“No, that was Sir Adam. Sir Adam Langley was…is Sir John’s son, and it was him that owned the manor before Lord Appleby took it over. His son, Master Gabriel, was meant to inherit, but…”
Her voice trailed off, and instead she began busying herself again with Antoinette’s clothing.
Antoinette’s shivers were fading as the warmth of the fire seeped into her cold flesh. She was even becoming drowsy. She’d closed her eyes and was close to drifting off when Mary spoke again.
“I wouldn’t go into those woods again if I was you, miss. You might fall and hurt yourself, and no one would find you. Except the ghost of the witch, of course.”
“I don’t believe in witches,” Antoinette said sleepily. “Besides, Priscilla was probably an herbalist.” That would explain the lingering scent of herbs in the cottage.
Mary ignored her. “If you fell down and hurt yourself, Lord Appleby might think you’d run off, miss,” she said, with an odd little laugh. “I reckon he’d sack the lot of us, and then we’d all be looking for new jobs. So you see, miss, we can’t let you wander around alone in the woods.”
The girl was giving her a warning. Antoinette drew her quilt closer about her, as if for protection. “You don’t need to say anything to anyone about what happened, Mary. I feel foolish enough as it is. Let’s just forget it, shall we?”
Mary hesitated. “I’d like to say yes, miss, but surely it’s my duty to tell His Lordship if I think you’re putting yourself in danger?”
“Mary, I wasn’t in danger.”
“But, miss, it isn’t just ghosts to be found in those woods. What if some man was roaming about and he saw a pretty lady like you? I wouldn’t like to think about what might happen to you. What he might do to you. And how would I tell His Lordship that?”
She knew. Antoinette gripped the quilt tightly, her knuckles white. She didn’t understand how, but Mary knew.
It was no use confronting her, or confessing. The girl might feel compelled to act. But there was another way. “If…if you like you can have another of my dresses. Not the ruined one, but perhaps the royal blue? I believe it would suit your coloring very well, Mary.”
Mary had bent over to gather the wet clothing into her arms, hiding her face. “If you say so, miss,” she said tonelessly. “I never refuse a gift, and as you’ve so kindly offered…” She paused. “Maybe I’ll have the green instead. I’ve always fancied myself in green.”
“Very well, Mary. I’m sure the green will look just as good on you. And…thank you for your circumspection.”
But Mary didn’t answer, and the door closed behind her.
Alone, Antoinette sat and stared into the flames. Mary had guessed, but once she’d got what she wanted she seemed to lose interest. Antoinette hoped she wouldn’t say anything to the Wonicots, and more importantly she didn’t want Lord Appleby to know. If he decided to take her back to his house in Mayfair and force her into marrying him, she would be lost.
One dress seemed a small price to pay.
Antoinette snuggled into her quilt and sighed. Outside the rain was still falling, but softly now, gently running down the windowpanes. The sound was soothing, lulling her into forgetting her troubles, and remembering instead the pleasure of being in his arms. Her body ached in strange places, and she smiled. She’d told herself she was giving herself to the highwayman to take the initiative from Appleby, but that was far too simplistic. As was “giving.” They had given and taken from each other.
Did all women feel thus? She couldn’t believe it. There were too many unhappy wives in the world for that. If, she thought smugly, they all had a man like the highwayman waiting in the shadows, they wouldn’t have to be unhappy.
She stretched. Would he come to her again? Remembering the burning kiss he’d given her as he left her at the edge of the woods, she thought that he probably would. And anticipation made her smile.
Mary had to stop when she reached the landing, the wet clothing clutched tightly in her arms. She was shaking and the skin across her forehead felt tight, and there was a burning sensation behind her eyes as she held back tears. But they weren’t tears of sorrow.
Mary was angry.
Miss Antoinette Dupre hadn’t been lost in the woods. She’d gone there on purpose. She and Master Gabriel had lain down together in the leaves and joined their bodies. Mary had known as soon as she saw the higgledy-piggledy way Miss Dupre’s clothes were fastened, and the stains. She’d seen what men and women did when she was at home, in her village, spying on the beach when the young people went courting. Mary had always imagined herself and Master Gabriel, together, when she remembered those images.
Now Antoinette Dupre had stolen him from her.
She didn’t blame Gabriel for what had happened. Men were easily swayed by a clever woman’s tricks; she accepted that. It was the woman who was at fault, and this woman was another man’s mistress. She had everything. She had no right to set her sights on Mary’s Gabriel.
The tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. She bent her head, wiping them away on the wet clothes, furious with the world and everyone in it. What did she care for dresses, whether they were blue or green? Her dreams for a rosy future were ruined. In tatters. Like her heart.
No! I won’t let her have him!
She thudded down the stairs, heading toward the laundry. Master Gabriel was hers and always had been, and she wasn’t about to give him up. She had never doubted that one day Gabriel would marry her, and they would spend the rest of their lives together, here at Wexmoor Manor. It was meant to be, and nothing was going to interfere in their predestined future.
Mary thought again about how she’d tricked Miss Dupre into more or less admitting that something had happened in the woods. She’d been so quick to agree to give Mary the dress, to stop her telling. And that was because she was afraid of what would happen to her if Lord Appleby heard about her tryst with Master Gabriel.
And what would happen? Mary decided he’d have to come and take her away, or at least take her somewhere else, well away from Master Gabriel. Take her away…