The highwaymans letter, p.11
The Highwayman's Letter, page 11
The woman swallowed and nodded. “’Tis from my husband.”
He nodded. “I will leave you to read it, then.” He gave a little bow and turned to leave, but she caught his hand, and he turned back.
She dropped his hand, but her chin trembled as she looked him in the eye. “Thank ye,” she said. “Please tell that to whoever did this.”
“Of course,” Reggie said. “God bless you, ma’am.” He cleared his throat of the sympathetic emotion the encounter had generated and went on his way. Once he heard the door close behind him, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and slipped them into the coin purse he carried for accepting payment.
He had no notion whether the news he had just delivered was welcome or unwelcome—the former, he hoped—but he knew what it was to have information inaccessible, to have it just outside of one’s grasp. He knew what it was to wonder when he needn’t have wondered. People deserved news of their loved ones.
He walked with hurried steps toward Great Pulteney Street, watching as the streets grew wider, the houses cleaner and grander, the windows more plentiful and unboarded.
When he reached the townhouse belonging to Miss Carmichael, he took in a deep breath, reminding himself that he was here as Reggie the post boy and not as the Paladin. This required him to adopt coarser speech, just as he always did when out on deliveries. The gentry had certain expectations of someone of his station, after all, and they did not appreciate pretension from the people delivering their post. That it made for a greater contrast between Reggie and the Paladin was merely another reason to do it. The fewer similarities between the two of them, the better. Miss Carmichael was an intelligent woman, after all.
Not that there was any guarantee it would be she who received the post. Indeed, he had been pleasantly surprised when she had done so the last two times he had come. He had only been hoping for a quick sighting, but instead, he had received an entire conversation.
He rapped on the door and waited, heart pattering against his chest as he tried to distinguish whether the clicking of heels approaching the door was a good or bad sign.
To his chagrin, a footman opened the door, and Reggie swallowed his disappointment as the servant put out a hand for the post.
“Wait, Harley,” came a voice from behind. Miss Carmichael hastened through the doorway that led from the rest of the townhouse into the entry hall. “I can take the post myself.” She smiled at the footman. “Thank you.”
He bowed and left them.
Reggie didn’t dare hope that Miss Carmichael’s insistence upon receiving the post had anything at all to do with his being the deliverer of it, but hope was a persistent thing, and it paid little heed to what one did or didn’t dare.
He bowed. “Good day to ye, Miss Carmichael.”
She was still slightly breathless, as though she had been obliged to hurry to intercept him. Did she still expect a letter from the Paladin? “Good day, Mr. Sinclair.”
Hearing his surname on her lips produced a strange sensation inside him—satisfaction at knowing she had remembered it, which was certainly unexpected; and fear, for he had given her the name of the Paladin, even if she didn’t realize it.
“Yer post, Miss Carmichael.” He gave the letter to her and watched as she immediately looked at the writing on the front. There was the barest suggestion of disappointment in the way her shoulders dropped.
“I hope ye have an agreeable afternoon of studyin’ bee diagrams.”
Her brows drew together, and she checked the wafer which was, this time, sealed properly. “Did you look inside?” There was a hint of affront in her voice.
“No, ma’am,” Reggie hurried to say. “Ye’ll recall I mentioned the oath of office I’ve taken. I’d never read yer post. But ’twas Sir Leonard’s express wish that this be delivered without delay, and I know enough of him to guess what he’d find so urgent.”
Miss Carmichael bit her smiling lip, and Reggie relaxed. He very much liked the feeling of saying something which amused her and wondered if he might manage to elicit a full laugh if given enough time.
Unfortunately for him, though, he was still just a letter carrier, and letter carriers simply did not keep beautiful young women standing on their porches. He had no reason to stay aside from his desire to do so, and, kind as Miss Carmichael had been, enough presumption and forwardness on his part was sure to set up her back. He would have to leave forwardness to the Paladin.
“Good day to ye, Miss Carmichael.” He bowed and turned before he could persuade himself to prolong things more.
