The Highwayman's Mistress (5 page)

 
“I think it’s inevitable,” replied Angelica.
“If not, why are we, aristocrats now hounded in the manner of escaped
prisoners?”

 
Diamonta wrapped her arm comfortingly around
Angelica. “At least you’re safe, and can come and live with us.”

 
“I would love to, but I think your mother
will not approve of such an arrangement for too long. She is, after all,
noblesse d’
épée, and
our title derived from noblesse militaire.”

 
Diamonta hugged Angelica tight, and kissed
her cheek. “Old nobility, or not, she will not see you out on the streets.”

 
“Nevertheless, it may prove to be a
stumbling block, Diamonta,” said Richard. “And rather than upset your good lady
mother, I will see to it that Angelica has a roof over her head and a loan of
monies to see her through for the time being.”

 
“Oh thank you, thank you,” exclaimed
Diamonta. “You are such a dear friend.”

 
“I am speechless at your kindness,” said
Angelica.

 
“My pleasure,” returned Richard, a broad
smile. “That’s settled then. No more to be said.”

Chapter Five.

~

“I cannot believe Richard
has taken it upon himself to house that young lady under his own roof. Is he
mad? What will everyone think of his having a trumped up grandee from the
French court, and residing in his house? They will think she is his mistress.”

 
“Mother, you can be very unforgiving at
times. Who else was there to help Angelica? And why should any one think badly
of Richard?”

 
“Darling Diamonta,” said her mother, most
stern. “Francois de Boviere and his sister are
 
. . . How shall I say . . .Not of noble blood. They are noble in name
only, and their title and land acquired by their great grandfather for service
to the King. They are noblesse militaire, and you know quite well what that
means.”

 
“You despise the de Boviere family just
because their great grandfather gained royal favour by way of military service
to Louis?”

 
“I have my reasons.”

 
“Clearly, because even Richard made mention
of your stiffness and coolness toward him last time he came by.

 
Her mother’s cheeks flushed profusely. “It
is a long story, and
I
, daughter of a true aristocrat, have no desire to
air my reasons over hot coals. Suffice to say I have no wish to meet with
Francois, for he is no doubt his father’s son in every way. As for Angelica, I
am quite happy for her to remain your friend.”

 
At mere mention of Francois tears welled,
and Diamonta fought them back. “He’s probably dead, for Angelica has received
no word to say he is alive and safe out of France.”

 
“Probably for the best.” With that her
mother turned, and flounced off.

 
Now, more than ever, she wished to know what
reason her mother had to hate Angelica and Francois’ father. She would never be
able to ask outright if Angelica knew of a rift between the families, but a few
subtle inquiries might bring something tangible to light.

 
A ride over to Park House Estate to pay
visit seemed an admirable idea. After all, neither she nor Richard had ever
stood on ceremony in exchange of visiting cards nor that of set times for
audience. They just called in, dropped by or bumped into one another when out
riding. Such had been their friendship for so long, until his return from
France.

 
Now when he came to visit it was to see
Leohne, and although she chaperoned her sister it was the lovers whom walked
together and she and Angelica for the most part excluded by their intimacy. So
time with Angelica, alone, would be a treat indeed. Already attired for a
morning ride, she drew on her gloves tucked her riding crop under arm and made
her way to the stable yard. Today was as good a time as any to delve into the
history of the de Boviere family.

~~

He dismounted and stood
surveying the land where fields sloped away downhill to woodland. He listened
to birdsong as his and his horse’ breath misted on the ether. Despite bitter
chill in the air and light frost upon the ground, moments alone like this
afforded him time to think, to plot and to plan his course ahead.

 
Here he was in a strange land and little to
his name save a few jewels and small stash of gold and silver he’d managed to
wrest from France. He hated to be beholden to the charity of another for
providing a roof over his head and that of his sister’s.

 
It pained him too, to think he was so close
yet so far from Diamonta, for it was impossible to pay visit at Oakley Manor.
But, if only, if only news of his miraculous escape from France could reach her
ears, he felt absolute sure she would make haste to Park House as soon as able.
Perhaps he lived in vain hope Miss Whitaker had eyes solely for him?

