quieter by night, my lord. And there is a good moon tonight.’
‘Oh, quite so. I daresay you’re right. Damn ridiculous, the amount of traffic on the roads these days. So you’re to escape the clutches of London’s debutantes, eh? There’ll be some disappointed young misses in town when they hear of your departure!’
Lady Caroline’s somewhat flushed papa finished his glass of Madeira, handed it to a passing servant and gestured for another.
‘Look here, Randall,’ he continued, ‘ what do you make of these wild goings-on up at Hounslow? Just been telling my sister all about it. Though I believe you have your own theories on the matter.’
Trajan’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced with some surprise at the two ladies present. ‘My lord?’
‘Oh, don’t mind my sister Matilda. She was out in Spain with her husband for three years. Until he was shot, of course. Nerves of steel now. Won’t turn a hair, whatever colour the water. And Caro here’s the one who mentioned the dashed affair to me in the first place.’ The portly Lord Lacey turned to his only daughter with an indulgent laugh. ‘What did ye call it, m’dear? The Petticoat Club?’
Not surprisingly, given the scandalous nature of the story under discussion, Lady Caroline blushed. Her voice sank to an imploring whisper.
‘Hush, papa. People are staring!’
‘Let them stare! Nothing better for them to do, I daresay. As for this Petticoat Club, it can’t possibly be true. Young ladies stripping a gentleman of his ... his inexpressibles , damn it! Then tossing the poor naked fella out onto the heath for all to see?’ His lordship made a snorting sound. ‘Never heard of any female doing such a thing.’
Trajan nodded. ‘I agree, my lord. No gentlewoman would lower herself to such a breach of good conduct.’
Lady Caroline was looking at him with that odd, hard stare again. ‘What, sir, not even in revenge ?‘
‘My lady?’
Viscount Randall frowned at Lady Caroline’s muttered question, delivered sotto voce and at such speed he doubted whether he had even heard her correctly.
What a strange creature she was indeed.
‘You may depend upon it,’ Trajan continued more gently, turning to her, ‘this Petticoat Club is a figment of some gentleman’s imagination or injured pride. Your sex, and you must forgive me for pointing out the obvious, is neither physically powerful nor bold enough to undertake what is essentially a criminal act of highwaymanship. If Sir John Dallenby was indeed stripped and deposited on Hounslow Heath in the middle of the night, this was not achieved by a gaggle of girls scarcely out of the schoolroom, as Dallenby so ludicrously claims, but by some wrathful debtor in search of his money.’
Lord Lacey clapped him on the shoulder approvingly. ‘That does seem the likelier explanation! Poor Dallenby, eh? Borrowed some blunt, forgot to cough up, found himself roasted for it.’
Lady Caroline’s aunt frowned. ‘But what about the unspeakable Buckby? Didn’t the man claim his coach was held up by a gang of armed women?’
‘Another fantastic tale. Whoever heard of such an outlandish thing?’ Trajan was warming to his subject now. ‘As I’ve said before, the whole thing’s a hum. Buckby didn’t want to admit he was caught off guard by a highwayman. Thought he’d throw his lot in with this Petticoat story, make it less embarrassing. But no female would be capable of executing such a daring plan.’
‘My lord!’ Lady Caroline’s voice sounded strangled.
Bowing over her hand, Trajan smiled into Lady Caroline's cloudy bespectacled eyes. She was not only a sorry antidote, he realised, but a simpleton to boot. Thank goodness he’d changed his mind about offering for her five years ago, or he might have ended up legshackled to this dim
‘Oh, quite so. I daresay you’re right. Damn ridiculous, the amount of traffic on the roads these days. So you’re to escape the clutches of London’s debutantes, eh? There’ll be some disappointed young misses in town when they hear of your departure!’
Lady Caroline’s somewhat flushed papa finished his glass of Madeira, handed it to a passing servant and gestured for another.
‘Look here, Randall,’ he continued, ‘ what do you make of these wild goings-on up at Hounslow? Just been telling my sister all about it. Though I believe you have your own theories on the matter.’
Trajan’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced with some surprise at the two ladies present. ‘My lord?’
‘Oh, don’t mind my sister Matilda. She was out in Spain with her husband for three years. Until he was shot, of course. Nerves of steel now. Won’t turn a hair, whatever colour the water. And Caro here’s the one who mentioned the dashed affair to me in the first place.’ The portly Lord Lacey turned to his only daughter with an indulgent laugh. ‘What did ye call it, m’dear? The Petticoat Club?’
Not surprisingly, given the scandalous nature of the story under discussion, Lady Caroline blushed. Her voice sank to an imploring whisper.
‘Hush, papa. People are staring!’
‘Let them stare! Nothing better for them to do, I daresay. As for this Petticoat Club, it can’t possibly be true. Young ladies stripping a gentleman of his ... his inexpressibles , damn it! Then tossing the poor naked fella out onto the heath for all to see?’ His lordship made a snorting sound. ‘Never heard of any female doing such a thing.’
Trajan nodded. ‘I agree, my lord. No gentlewoman would lower herself to such a breach of good conduct.’
Lady Caroline was looking at him with that odd, hard stare again. ‘What, sir, not even in revenge ?‘
‘My lady?’
Viscount Randall frowned at Lady Caroline’s muttered question, delivered sotto voce and at such speed he doubted whether he had even heard her correctly.
What a strange creature she was indeed.
‘You may depend upon it,’ Trajan continued more gently, turning to her, ‘this Petticoat Club is a figment of some gentleman’s imagination or injured pride. Your sex, and you must forgive me for pointing out the obvious, is neither physically powerful nor bold enough to undertake what is essentially a criminal act of highwaymanship. If Sir John Dallenby was indeed stripped and deposited on Hounslow Heath in the middle of the night, this was not achieved by a gaggle of girls scarcely out of the schoolroom, as Dallenby so ludicrously claims, but by some wrathful debtor in search of his money.’
Lord Lacey clapped him on the shoulder approvingly. ‘That does seem the likelier explanation! Poor Dallenby, eh? Borrowed some blunt, forgot to cough up, found himself roasted for it.’
Lady Caroline’s aunt frowned. ‘But what about the unspeakable Buckby? Didn’t the man claim his coach was held up by a gang of armed women?’
‘Another fantastic tale. Whoever heard of such an outlandish thing?’ Trajan was warming to his subject now. ‘As I’ve said before, the whole thing’s a hum. Buckby didn’t want to admit he was caught off guard by a highwayman. Thought he’d throw his lot in with this Petticoat story, make it less embarrassing. But no female would be capable of executing such a daring plan.’
‘My lord!’ Lady Caroline’s voice sounded strangled.
Bowing over her hand, Trajan smiled into Lady Caroline's cloudy bespectacled eyes. She was not only a sorry antidote, he realised, but a simpleton to boot. Thank goodness he’d changed his mind about offering for her five years ago, or he might have ended up legshackled to this dim
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