“Are you in a hurry?”
He stopped, pausing before he shifted his body back around to face her. “No, miss. I didn’t wish to keep ye, though.”
She smiled and tilted her head to the side. It made her look adorable in a way that was entirely unfair—in a way she would never have allowed the Paladin to see. “Did you think I ran down two flights of stairs to receive a bee diagram from you?”
“I . . .” For one of the few times in his life, Reggie could find no words.
“I very particularly wished to speak with you.”
Reggie’s brows went up. “Ye did?”
She nodded. “You did not bring either of the earlier posts today, and I had almost given up on seeing you. If I had not happened to look down from that window when I heard the bell ring, I might have been obliged to come to the post office to seek you out.”
Almost given up on seeing you? Come to the post office to seek you out? Reggie’s heart should not be allowed to react to words the way it was reacting to Miss Carmichael’s.
He still was all at sea regarding her actual meaning, though. “How can I be of assistance, ma’am?” He stepped back up the two stairs and onto the porch.
“You can tell me where De Blays Close is.”
Reggie was, once again, rendered speechless. There was only one reason she would be asking about such a thing. But he recovered himself admirably. “De Blays Close? Do ye have a letter to deliver there?”
“No. I mean to go there, but I have never heard of such a street, and neither has my father. I thought that, if anyone knew of such a place, it would be you.”
Reggie’s surprise was giving way to amusement. When he had written the direction on the back of his letter to Miss Carmichael, it had been done intentionally, with the knowledge that Miss Carmichael might utilize the information for her own purposes—to keep the promise she had made to him on the road to Bath. She had made it clear then that she intended to discover his identity, and he was happy to provide a little breadcrumb for her if she wished to play that game. He had merely forgotten about it until now.
“Do you know it?” she asked, and a glint of dismay entered her eyes.
“I do, ma’am,” he said, unable to stop a smile.
She let out a breath of relief. “How very glad I am to hear you say so. How do I arrive there, if you please?” Her dismay had been replaced by eagerness, enhancing Reggie’s amusement. He would give much to see her reaction when she arrived at the address.
“It’s a bit out of the way,” he said truthfully, “just off Avon Street.”
Her eyebrows knit. “Avon Street,” she repeated. “I do not think I know it. Is that near to Ballance Street?”
Reggie couldn’t stop a laugh. “No, miss. Ye could hardly find yourself farther from it, in fact.”
Disappointment pulled her brows down. “Oh dear.” Her face brightened suddenly. “Would you show me the way?”
Reggie blinked.
“I would pay you, of course,” she said, wrongly interpreting his surprise.
“No, no,” he hurried to say. “I wish for no payment, Miss Carmichael. I’d be more than happy to escort ye there if ye wish it.”
“I do,” she said decidedly. “Only let me retrieve my bonnet and gloves.”
Reggie waited, wondering at the fact that he was to accompany Miss Carmichael across town to the address she believed belonged to the Paladin.
What precisely did she intend to do once they arrived, though? If she intended to seek the highwayman’s capture, she would have asked for the escort of a constable, not a letter carrier. So, what was her game? She might have done a number of things to pursue his capture. As of yet, she had done nothing, and he was fairly confident that she was enjoying this just as much as he was.
Nearly ten minutes had passed and Reggie had begun wondering if she had forgotten him when she finally emerged from the townhouse, honey hair covered by a bonnet, gloves on her hands, and a maid trailing behind her. The look Miss Carmichael shot Reggie was one of long-suffering aggravation.
He closed the door behind her and debated offering her his arm. He decided against it, reminding himself that such a gesture would be presumptuous of him.
They descended the two steps and started on their way, the maid following behind them at a proper distance. Reggie tried to pay no mind to the other people on the street and what they might be thinking of a letter carrier walking with someone as elegant and refined as Miss Carmichael.
Joanna leaned toward him ever-so-slightly. “I was obliged to bring a maid, for my mother suggested that my sister come, and on no account did I wish for her to join us.”
