Masquerade at Middlecrest Abbey Read online

  Dedication

  For my son, Luke

  My joy, my heart, my favorite scientist.

  Thank you for your endless smiles, your witty humor, and your infectious love of adventure. You teach me every day to see the world in a new way and to enjoy every precious moment. I love you.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Praise for Abigail Wilson

  Also by Abigail Wilson

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  1815

  Southeastern England

  I blinked a few times and took a deep breath. Apparently I’d survived.

  Shaky, I pressed my hand to the wet gash on my temple as the world around me swirled into focus.

  Gunshots. Highwaymen. The carriage crashing to its side. The whole awful encounter raced through my mind like a runaway horse.

  The blazing afternoon sun filtered in through a window of the overturned carriage, illuminating disheveled squabs that slumped to my right and left. Dust lay suspended in the air, oddly seasoned by the scent of my lavender perfume. The bottle must have broken when the carriage crashed.

  Wedged between the door and the seat, I attempted to sit up, but my muscles ached in response.

  A faint cry took flight on the wind, and my eyes shot fully open. “Isaac!” I clawed at the splintered wood around me. “Isaac? Mama’s here.” I could hear my cousin’s words resounding in my mind as I struggled to get my bearings. “You really should be more careful with the boy.”

  I thrust a loose bandbox from my legs and forced myself semi-upright. The movement sent a shooting pain like lightning through my head, and I cried out. My stomach rolled in answer as blood throbbed its way to my forehead. What was left of the carriage I was pinned within swam around me in circles, but nothing would keep me from my son.

  Several heart-pounding seconds passed as I pawed through the disheveled interior. Finally I located Isaac’s curly blond head in the far corner. Black spots crept into the sides of my vision as I stared at his motionless form. Was he injured—or worse?

  I stretched out my trembling hand just as his eyes popped open. He let out a frantic cry and his gaze found mine. Gasping for air, I screamed, “Oh Isaac!” Tears spilled down my cheeks as he crawled over the various pieces of luggage and into my lap, my fingers sliding over every inch of his precious body.

  “Madam, are you hurt?” A deep voice echoed from somewhere above, but I couldn’t maneuver around to see its owner. My ears buzzed as I drew Isaac close, reveling in the feel of his warm arms.

  We had a rescuer, but what now? My entire body throbbed in pain. And—the Palmers! They were expecting us in Dover. Tonight. The horrid highwayman had ruined my carefully laid plans.

  Blood trickled down my wrist as I pressed the wound on my forehead. “I don’t think anything is broken, sir . . . only, my head . . . I believe I hit it rather hard.”

  “It was a ghastly accident, I’m afraid.” The voice was that of a gentleman, a passerby perhaps? “I’m afraid your coachman has suffered greatly. I’ve bound up his leg, but he has not yet regained consciousness.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Indeed, it was ghastly! Did you see the devil who ran us from the road?”

  A pause. “Well, yes.” A metallic squeak sounded, and the equipage jolted. “I’ve the door open above you now. I think it best if I come in and assess your wounds before lifting you out.”

  Unable to take the sudden flash of bright light, I shielded my eyes with my hand. “That sounds reasonable. My son seems unharmed, though I’m not certain I can move at present. My head is awfully tender.”

  The carriage shivered as the man dropped safely into the coach. He pushed my valise out of the way and knelt at my side, bringing his face into view at last. I stifled a gasp as an icy wave filled my chest.

  It was him—the highwayman. I clutched Isaac against me.

  He held up his hand, his voice tender. “Don’t be frightened. I’m only here to help.”

  “Is that so?” I pushed through the burning twinge inching down my neck to dip my chin. “A highwayman with a conscience. What a comfort.”

  His hand retreated to the rag covering his nose and mouth, and he mumbled under his breath, “I forgot I still had this thing on. Guess there’s no denying it now.”

  “Certainly not.”

  He reached up to lower the mask but hesitated as he gripped the cloth. “Perhaps it would be best if we remain as we are—two strangers, nothing more.”

  I shrank against the cold glass of the side window, the memory of my terror at the approaching robbery charging my nerves once again. “What is it you want? We haven’t any money . . . or jewelry for that matter. I was on my way to accept a position as housekeeper.” I gave him a hard smile. “You’ve risked our lives for nothing.”

  He shook his head, his voice grim. “This entire mishap was just a shocking misunderstanding. I’m dreadfully sorry to have involved you and your son.”

  My gaze flicked to the broken window. “And our driver?”

  “Unfortunately, he will need a doctor straightaway.” The highwayman gestured to my bent legs lying lifeless among the loose items that had fallen during the collision. “Considering we haven’t much time, it is imperative I check your injuries at once. May I?”

  I flinched as he extended his arms.

  His voice softened. “You know you’ll have to trust me if I’m to get the three of you out of this.”

  He sounded reasonable enough, and someone else might not come along for some time. But I’d not let a man this close to me . . . not since Brook. My muscles stiffened before I forced a nod. After all, what other options did I have?