 
It still amused him, how on occasion of
their first meeting he’d made his interest known but she’d remained cool toward
him. In fact it was as though she had disliked him intensely. Yet, when they’d
met at the
Élysée
Palace, under the
supposed watchful eye of its owner
, Diamonta had
implied much interest in his whereabouts.

 
A smile crept to his
face, the memory of their second encounter sweet. For a glance now and then in
her direction had met with coquettish smiles, her glittering blue eyes having
tempted him come hither. Sadly, business engagements had prevented his paying
court to her alone, for keeping company with
Louise Marie Thérèse
 
Bathilde
 
de Bourbon had been imperative at that time, and the princess
herself gracious enough and of good wit.

 
Back then
he was not altogether master of his own destiny, and as a king’s spy had often
had to engage with people who were quite distasteful, despite some of the women
most appreciative of his attentions. It was true he had a reputation as that of
a rogue courtier, and such had served him well in gaining entry to houses where
otherwise the door would have been shut in his face. After all, as a member of
the grand lever du roi, shady characters at court needed to be sure of his
rogue status or they would not have confided in him and invited him into their
circle of acquaintances.

 
It all seemed like
another life now, the weeks and months that had passed since his escape had set
him on a quest he may never realise. Once a man of importance at court, now his
estate on home Island of Guernsey had been seized by revolutionary forces and
the house proclaimed property of the R
é
publique.

 
How lucky he was to
have reached home, where a few weeks of rest had served him well, and afforded
time to gather a few valuables to add to those acquired en route by means of
robbery. Not that robbery had been his intention when calling at various
châteaux during his mad escape from the hunting lodge. But with several of the
great places left abandoned, not a soul in residence and silver and gold and
jewellery too left where discarded: why not? Obviously the owners had fled in
much the same way as Angelica, and had only taken bare essentials with them.
The treasures of Saint Mont Marche were now secured by his hands and lay
hidden, and one day he would return to retrieve them, for they were his and his
sister’s inheritance.

 
He could not deny he
thought himself luckier than most, for with the shores of England reached, a
horse and livery acquired, he prayed Angelica safe and in the county of
Wiltshire. It had only taken a few questions asked in wayside inns to gain
knowledge as to the locale of Park House Estate and that of Oakley Manor.

 
All too aware of his
father’s
dishonourable behaviour toward Chloetilde de la Roche,
he could understand how Diamonta’s mother might view him the Devil’s spawn. To
venture there had been impossible and remained so. But, on arrival at Park
House he was received with open armed welcome and tears from his sister and a
slap on the back from Richard Courtenay, Viscount Somerton.

 
It came as no surprise, when at dinner later
that evening Richard had declared once knowledge of his presence was known at
Oakley Manor, it would be unlikely for Diamonta to be allowed to pay visit to
Park House, therefore it was best no word be sent to Diamonta of his miraculous
escape. Now all he had to do was wait. Wait until Diamonta chose to ride over
to Park House.

 
Sense of Jack Frost had begun to creep to
the bone. He turned up the collar of Richard’s riding coat, pushed the
viscount’s hat firm to head and remounted his horse. About to set off back to
Park House he heard horse hooves at the canter, and a female voice reached out
to him across the escarpment.

 
“
Richard
,
Richard
” she
shouted, slowing from canter to trot. “I’ve been trying to get away for days
now, and . . .” He’d turned to face her and she reined in close, her face
alight with what? Shock? Joy? It was hard to define, yet the way she said, “
Francois?
”
as though disbelieving he was right there before her, pure music to the ears.

 
“I take it you are pleased to see me.”

 
“Oh I am. You have no idea how Angelica and
I worried for your safety. All these months with no word, and now you are here.
It’s wonderful, and I cannot express how pleased I am to see you looking so
well.”

 
He reined his horse closer to hers, removed
his hat, leaned across and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I think I know very
well how delighted you are to see me.”

 
A coquettish smile swept to her face, her
response, “You take liberties, sir.”