“And why’s that, ma’am?” Reggie glanced over at her, admiring her profile and the way her relatively dark brows gave the misleading promise of an equally dark head of hair. The combination of light hair, brown eyes, and dark brows was striking, and it only played into his belief that there was more to Miss Carmichael than appearances might give one to think. She was something out of the ordinary.
“Because Frances has an unfortunate obsession with the Paladin, and De Bays Close is the address he left with his letter,” Miss Carmichael responded. “She has no notion that I have been corresponding with him—or that anything has taken place since he waylaid our carriage a week ago. My sole aim has been to rid her of her silly, romantic ideas of him. Hence our current expedition.”
“I see,” Reggie said as they circled around Laura Place, bringing Pulteney Bridge into view. “So, ye’ve taken the burden of interactin’ with the Paladin upon yerself to spare yer sister.”
She glanced up at him, amused. “Something of the sort, yes.”
He smiled. “A heroic gesture after what ye’ve told me of the rogue.”
She laughed. “I have seen more of the world than Frances has and am not in danger of falling for the charms of a ridiculous highwayman as she and so many others seem to have done. I am more sensible than Frances by nature, not prone to do impulsive things.”
“Things like investigatin’ the address of a dangerous highwayman?”
She looked up at him, and the mischief twinkling in her eyes made him wish that the address he had written on the letter had been miles away. De Blays Close would come far too soon. Would she wish for his company on the way back?
“Ah, but that is why you are here,” she said significantly.
“Me?” He reared back. “I thought I was merely comin’ to show ye the way. Ye overestimate my bravery, Miss Carmichael. I have no means of protectin’ ye. They don’t arm us letter carriers with a blunderbuss, ye know. I have only a coin purse, a bell, and a bag—an empty one, mind you.”
“You underestimate your arsenal, Mr. Sinclair,” she said. “If he attacks, you may pelt him with coins while I ring the bell in his ears.” She glanced behind them and raised a brow. “Perhaps Sarah can assist us somehow, too.”
“Throwin’ the empty bag over his head?” Reggie suggested.
Miss Carmichael laughed freely, and the sound was music to Reggie’s ears and a spur to his heart. This game he was playing was by far the most enjoyable—and dangerous—one he had ever played.
Chapter Fourteen
The lingering puddles from last night’s rainstorm enhanced the smell of the pavement and cobblestone as they made their way toward De Blays Close. Up ahead, an old woman Joanna faintly recognized approached, her eyes on the two of them.
“A moment, if ye please, Miss Carmichael,” said Mr. Sinclair. He hurried forward and offered his arm to the woman as she navigated a large puddle, doing so with a smile and an air of chivalry that both charmed and surprised Joanna.
Mr. Sinclair was admittedly the only letter carrier she had ever exchanged more than a passing word with, but he was not at all what she would have expected. He was an easy companion for conversation, more gentlemanly than half of the men she’d had the misfortune of meeting since her coming out, and—perhaps most unexpected of all—he could make her laugh.
The realization that her assumptions about people like Mr. Sinclair might have been wrong all this while sat strangely with her. It was easy to make such assumptions when one exchanged only the barest of communication with servants and workers. Was he truly out of the ordinary, or would she feel similarly if she took the time to become better acquainted with others like him?
Having successfully seen the woman to dry ground, he turned back to Joanna and offered his arm to her as she skirted the large puddle and the smaller one that followed.
“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair,” she said.
He turned toward the maid, but Sarah had already jumped over the puddle.
Despite the fact that there were no further hazards to be navigated, Mr. Sinclair didn’t pull his arm away from Joanna’s grasp, and she debated for a moment before leaving her arm in his. It was certainly not customary for a young, unmarried woman to accept the escort of a letter carrier, but Joanna was feeling impatient with such dictates at the moment, particularly after his show of kindness to Mrs. Millard.