  The highwayman felt along my feet and knees before moving his hands to my arms and around my shoulders. His touch was gentle yet assured and eventually brought a pair of pale-blue eyes a few inches from my face. We assessed each other for a quiet moment. The man’s steady gaze was familiar somehow. Did I know him? Surely not.

  He gathered Isaac from my chest, then strong-armed me into a sitting position close to his side. “There. Does it pain you terribly to move?”

  At first I thought the worst was over, but my ears soon buzzed to life, my stomach churning in response.

  Unaware of what raged inside my body, he went on. “I believe there is an inn a few miles ahead—”

  All at once my face felt hot, and a black veil dropped over my vision. I tried to warn the man, flitting my hands in the air, but there wasn’t time before I tipped over—straight into his lap.

  The unexpected caress of the man’s fingers at my back and on my arm startled me as I woke, and he guided me once again into a sitting position. I thought his subtle touch at o
dds with the villainous robber he presented on the road moments before, but I was far too preoccupied to remark upon it.

  He moved quickly to assess the wound on my head. “I begin to fear you might be concussed.”

  “Actually, I feel a bit better now.” But I’d spoken too soon. The carriage seemed to tilt, and I felt the man lower me back onto the side of the coach, which served as the floor at present.

  “This is a bit more complicated than I thought. I’m greatly concerned you’ve— What the deuce?” He sprang to his feet and cast a quick glance out the window above before ducking back into the shadow of the coach, Isaac wriggling in his arms. A muscle twitched in his cheek. His voice, however, was composed as he said, “It appears we’re to have company. There are horses approaching.”

  The roar I’d heard before swelled within my ears, and I feared I might slip from consciousness once again. The highwayman sought to avoid my stare but couldn’t entirely manage to do so. I wondered if he shared my concern or if something else drove his actions. And those eyes. They were indeed familiar. Struck by a sudden notion, I motioned him near. He leaned toward me and, cautiously, I scrutinized every last curve of his exposed face.

  Could it be? Brook? When he’d broken my heart and refused to acknowledge my son about a year and a half ago, I thought I’d never see him again. Yet here he was—stooping beside me as if he owned the world. I shifted to mouth his name, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate. Perhaps I’d already fallen within a dream. As I continued searching the eyes that focused on mine, I realized they were not quite as familiar as I’d thought.

  The man’s hand was at my chin, his voice urgent. “Stay with me. It won’t be long now till help is upon us.” Footsteps pounded somewhere beyond the black tunnel of my vision. The highwayman shouted up at the open door above us, “We’re in here. Make haste! A woman is injured.”

  Then he whispered to himself, “Oh God, what have I done?”

  It was not Brook Radcliff speaking beneath that mask. No, the voice was deeper, more refined. In a curious haze, I tugged the rag from the man’s face just as voices crested the open door of the carriage.

  “I say! Is everyone all right in there?”

  Darkness circled my vision. As the buzzing in my ears drowned out all other sounds, I lay stunned at what my fingers had unwittingly revealed.

  It wasn’t Brook who forced my carriage from the road and yelled, “Stand and deliver!” It was his disreputable older brother, Lord Torrington.

  * * *

  My fingers curled around a soft blanket as I nestled into a pillow. A dull pain hovered around the depths of my eyes, but it remained at bay by what I came to realize was a cool cloth across my brow. For a moment I allowed my mind the space to rest before the whole terrible nightmare of the carriage accident forced me into consciousness.

  The room around me stood dark and unfamiliar. A solitary candle guttered on a small table beside the bed. Voices and laughter resounded from beyond the walls. I squinted, peering into the looming shadows that lingered about. I’d never seen the sparse furniture that dotted the room or, more importantly, the figure seated in a nearby chair and slumped forward on the eiderdown.

  It seemed my rescuers had found a way to recover me from the coach, after all. However, they couldn’t have taken me far. The highwayman had mentioned a local inn.

  I swallowed hard against my parched throat. I was in great need of water, but I didn’t dare move for fear the staggering pain would return to my head. So I gently reached to awaken whoever had been appointed as my nurse, but my hand froze in midair inches from a rather large and muscular arm.

  It was a man.

  My heart stilled. The doctor?

  Whoever rested on my bed must have sensed a change, because he stretched out his arms and lifted his head for a long yawn before turning to face me. His voice was a little above a whisper. “You’re awake. Good. How’s the head?”

  I stiffened at the sight of the highwayman himself only to regret my hasty movement. I forced a measured breath. “What on earth are you doing in my bedchamber?”

  A practiced half smile crossed his face, which the feathering wave of candlelight made only more pronounced. He leaned forward, his thick, copper-colored hair dipping in and out of the darkness. “You wouldn’t believe me if you tried.”

  For once I was speechless. Never in all my life had I imagined such a moment with Brook’s impressive elder brother. My thoughts spun as I tried to make sense of what he’d said. What brought him here alone? To be certain of my recovery? To alleviate his guilt? In the coach he declared the accident a misunderstanding, yet how could that be true?

