Free The Highwayman's Mistress by Francine Howarth Page A

robbery?”
      That is correct,” said Francois, lowering
one pistol a little. “I am Le Compte of Saint Mont Marche. You think I need
your jewels when I have my own fortune?”
      “You are so like Jacques, though a little
taller, methinks.” Was she mistaken or had her mother’s tone mellowed, but no,
it was all a ruse. “Be sensible, Francois. Surrender your pistols. There is no
chance you will escape the hangman, not now we have seen your face and I able
to identify you.”
      She could hold back no longer, and skirts
raised, she sped down the stairway to Francois side. “He’s not a highwayman. He
has wealth, and a house, and we are to be married very soon.”
      “ Diamonta , what nonsense is this?
Come here,” demanded her mother.
      She would not. She would die beside Francois
rather than lose him.
      “Do as she says, Diamonta,” he said, nudging
her away. “Never fear, my love, this trouble I am in will be resolved very
soon, and I will return for you anon.”
      “Resolved, how may I ask is your situation
to be resolved?” demanded her mother, eyes full of malice toward Francois,
though in truth to that of Jaques de Boviere. “Return for my daughter’s hand in
marriage? Never . I will see you dead by my own hand before that will
happen.”
      “I walked into this house innocent about my
business and I am then accused of attempted robbery, now highway robber and
afforded no right of reply.” Francois bowed to the proud stance of her mother,
threaded a pistol through his belt and opened the door, the other pistol he
kept pointed in the direction of the assembled. ”It is best I take my leave
until such time as sense prevails.”
      Richard appeared at that moment at the head
of the staircase, and said, “What in the Lord’s name is happening here?”
      Everyone glanced up, and in that brief
respite Francois disappeared into the night and the door slammed shut.
      “After him,” squawked Lady Fortnum.
      Several men rushed forward, and in the
mayhem and onrush of ladies in gowns she watched the door hauled wide. Male
guests rushed outside, and a horse could be heard galloping in to the distance.
      Her mother strode forward as though everyone
else in the hallway had ceased to exist, her wrath to be expected and hopefully
to be as short-lived as it had been in the past once the heat of the moment was
over and done with. “This admirer, the one whom sent the jewels, it is he, is
it not? Francois de Boviere?”
      “Yes, and I love him,” her only defence,
which would not pacify her mother, she knew that much. She was in trouble, deep
trouble. “You once loved Francois’ father, and I know what happened, and I can
understand why you were so upset by it all.”
      “How dare you shame the Whitaker name, you harlot ?”
Her mother’s words cut deep, but the slap to her face cut deeper. Never before
had her mother laid a hand on her. This was different. Her mother’s expression
alone implied the full force of her rage was yet to surface, her sudden grip on
arm merciless. “Home, we are going home right this minute my girl. And you
shall learn a great deal of humility before you will be allowed to show your
face in polite society again.”
      She could barely hold back tears, her cheek
stinging as her mother turned to a liveried footman, and said, “Be so good as
to call for my carriage.”
      What did her mother mean? What dreadful
punishment had she in mind?
      “ Must we go?” implored Leohne, mouth
petulant as ever, eyes dancing and as good as gloating at big sister’s shame.
        Richard appeared at her mother’s elbow with Angelica, who’d kept
silent throughout as though as stunned as everyone else that her brother was
now a highwayman for real. Richard, braver than all of them, said, “My dear
lady, why so angry? Is not Diamonta’s affection for Francois a mere passing
fancy?”
      “Passing fancy or not. He will never have my
daughter’s hand in