THE
COUNTERFEIT CAVALIER, EPISODE ONE:
THE
HIGHWAYMAN CAME RIDING
Copyright
2012 Lydia M. Sheridan
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not
purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Amazon.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
THE
COUNTERFEIT CAVALIER, EPISODE ONE:
THE
HIGHWAYMAN CAME RIDING
The bullet exploded from the pistol in a shower of sparks, shattering the
calm of the peaceful spring night. The heavy coach lurched to a halt, tossing
the four ladies inside hither and thither.
They shrieked. The horses reared. On the box, Smithers swore fluently,
shocking John Coachman more than the pistol shot. The Countess nodded
reassuringly to her daughter, Lady Jeanne. Mrs. Kendall smiled, trembling, at her
daughter, Miss Letitia. Materializing out of the fog, the highwayman
shouted, "Stand and deliver!”
Everyone froze.
Once more the ladies screamed. Uncaring of torn muslins or disheveled locks,
bumps or bruises, they disentangled themselves, sat up, and hastened to unclasp
necklaces, unpin brooches, and pull off rings.
The girls whimpered in fright, near tears. The Countess muttered under
her breath. The earl had ridden ahead instead of protecting his family against
road bandits. Already she was grimly planning the tongue when next they saw
each other.
John Coachman emitted only a grunt as he struggled, his arms full of a
furious ladies maid.
“Are ye daft, Smithers? Jump at him and he’s like to blow your brain box
to bits!”
When the highwayman rode up to the circle of light caused by the carriage
lamps, it was clear why the coachman had failed to use his blunderbuss.
To his victims, the bandit seemed to float on a legless horse in a sea of
low, swirling fog. It was hard to discern where the man began and the mist
ended. He was the color of mist, all in grey, from the dancing plumes on his
hat to the leather boots on his feet. His eyes and nose were hidden by a silk
scarf, his shoulders were broad and straight. The grin above his pointed beard
was merry, and his hand, with the pistol aimed directly at the Countess’ heart,
never wavered.
“Dear ladies, tragic circumstance has compelled me here tonight, not as I
should wish, that of the gallant to enjoy your charming company, but rather a
recipient of your gracious charity. Would that it were otherwise, but still I
throw myself upon the generosity of your good nature,” he declaimed all in one
breath.
John Coachman scratched his head. Smithers snorted. The ladies,
relieved that the rogue seemed disinclined to fire or claim their virtue,
warmed toward him. But Smithers, raised in a family of smugglers, didn’t give
a brass farthing for such a frippery fellow, and went so far as to bellow,
“Don’t you be a'feared of this barstid, milady. Do you need help wi’ yer lid?”
The highwayman made a sound which in a more social situation might have
been a laugh, and sidled his enormous horse close to the carriage window. He
had recognized the crest on the door. Felon he might be, but foolish he
wasn’t. He had no intention whatever of trying to pawn so famous an entailed
piece as the Malford tiara.
“Dearest lady,” he cried in a low, raspy voice. “Only the veriest
dastard would see fit to steal such a beloved piece of jewelry. Though, alas,
my present circumstances have brought me low as the dust under your dainty
feet, I ask only to relieve you of those pieces which you shall not miss.”
At this gallant speech, the Countess turned pink enough to glow in the
darkness. Abandoning the tiara so that it rested rakishly over her forehead,
she unpinned the brooch at her bosom instead.
Moments later, several hands, seemingly disembodied in
COUNTERFEIT CAVALIER, EPISODE ONE:
THE
HIGHWAYMAN CAME RIDING
Copyright
2012 Lydia M. Sheridan
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not
purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Amazon.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
THE
COUNTERFEIT CAVALIER, EPISODE ONE:
THE
HIGHWAYMAN CAME RIDING
The bullet exploded from the pistol in a shower of sparks, shattering the
calm of the peaceful spring night. The heavy coach lurched to a halt, tossing
the four ladies inside hither and thither.
They shrieked. The horses reared. On the box, Smithers swore fluently,
shocking John Coachman more than the pistol shot. The Countess nodded
reassuringly to her daughter, Lady Jeanne. Mrs. Kendall smiled, trembling, at her
daughter, Miss Letitia. Materializing out of the fog, the highwayman
shouted, "Stand and deliver!”
Everyone froze.
Once more the ladies screamed. Uncaring of torn muslins or disheveled locks,
bumps or bruises, they disentangled themselves, sat up, and hastened to unclasp
necklaces, unpin brooches, and pull off rings.
The girls whimpered in fright, near tears. The Countess muttered under
her breath. The earl had ridden ahead instead of protecting his family against
road bandits. Already she was grimly planning the tongue when next they saw
each other.
John Coachman emitted only a grunt as he struggled, his arms full of a
furious ladies maid.
“Are ye daft, Smithers? Jump at him and he’s like to blow your brain box
to bits!”
When the highwayman rode up to the circle of light caused by the carriage
lamps, it was clear why the coachman had failed to use his blunderbuss.
To his victims, the bandit seemed to float on a legless horse in a sea of
low, swirling fog. It was hard to discern where the man began and the mist
ended. He was the color of mist, all in grey, from the dancing plumes on his
hat to the leather boots on his feet. His eyes and nose were hidden by a silk
scarf, his shoulders were broad and straight. The grin above his pointed beard
was merry, and his hand, with the pistol aimed directly at the Countess’ heart,
never wavered.
“Dear ladies, tragic circumstance has compelled me here tonight, not as I
should wish, that of the gallant to enjoy your charming company, but rather a
recipient of your gracious charity. Would that it were otherwise, but still I
throw myself upon the generosity of your good nature,” he declaimed all in one
breath.
John Coachman scratched his head. Smithers snorted. The ladies,
relieved that the rogue seemed disinclined to fire or claim their virtue,
warmed toward him. But Smithers, raised in a family of smugglers, didn’t give
a brass farthing for such a frippery fellow, and went so far as to bellow,
“Don’t you be a'feared of this barstid, milady. Do you need help wi’ yer lid?”
The highwayman made a sound which in a more social situation might have
been a laugh, and sidled his enormous horse close to the carriage window. He
had recognized the crest on the door. Felon he might be, but foolish he
wasn’t. He had no intention whatever of trying to pawn so famous an entailed
piece as the Malford tiara.
“Dearest lady,” he cried in a low, raspy voice. “Only the veriest
dastard would see fit to steal such a beloved piece of jewelry. Though, alas,
my present circumstances have brought me low as the dust under your dainty
feet, I ask only to relieve you of those pieces which you shall not miss.”
At this gallant speech, the Countess turned pink enough to glow in the
darkness. Abandoning the tiara so that it rested rakishly over her forehead,
she unpinned the brooch at her bosom instead.
Moments later, several hands, seemingly disembodied in
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