Free A Highwayman Came Riding by Joan Smith Page B

life. She would not dare to do such a thing in Bath, where all the old cats knew her and would gossip, but no one knew her here. Being on holiday seemed to relax the rules of acceptable behavior.
    He saw she was wavering, and to convince her he said, “I have something I would like to discuss with you, Marianne. Something important.”
    The “Marianne” seemed to lend a new familiarity, almost an intimacy, to their acquaintance. She remembered the duchess’s words, that Macheath might want to return the diamonds. “Something important” sounded as if she could be right. If this was the case, Marianne had something important she wished to say to him as well. She might be able to talk him out of this sinful life he led. It seemed wrong to refuse such a possibility of reforming a criminal.
    “Very well,” she said, “but I should leave Her Grace a note, in case she awakens and I am not here. She will be worried, you know.”
    “By all means, leave her a note.” He reached in his pocket and handed her a pencil, drew out a notebook, and tore off a sheet.
    Marianne wrote in perfect copperplate, “Your Grace: I have gone belowstairs to have a word with Captain Macheath. I shan’t be long. Marianne.” She tiptoed into the next room and put the note on the bedside table under the lamp, turned the wick down low, and tiptoed back to her room.
    “Aren’t you going to lock your door?” he asked as they left.
    “Oh, should I? I don’t have anything worth stealing. I never stayed at an inn before. Since I’ve been grown-up, I mean.”
    “There are folks who would steal the buttons off your nightgown.”
    She gave him a pert grin. “True, but as you will be with me, where is the danger?”
    He clamped his hand to his heart and cried, “Touched to the quick!” in melodramatic accents. “Still, best to be sure. I am not the only highwayman on the prowl. We’ll lock the duchess’s room as well.”
    She returned and got the keys from the duchess’s toilet table. Macheath locked both doors and they went belowstairs. He led her through the lobby to a snug little private parlor with a cozy fire blazing in the grate and a table laid for three. This reassured her that he had intended to include the duchess in the invitation, and made her more comfortable. The lamps were turned down low. She glanced around at the hunting prints on the wall, the indifferent carpet on the floor, and the miniature sideboard holding pewter plates and some dishes.
    A bottle of red wine was open on the table. Macheath showed her to a seat and poured two glasses. A waiter came to the parlor to take their orders.
    “They do an excellent beefsteak here,” he tempted. “Why don’t you try a little?”
    “I’ll have dessert with you later,” she said.
    “A sweet tooth, eh? I suspected as much. My sister is the same.”
    “You have a sister!” she exclaimed.
    “Two, along with a mama and, once upon a time, a papa, though I don’t remember him well. Did you think I was hatched from an egg in a cuckoo’s nest?”
    Macheath’s having sisters seemed to normalize him in some manner Marianne couldn’t quite comprehend. “I’m an only child,” she said vaguely.
    As soon as the servant left, she said, “What are your sisters like, Captain?”
    “The younger, Meggie, is rather like you. The older, Eleanor, is more like me. The black ewe of the family,” he added. “As both are still in the schoolroom, however, there may be time to reform Eleanor yet.”
    The word “reform” reminded Marianne of why she was here. “You said you wanted to discuss something important, Captain.”
    “I did. I do, but let us enjoy dinner first, become a little acquainted. All I know about you is that you are an orphan and act as the duchess’s companion and dogsbody. It cannot be a pleasant life for such a young lady.”
    “Young! Why thank you, sir. I am one-and-twenty.”
    “That old?” he said, chewing back a smile. “I would not have taken you for a