Amelia managed to squeeze past a few groups of people before she was accosted once again.
“Forgive me, Madam, but I must insist that you accompany me to the orangery for your own safety,” said a highwayman in a purple frock coat.
It was not William, but the invitation meant she was confident of the man’s identity.
His Grace, the Duke of Roehampton, William’s closest friend, as well as a dear acquaintance of her own.
She opened her fan, lavishly decorated with copies of the drawings in Egyptian tombs, and began to flutter it flirtatiously.
“I was sent to meet my secret protector by your companion of the road and was on my way to the orangery when you accosted me. Are you the one I was to meet, or are you detaining me for nefarious reasons of your own?”
The duke looked surprised for a moment and then stepped back so that he could execute a bow. “I am glad that my brother conveyed his message. I am shocked he left you to make such a perilous journey alone.”
“He wanted to spend time with the Blind Beak of Bow Street,” she replied, referencing the costume choice of Lydia.
He smirked. “That explains everything, then. Allow me to escort you for the rest of your journey. There are many nefarious characters on your path, and honor demands that I protect you from them—particularly Marc Antony, who seems intent on catching your eye if you are foolish enough to look to your right.”
She flashed the duke her winning smile and very deliberately did not look at anything but his face. “Am I being abducted? How thrilling!”
He grinned. “It is a pity you are under the protection of another, for now, I cannot steal you away in good conscience. Regrettably, I must remain honorable, and thus the only abducting that can occur must be at his behest.”
“And is your friend a terrible rogue? Should I be afraid for my virtue as well as my jewels?”
“I don’t think he’s capable of robbing virtue, even when it’s tied up on a silver platter and accompanied by a sign stating it’s free to partake,” replied the duke, momentarily dropping out of character. “We have tried to teach him that it’s not theft when the prize is willingly given, but he is unequivocal about utilizing written contracts where verbal contracts should suffice. Possibly because he loses the power of speech regularly, but it could just be that he likes complicated things.”
She couldn’t help laughing at this description, which was oddly endearing despite the double entendre that the duke had pointedly made.
“It is a wonder that your friend should be found in the company of highwaymen.”
“Very true, for he is the angel to our devils, and keeps the rest of our band honest.”
She cast a dubious look at the duke.
“He keeps us more honest than we would be without him,” he corrected smoothly. “Queen Cleopatra, before I take you to meet with my dear brother, I feel compelled to put a word in your ear.”
They stopped just to the side of the doorway, their conversation disguised by the hubbub of music and laughter that swirled around them.
“And what would that be, Sir Highwayman?”
Even with a mask covering half his features, she could see the expression on his face change.
“He’s not like us, Amelia,” he eventually said, so softly that she had to lean in to catch his words. “He thinks with his heart, but God forgot to connect it to his mouth. Just…have mercy, my dear.”
She did not have a chance to recover from this rare display of sincerity from His Grace. Before she could respond, he had resumed his usual arrogant swagger, captured her hand in his, and placed a firm kiss to her fingers.
“That was payment for my escort, my Queen.”
He turned toward the nearest group of women and brandished his pistol, demanding that the ladies stand and deliver a kiss in exchange for their lives, much to their obvious delight.
“A bunch of devils you might be,” she murmured as she watched him walk away, “but you are excellent friends, of that I have no doubt.”
Amelia took a moment to run her hands over the lengths of her hair and to smooth down her skirts. Her heart thundered as she entered the orangery, and she felt queasy with excitement. Whatever the outcome of this conversation, at least she would know, once and for all, whether William truly reciprocated her feelings.
Chapter Five
’Twas early in the morning, before I rose to travel
Up came a band of soldiers led in by Captain Howell
I drew both of me pistols for me girl had stole the rapier
But I couldnae shoot the water, so a prisoner I was taken
Mush rim damma dur um da
One for the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
Darling Sporting Jenny
William had removed his frock coat; good manners be damned. He felt considerably more foolish dressed as a highwayman than he did in nothing but his shirtsleeves, even if half of his acquaintance would faint in horror at the sight of him dishabille in public.
He settled down on the side of the raised orchid beds, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, one foot still on the ground for balance. His loo mask had long since been discarded, and he tried to silently work through Louis’s advice on how to declare his love to Amelia.
“Just say it, you fool,” he murmured to himself. “Amelia, I love you, and despite what you may think, I always have. I know I have never shown it, and that I have the romantic inclinations of a dead trout, but if you look past my utter lack of social prowess, my odd interests, and the fact I am something of a joke among the dashing set, I believe I would make a passable husband if you don’t mind my filling the house with collections of old pots and long-dead things.”
He opened his eyes and stared at the orchids.
“Why would she marry a prosy old bore like you, William?” he asked himself. “She has you as a companion already, and there are better, richer, and far more romantic men out there for her. All you’ve got to offer is an interest in ancient wall scribbles that you have no idea how to interpret. You’re not even a good antiquarian.”
“William? Is that you?”
Amelia’s voice cut into his musings, and the sound was so unexpected that in his bid to get to his feet quickly, he forgot that his leg was already elevated on the side of the orchid bed and lost his balance. He sprawled painfully onto the tile floor, swore loudly, and then clambered back to his feet as though nothing untoward had occurred.
She appeared from behind the large palm plants, and he could see laughter hovering in her eyes. What little hope was left in him died, for he knew he looked as much of a fool as he felt.
“Erm. Yes. Hello, Amy,” he said, his voice hoarse for reasons he did not understand.
She looked him up and down, then cocked her head to one side in query. “I don’t understand your costume. Why have you forgone your coat?”
“I’m an unrepentant gambler,” he lied, seizing on a memory of Charles Fox playing Faro at Brooks’s club for two days and nights without a break. “I forgot that many of the ladies would not know the state of some gentlemen after a long session of cards at the club, though, so it wasn’t as clever an outfit as I imagined.”
She chuckled softly. “That’s so like you, William, intelligent beyond measure, but lacking in common sense at times. You should at least wear a mask, so people know it is a costume.”