of saving some low-born wench, and he most decidedly did not.
He was turning his horse around to ride back the way he’d come when he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. A man ran out from a yard and seemingly without thought to his own safety rushed towards the rearing horse and grabbed the bridle. The horse almost kicked the brainless buffoon in the chest, but the man managed to hold on and calm the animal down.
Grudgingly Rupert had to admit that here was a person – although clearly an imbecile for attempting such dangerous tactics – who knew almost as much about horses as he himself did.
Then his mouth fell open in surprise when he saw that the crazy hero was none other than his cousin Jack.
He urged his horse forward and opened his mouth to speak, but something held him back. Instead he retreated behind a hay wagon, from where he could watch the spectacle unfold. There was something altogether curious about Jack’s appearance; he looked as if he had taken part in a bout of fisticuffs.
Saintly Cousin Jack, he snorted to himself, in a fight? Over what? A winsome country girl? Surely not!
‘This I must see,’ he muttered and stayed where he was.
A couple of people helped the girl to her feet while Jack pacified the horse. Then he handed the woman a head of cabbage. Rupert chuckled to himself. This was getting more and more curious, and although he was too far away to overhear any conversation, it was clear that something was going on between them.
Jack kissed the woman’s hand. It was not an affectation as dictated by society, but a personal, intimate gesture, as if they were lovers. For a moment Rupert’s good humour vanished and was replaced by sorrow: he had often imagined that his father must have kissed his mother like that, but his father had died when Rupert was very young, and he had no real recollection of his parents’ relationship.
If his parents had lived, life would have been different. Basking in their pride, he would have gone into a profession, married a well-bred girl, and never have hankered after something he knew he couldn’t have. Rupert wouldn’t have been the poor relation.
If they had lived.
But they hadn’t.
Instead he resided in Jack’s shadow as an inferior comparison. Although his uncle, the earl, was generous enough and would no doubt settle a large allowance on him once he married, the knowledge ate away at him that Jack stood to gain everything Rupert coveted. Status, title and respect. His face a grim mask, he clenched his fists so hard at the unfairness that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands.
If only …
He allowed himself to follow the thought to its natural conclusion.
If only Jack were dead.
If this was the case, Rupert would inherit more than just debts, which was all his father had left him. Then no one could question either his legal rights to the estate or his moral rights.
He shook his head at where his thoughts had taken him again. Causing his cousin to be discredited elicited no qualms, but murder …
And Jack was well on his way to ruining his own name; he really didn’t need Rupert’s help. Just look at the way he was simpering over the country girl. A man in his position was expected to marry well – even a mistress should be of some breeding too.
With wry amusement Rupert watched his cousin and the girl seemingly lost in each other’s eyes. There was no doubt the girl was pretty, if you liked that sort of thing, but there was something else about her, a certain bearing perhaps, that intrigued him.
He narrowed his eyes and paid more attention to Jack’s paramour, or whatever she was. She was wearing an ugly, plain dress and a tattered old straw hat, which was now dangling on one shoulder, attached to her neck by only a ribbon, but it was her hair, masses of dark curls, which caught Rupert’s eye. It was the same colour as that of the highwaywoman, and her height and stature were similar too.
‘I wonder,’
He was turning his horse around to ride back the way he’d come when he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. A man ran out from a yard and seemingly without thought to his own safety rushed towards the rearing horse and grabbed the bridle. The horse almost kicked the brainless buffoon in the chest, but the man managed to hold on and calm the animal down.
Grudgingly Rupert had to admit that here was a person – although clearly an imbecile for attempting such dangerous tactics – who knew almost as much about horses as he himself did.
Then his mouth fell open in surprise when he saw that the crazy hero was none other than his cousin Jack.
He urged his horse forward and opened his mouth to speak, but something held him back. Instead he retreated behind a hay wagon, from where he could watch the spectacle unfold. There was something altogether curious about Jack’s appearance; he looked as if he had taken part in a bout of fisticuffs.
Saintly Cousin Jack, he snorted to himself, in a fight? Over what? A winsome country girl? Surely not!
‘This I must see,’ he muttered and stayed where he was.
A couple of people helped the girl to her feet while Jack pacified the horse. Then he handed the woman a head of cabbage. Rupert chuckled to himself. This was getting more and more curious, and although he was too far away to overhear any conversation, it was clear that something was going on between them.
Jack kissed the woman’s hand. It was not an affectation as dictated by society, but a personal, intimate gesture, as if they were lovers. For a moment Rupert’s good humour vanished and was replaced by sorrow: he had often imagined that his father must have kissed his mother like that, but his father had died when Rupert was very young, and he had no real recollection of his parents’ relationship.
If his parents had lived, life would have been different. Basking in their pride, he would have gone into a profession, married a well-bred girl, and never have hankered after something he knew he couldn’t have. Rupert wouldn’t have been the poor relation.
If they had lived.
But they hadn’t.
Instead he resided in Jack’s shadow as an inferior comparison. Although his uncle, the earl, was generous enough and would no doubt settle a large allowance on him once he married, the knowledge ate away at him that Jack stood to gain everything Rupert coveted. Status, title and respect. His face a grim mask, he clenched his fists so hard at the unfairness that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands.
If only …
He allowed himself to follow the thought to its natural conclusion.
If only Jack were dead.
If this was the case, Rupert would inherit more than just debts, which was all his father had left him. Then no one could question either his legal rights to the estate or his moral rights.
He shook his head at where his thoughts had taken him again. Causing his cousin to be discredited elicited no qualms, but murder …
And Jack was well on his way to ruining his own name; he really didn’t need Rupert’s help. Just look at the way he was simpering over the country girl. A man in his position was expected to marry well – even a mistress should be of some breeding too.
With wry amusement Rupert watched his cousin and the girl seemingly lost in each other’s eyes. There was no doubt the girl was pretty, if you liked that sort of thing, but there was something else about her, a certain bearing perhaps, that intrigued him.
He narrowed his eyes and paid more attention to Jack’s paramour, or whatever she was. She was wearing an ugly, plain dress and a tattered old straw hat, which was now dangling on one shoulder, attached to her neck by only a ribbon, but it was her hair, masses of dark curls, which caught Rupert’s eye. It was the same colour as that of the highwaywoman, and her height and stature were similar too.
‘I wonder,’
Similar Books