  I caught a probing look within Lord Torrington’s unnaturally pale eyes. He wasn’t here to ravish me. At least, I didn’t think he was. But that he had come with a purpose in mind was utterly clear.

  My voice cracked. “Where is my son?”

  “He’s asleep with the innkeeper’s daughter in her room. She seems a redoubtable girl with good sense. He will be well cared for in your absence.” He leaned back against his chair and folded his arms, which afforded me the first glimpse of his attire. A dressing gown of all things . . . better yet, my dressing gown.

  I jerked the blanket beneath my chin, and my stomach tightened. Had I been wrong about his intentions?

  “What do you mean by all this?”

  He ran a finger under the lapel. “Not my color, is it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His eyes softened as he adjusted the cloth that had slipped to the side of my forehead. “The doctor will be quite vexed with me if I rile you. He prescribed rest and quiet, and I assured him I would follow his instructions.” He paused. “The cool cloth, however, was my idea.”

  “How thoughtful.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my tone. I angled my chin, waiting for something else, some kind of explanation for his intrusion into my private room. “Well?”

  A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “You’re quite right. Undoubtedly you deserve an answer for my being here. Goodness knows it was not my intention from the start; nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ve a bit of a story to impart. But considering the doctor’s implicit instructions, I’m not certain you are well enough to hear the whole of it now.”

  I eyed the closed door. How could I possibly sleep without knowing everything? “What time is it?”

  “One in the morning. Do you require some water? Your voice sounds hoarse.”

  I nodded and watched as he crossed the room to a table near the door. With my initial shock subsided, I swallowed my pounding reservations and appraised my overnight intruder. Torrington certainly had an intelligence about him, even while wearing my robe. His commanding presence, though, was thankfully absent of the overbearing nature of many of his peers.

  I squinted into the dim light as he finished filling the water glass and turned back to face me. Though he and Brook favored each other in looks, Torrington had inherited his father’s broad shoulders and regal bearing, whereas Brook had always been lean and more relaxed.

  Torrington slid once again onto the straight-backed chair by the bed. Instinctively, my fingers curled tight around the blanket. I had only seen him across a crowded dance floor, but Brook had been right. His brother possessed a daring look. A flawless angle to his face, a firm chin. Years ago Brook labeled him a libertine. Goodness, I’d heard countless stories of Torrington’s conquests, which I remembered all too well—like the time Brook was forced to leave town to pay off one of his brother’s many mistresses. My throat burned at the thought.

  Torrington leaned forward and pressed the water glass to my lips, careful not to spill it on the bed. “Easy now. Not too much at once.” After I drank, he settled the glass on the bedside table and rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes suddenly somber. “I owe you a rather insufficient apology for what I’ve put you through today. And yet—” He offered a tentative smile. “I feel ridiculous doing so in my current state of dress. Of course, this was the
only thing in your trunk I could possibly wear.”

  “My trunk, huh? And where, may I ask, are your breeches?”

  “Being cleaned at present, although I doubt they shall be able to get out the blood, let alone return them in any reasonable length of time.” He shot me a quick grin. “I have come to learn there is a particularly interesting cock fight in the area. The ostler’s words, not mine. Hence, the White Lion Inn has been crushed with people and the help sadly unprepared.” He motioned to the chair. “Thus, here I sit and wait.”

  Hesitation laced my voice. “In my bedchamber? For what purpose, my lord?”

  He gave a lighthearted shrug and stood to cross the room, speaking over his shoulder when he reached the fireplace. “Rest assured, I did all I could at the outset, demanding two rooms from the proprietor of this backwater establishment, but there was just the one available. And since he thought we, uh . . .” He propped his arm on the mantel, a nervous laugh hovering on his breath. “Regardless, it was imperative that I speak to you alone.”

  Alone. Only one room available? The thought sent a fresh wave of nerves tingling across my shoulders. “Then, by all means, speak at once. I’ve never had the patience for pleasantries or the least qualms about screaming for rescue, if need be.”

  He turned, a hint of amusement about his eyes. “Touché.” His smile faded. “I’m afraid there is much you must be made aware of, and hastily at that. You are Miss Cantrell, are you not?”

  A faint tremor accompanied my answer. “Well . . . yes.” He knew me. From his brother? There was a moment of strained silence. “And you, I am well aware, are Lord Torrington.”

  He tapped his fingers on the mantel. “It appears my instincts proved correct. I had a feeling you recognized me in the coach.” The flame from the fire dipped, and he moved to rub his forehead. Tiredness lay beyond his practiced façade. “Though you and I have never been introduced, I am well acquainted with a few members of your family: Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair.”

  I paused, my heart drumming in anticipation, certain he would add that his brother was once in love with me, but he didn’t acknowledge the connection. Perhaps Brook had faithfully kept the secret he thought so necessary at the time. Of course, such a strict confidence had benefited him and only hurt me. Isaac’s bright smile and curly head came to mind—so like his odious father.