The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

“He was not good to you?” Mrs Wentworth’s smile did not lose its sweetness. “Oh, that does not surprise me at all. I am sure you have many questions, otherwise you would not have sought me out, my dear, but first I would like to know your name.”

“Phoebe.” Her Christian name only. That would suffice. She was fortunately clear-headed enough to know how to protect herself.

“Phoebe. Well, I hope I can help you. As you can see,” she waved a hand about her, “I have safety and freedom and a measure of security and happiness. I would not live the life of a conventional married woman again, let me tell you.”

“Mrs Plumb looks after you?”

“And I dance for her clients in return.” Ariane looked satisfied as she added, “It is perfectly respectable. Mrs Plumb has a legion of vigilant servants to ensure any unwanted overtures are summarily dealt with. Now, what else would you like to know?” She reached across the table laden with grapes and other fruits and refilled her goblet from a flask which she handed to Phoebe. “Let me start from the beginning, shall I? Perhaps recount my miserable childhood as the seventh daughter of an innkeeper, and my equally unhappy marriage to the fine gentleman, Mr Wentworth, who used to break his journey at our inn at regular intervals. We both soon regretted our impulsiveness.”

“And then you went your separate ways? Oh, but I can see why!” Phoebe put down her now empty goblet and clasped her hands. “He’s a cruel man. But he’s also a very wealthy one now. I am sure you cannot know that else you’d not be content to remain here, in all but poverty, when he could be furnishing you with all that to which a lady like you is entitled.”

“A lady like me?” Ariane smiled. “I am as much a lady as Mr Wentworth is a gentleman.”

“But a lady is what you are. A titled one on account of Mr Wentworth having inherited the estate of Lord Cavanaugh, his second cousin, following the unexpected deaths of his two brothers.” Phoebe knew she was growing too excited without perhaps explaining matters properly since Ariane did not appear to be either believing her, or overjoyed at her new lot in life.

“Well, that’s hardly going to benefit me if it means I have to live with the man.” She shrugged. “I’d rather forgo all the riches in the world.”

“Oh, I can well imagine it,” Phoebe declared warmly. “But if it’s revenge you’re after, then I know exactly how to achieve it. We suspected Mr Wentworth had married but was keeping it secret so he could make another more advantageous marriage.”

Ariane raised an eyebrow, and Phoebe went on; her tongue unleashed as if she could not have maintained discretion for all the world. “To me, in fact. He wished to marry me once my husband was dead. I can’t give you all the reasons, but I will tell you this: Mr Wentworth is not only a brutal man to any innocent female with whom he has any dealings, but he is also a murderer!”

“A murderer!”

Phoebe wiped her brow. The exertion of her strong declarations was making her feel weak and addleheaded. At least she had Ariane’s attention. “I know how to expose him, or if not expose him, then make him acknowledge you so that he receives the justice he is due.”

“Expose him?” Ariane shifted closer to Phoebe on the seat. She seemed confused.

“First, though, you’ll need to produce evidence to show you both are legally married.” Phoebe wiped her sweating brow once more, gratefully accepting another glass Ariane poured for her. The closeness of the room was almost unbearable. Though the lamps cast only the dimmest light in order to show the dancers in their pale, sheer clothing to best advantage, the glow still seemed too bright.

Ariane looked skeptical. “And how would that profit me? Would Wentworth not wish me harm if he knew I was doing this?”

Suddenly, it seemed of the utmost importance to convince her. “It could be done in secret,” said Phoebe. “If you provided me with evidence, we—or rather you—could go to the authorities. Wentworth would then be forced to acknowledge you as his wife.”

Phoebe swayed, her head suddenly feeling too heavy for its stem. Mrs Wentworth was still looking skeptical.

“Perhaps the wife of such a brutal fiend would prefer to remain hidden. Or not wish to be acknowledged as such in view of the fact her husband was apparently a murderer.”

Phoebe tried to raise her head from where she’d rested it on Ariane’s shoulder, but for some reason couldn’t. She wished she’d thought better how to address such reasonable fears. “I’d help you,” she said, finding it difficult to articulate her words. “You needn’t come out of hiding. I have another friend who also has had experience of Mr Wentworth. It was she who suggested the idea. Wentworth said he’d marry her, and then she realized he was already married. He needs to be exposed.”

Phoebe felt Ariane stiffen. “Who else knows my secret?” She sounded fearful for the first time, and Phoebe almost confessed the reason for her own hatred of Wentworth except that her anonymity was as important to her as Ariane’s seemed to be to herself.

In a moment of clarity, she thought that perhaps she should leave now. She’d explain to Ada that Ariane didn’t want it made public she was Wentworth’s wife because it put her entirely back into his power. No doubt she’d kept her location secret all these years, and was so terrified at the prospect of finding herself in Wentworth’s clutches again, that not all the trappings his new position afforded were worth the danger.

Phoebe rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on Ariane’s face as she answered Ariane’s question. “My friend, Ada, asked me to come here and find you. She was badly used by Mr Wentworth too.”

“Ada?”

“I won’t reveal her full name, but she was concerned for you.”

“Just as I am concerned about you, Phoebe.” Ariane patted Phoebe’s shoulder and pushed a pillow under her neck as she rose and went to the bell pull. A young servant answered quickly, curtseying after she’d received Ariane’s instructions.

“Now, let us take refreshment,” Ariane said with forced brightness, indicating the other dancers who appeared oblivious to them. Phoebe stared, wondering how they could appear so vacantly happy all this time. She rubbed her eyes again. The room really was swimming. “Please, may I have some water?” she asked. The back of her throat was burning.

Ariane bent to pour her a glass from the other decanter on the table before stepping away and beginning to pace. “I really cannot understand how my whereabouts were discovered,” she mused. “I was so careful.”

“Please don’t be concerned, Mrs Wentworth. Neither Ada nor I would dream of revealing your whereabouts if it were against your wishes. We’d simply thought you needed to know. And that we could help you.” Phoebe stopped, closing her eyes, and Ariane said quickly, her voice warm in her ear, “Goodness, you don’t look at all well, Phoebe. Perhaps you should go. This is not the kind of place I think you are familiar with. The strange vapors are affecting you.”

Phoebe tried to rise but couldn’t. She mumbled, “You must expose him, though if you do not wish to be found by Wentworth, I can arrange that.”