 
Her hand to his resting on horn of her
saddle implied a kiss to cheek was very formal, and he chanced a kiss to lips.
The sweet taste of her lips for his pleasure drove the chill from his bones,
and fire within seared his heart like never before. Yes, he had wanted to be
sure his sister was safe from the revolutionaries but his staying here was all
to do with Diamonta. He wanted her, and had wanted her since that second
meeting at the
Élysée
Palace, and then
she’d vanished back to England.

 
“Tell me,” he said, eager to know the truth,
“tell me why you left in such a hurry that time from the palace.”

 
“Shall we ride on?” she said, urging her
horse forward. “I shall have you know I’ve come to see Angelica.”

 
He laughed, placed hat to head and reined
his horse about to ride alongside her. It was obvious she had no intention of
revealing her reason for hasty departure from France. No matter, he knew where
her heart lay, and at a guess knew why she had run away from him in Paris. For
that is precisely what she had done. Angelica had said as much, and had claimed
Diamonta had feared her heart lost to him and he only interested in her as that
of the libertine and womaniser that he was.

 
Given time he would prove otherwise, and
tell her that when he had first spied her in Paris she had stolen his heart
right there and then. Angelica had believed him and had agreed to lure Diamonta
back to France, but no one at that time had imagined the revolution would bring
with it the horrors of Madame Guillotine.

 
He shuddered at the thought of all those
heads fallen to basket, his main objective now to recoup much-needed funds, one
way or another. The jewels brought with him would have to be sold, the gold and
silver too. It was imperative he rent a house and some land. His imminent
future might prove tough, thrilling and utter mad at times but there was little
choice in what he could do to raise money to purchase quality horses, for they
would be his greatest asset.

 
With the path mapped in his head and
Lady
Luck
riding with him he would secure his heart’s desire in no time at all.
Why then should Diamonta’s proud mother turn a blind eye to a princely sum and
grand estate, which Francois De Boviere, Compte of Saint Mont Marche would soon
own if but on Foreign as opposed to French soil.

Chapter Six

~

Leohne fair flew through
the door of the drawing room, air of excitement quite apparent, and Diamonta
sensed good news. The news she had been expecting, though her little sister
knew nothing of Francois presence at Park House. Nor did her mother.

 
“Oh mother, mother, Richard is going to have
a masked ball at Park House. We are all invited.” She swirled about, in
pretence of dance. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”

 
“Sit down, sit down, you make me quite giddy
with your silliness,” said their mother, a flicker of a smile. “And what date
is this ball to be held upon?”

 
Leohne handed their mother a rather grand
gold leaf embossed card. “It is a month tomorrow.”

 
“Oh my goodness,” exclaimed their mother.
“So little time to . . .” She glanced up from the card. “No doubt you will both
wish to have new gowns, is that not so? Her eyes then veered to Diamonta. “I
dare say you were aware of this proposed masked ball before today, and never so
much as thought to tell me.”

  
Why did her mother always sniff out sense
of deception, and then attempt to pin it on her. “It was talked about, and I
sworn to secrecy. For good reason I might add, which will become apparent on
the night.”

 
“Oh do tell, Diamonta, do tell,” screeched
Leohne with delight. “Is it because it’s my birthday on that day? Is it in my
honour?”

 
Her mother thankfully realised big sister’s
plight though for the wrong reason, and turned her attention to Leohne. “Must
every thing be about you, young lady?”

 
Leohne’s expression turned mutinous if but
for a brief moment, her former sweetness quick to return in conciliatory
manner. “Forgive me. I just thought . . .”

 
“Young ladies of grace and manners think in
silence,” snapped their mother, rising from her chair. “You would do good to
remember that, my girl. Now, let us make plans for this masked ball. What shall
you both wear? What shall I wear?”

 
Leohne’s face came alight, their mother’s
former scolding tone a gentle reminder of formal upbringing within the upper
echelons of the French aristocracy. She held out her hands to both, and clasped
their hands quite tight as she drew each in turn to her lips. “My beautiful
daughters, and I so proud of both.” She let slip their hands and marched off.
“Come, for we
shall
go to the ball . . . All three, and Charles of
course.”