Besides, Joanna had proven herself of steady enough character to be seen in public with Mr. Sinclair and her maid, surely.
“That was kind of you to help Mrs. Millard,” she said.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I think she might have preferred traipsin’ through the puddle to acceptin’ my help.”
Joanna waved the idea away. “Bath is full of elderly men and women like Mrs. Millard who have rigid notions of how things should be. If we had stayed to talk with her, undoubtedly she would have bemoaned to us the immodesty of the latest fashions and lamented the Lady Barton’s masquerade.”
“Masquerade?” Mr. Sinclair asked, sounding intrigued.
“Oh, yes. It is all the talk, you know.”
“Will ye attend?”
She laughed. “Not if I have anything to say on the matter. Such entertainments are for people like Frances—the young and romantic.”
“Unlike yerself and Mrs. Millard back there.” Mr. Sinclair jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Joanna stopped mid-stride, and he stumbled a bit as their eyes caught and they both laughed.
“Miss Carmichael!”
Joanna looked up and found Sir Leonard waving to her from a dozen feet away. She blinked in surprise, and Mr. Sinclair dropped his arm. She didn’t know what to think of the gesture. Had it been done for her benefit?
She searched for any sign of Lady Elkins. She was, surprisingly, nowhere in sight, and Joanna was glad for it. The last thing she needed was that woman knowing she was out on a crusade to find the Paladin—hardly the mark of the staid and steady image Joanna was attempting to convey.
“Sir Leonard,” she said with a small curtsy. “Good day. Are you here with your mother?”
He gave a bow, and his eyes went from Joanna to Mr. Sinclair then to Sarah behind them, who kept her eyes trained on the ground. “Mother is home today. She is feeling under the weather, I’m afraid. I assured her I would procure some of the waters for her.” He gestured ahead with a nod, showing that he was heading in the direction of the Pump Room.
“How very thoughtful of you,” Joanna said.
“And you,” he said, his gaze again flitting to Mr. Sinclair. “You are out . . . alone?”
Joanna gave a light laugh. “Alone? No. I have Sarah with me, as you see, and Mr. Sinclair has been kind enough to offer to show me the way to”—she cleared her throat—“the direction I was given by a friend interested in letting a townhouse for a few weeks. I assured her I would apprise her of its suitability.”
Mr. Sinclair gave a little cough into his hand, and Joanna avoided his gaze.
Sir Leonard seemed to think about her words for a moment. “You might have asked Mother or myself. We are intimately familiar with Bath, you know, and could advise you—or your friend—on what locations would be most suitable. Mother says nothing trumps wisdom gained by experience.”
Joanna gave a nod. “How right she is. And that is precisely why I intend to go there and see for myself. We do not wish to keep you standing, of course. Lady Elkins’ health is of utmost importance.” She glanced at Mr. Sinclair with a look of significance, preparing to continue on their way.
Sir Leonard was frowning. “Mother says a young, unmarried woman should always have a proper escort.”
Joanna’s smile was becoming tight. “Of which I have two already, as you see.” She took Mr. Sinclair’s arm, eager to be on their way.
Sir Leonard looked far from convinced, though. “I believe she would advise me to offer you my own escort in this situation—even if it means she must wait to take the waters for the day. Mother says a woman’s reputation must be guarded like a precious pearl—yours most of all.”
Joanna gritted her teeth. “It is thoughtful of you, Sir Leonard, but I doubt you know where this particular street is.”
He held up a finger and wagged it, though he smiled as he did so. “Do not doubt, Miss Carmichael. Just as a bee knows every flower near its hive, I know this wonderful town.” He put out a hand and gestured to the buildings around them.
“Do ye know where De Blays Close is, sir?” Mr. Sinclair asked.
Sir Leonard’s expression at hearing the name made it quite clear that he did not. “I . . . that is, I am . . .”
Joanna smiled politely. “Quite so. That is why Mr. Sinclair here—he has been a letter carrier in Bath for more than five-and-twenty years, you know—is the most perfect escort.”
