with him down the lane to the church, set among green fields dotted with wild flowers.

An elderly man played Mendelssohn's wedding march on the organ as Willy and Blake stood before the altar.

Blake placed his diamond studded signet ring on Willy's finger. The ceremony was over quickly with only the two congregants and the preacher to wish them well. They emerged from the church and gazed at one another. His blue eyes were filled with the love she'd always yearned to find there. “So much time wasted, Willy,” he said huskily. “Come my bride, and we shall drink to our future happiness.”

The stopped at the hotel for a glass of wine, and then made their way to their room. As they approached the stairs, a marmalade cat appeared, meowing and rubbing against Willy's skirts. “Oh, how sweet,” she bent down to it. “I do believe she's soon to have kittens,” she said. “I wonder...”

Blake took her hand and led her up the stairs. “The cat seems perfectly happy, having recently enjoyed what I refuse to delay a moment longer.”

“Oh, Blake,” she said blushing.

He locked the door to their bedchamber and came to take her in his arms. “My love,” he said softly and kissed her. “Let me help you undress.”

She removed her pearls and the locket.

He took the locket from her. “You never take this off, do you?”

She shook her head, watching as he flicked it open with his thumb.

Inside there was a curl of black hair. “Why, what is this?” he asked, looking up at her.

“A lock of your hair,” she said, her cheeks flaming.

“My hair?”

“Remember, when I was twelve, you were having your hair cut. I stole a lock.”

“You've had it all this time?”

She nodded.

He looked stunned. “I didn't see you take it.”

“No. But your father did.”

Blake sat on the bed holding the locket in his hands. Willy sat beside him. “Mother was right,” he said softly. “Oh, Willy, father was a wise man, and how lucky I am to have you.” He groaned and took her in his arms, kissing her wildly, his tongue seeking hers. Willy kissed him back and as he pushed her down, she felt his strong, hard body, his desire for her. She ran her hands through his thick, dark hair, drinking in the beauty of his blue eyes. At last, he was truly hers.

Blake began pulling up her skirts as if he needed to be one with her so desperately he could not wait. But he steadied himself and sat up to help her undress.

Her body was, as he always suspected, a delight to the eye. Her pert breasts adorned with pearly nipples, her waist tiny, her thighs and bottom smooth and shapely. He kissed each breast in turn, then drew away and began to remove his clothes.

When she saw the urgency of his desire for her, she gasped. He lay down with her, running his hands over her body, down to the very core of her desire. He stroking fingers sent rivers of heat through her. An urgent desire filled her with longing.

When Blake looked into her clear grey eyes, he welcomed the love and the honesty he found there. He felt as if their souls were entwined.

He made love to Willy gently, as she held him tight and kissed him.

And when they finally rested, she lay back replete and said, “I'd like you to teach me the arts of lovemaking. Such as Dora would employ.”

“What!” He put an elbow under his head and gazed at her, his eyes sorrowful. “I'm sorry about Dora.”

“Why should you be?” she said. “I imagine she was quite an expert at lovemaking. She told me you were an excellent lover and she was right, you are.”

As he lay there helplessly shaking with laughter, she threw one dainty leg over him and straddled him. “But I intend to be better than Dora.”

At the touch of her soft, creamy thighs, his desire flared quickly again. “And make babies,” he said huskily, as he steadied her against him. “I want to fill Hawkeswood with children, so that it's never a lonely place. And I won't be the kind of father who hides away in his study.” He groaned as he lost himself in the pleasure of her body moving with his.

“Oh, Blake,” Willy breathed, leaning down to kiss him.

The End

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