The Rogues Three rode until they were out of sight, and then, all of them breathless, pulled their horses up and allowed the steeds to slowly walk into the thick of the woods. They sat their horses stiffly, each unable to speak after their terrifying experience.
Finally, Nigel broke the silence and exclaimed, “I can’t believe he let us go. What did you say to him, Taff?” He then turned to his nephew. “Seth, your accent was absolutely prime. Well done.”
“I am sorry … this is my fault,” said Taffy, changing the subject away from his question. “I had a ‘bad feeling’ when the coach approached and should have stopped us, but I didn’t get enough of a warning in time and absolutely no vision at all…”
“Never mind that; we narrowly escaped, that’s what—and that Hotspur … how he came out ready to take all three of us on,” said Seth and Taffy caught the note of admiration in his tone.
“By Jove, yes,” agreed Nigel. “And Seth … did you see the way he managed Taffy’s horse? He kept it between us the entire time while he held onto Taffy!” He shook his head. “We were in a damnable fix, and it wasn’t your fault ‘ole girl,” he said to Taffy. “I mean—what could you do?”
She thought of her promise to the Hotspur. She had done what she could do, may the fates save her. Would he call in his debt? Or would he simply choose to humiliate her to amuse himself?
She sighed. “Right then. No time to do more than ride to the meeting now and tell them there shall be no more of th
e Rogues Three. They are retiring.” She stared through the darkness, noticed their shoulders slumped, and smiled to herself. It was time they all grew up a bit and began handling their political points of view in a different manner. She started off toward the small cabin where the Luddites had chosen to hold their meeting this night. Every week it was a different location.
As their horses weaved their way through the woods to the small clearing that housed a farmer’s cottage, her brother and uncle were still babbling on about ‘Hotspur this … and Hotspur that…’ She rolled her eyes and went deep into thought. Her future now had a black cloud hanging over it, and its name was the rakehell Hotspur!
“Well, we are done playing Robin Hood,” said Nigel. “It has been good fun … but can’t risk it anymore.”
“More than fun. There has been a certain amount of justice robbing the worst of the mill owners in the name of the movement—calling out their sins against them while they stand there and hand over their money.” Taffeta added with a sigh as she dismounted.
“Aye, but ‘tis at an end now…” said her brother, adding his own heavy sigh.
“The thing is…” said Nigel. “What end does it accomplish? It simply hasn’t served to help their situation, has it?”
“We need to tell King Lud he needs a new approach,” said Taffy thoughtfully.
Her brother and uncle looked at her and then at each other, and Nigel said, “She is a knowing one.”
“Aye,” agreed her brother with a proud tone. “That she is.”
It was later, much later that the ‘knowing one’ lay in bed telling herself she wasn’t very ‘knowing’ at all. Hotspur was bound to call in her debt to him, and soon, and then what would she do? Would she go to his bed willy nilly? Was that why she had the vision of him naked?
He was reputed to be a connoisseur of women, a rogue of hearts, and would no doubt subject her to … to…
She closed her eyes, thought about his kiss, and licked her lips in spite of herself. Faith! She was going to have to add tart to the list of names she was compiling against herself. However, this name did not really make her close her eyes in shame. Indeed, when she thought of being a tart in Hotspur’s arms, she wasn’t ashamed at all.
~*~
It was the end of April in the year 1813, and London was in a convulsion of activity. Jane Austin had captivated the Prince Regent with her Pride and Prejudice, which so very closely mirrored the Regency society.
Lord Byron amused his peers with his scandals. And Lady Caroline Lamb added to those scandals by taking his book, his ring, and copies of his letters, as she couldn’t bear to part with the originals, and burning them in the public square.
London’s haute ton lived for these things, and tittered gleefully over every new escapade anyone who was anyone managed to become embroiled in as fodder for gossip.
As sister of a duke and niece to a lord, Taffeta should have been prepared for such flurries and wayward talk, but the sorry truth was that she was, in spite of her class, only used to country ways, country hours, and country manners.
She found the haute monde a shallow group of fashion mongers bent on entertaining themselves at the misfortunes of others, and was heartily wishing she could turn on her heel and return home.
However, her aunt Sissy had plans for her, and her uncle and brother were busy taking their idealistic causes to Parliament.
Her male relatives had taken lodgings in Duke Street, and she was no longer constantly in their charge. But even so, her aunt allowed her a great deal of license, saying only that she must do her proud and align herself with the match of the season.
“And who would that be?”
“There is only one, but no one, not even you with your style, name, and fortune stands a chance of catching him…” Her aunt sighed.
“And he is?”