Unmasking Of A Lady

“Of course.” The soldier nodded and turned back to Harriet. “You’re free.”

“For now,” she said. “Though I doubt it will be for long, if I know my aunt.”

“Then I shall endeavour to liberate you later, perhaps?”

“I shall wait with bated breath,” she replied drily, though he took the reply in the good humour it was intended.

Major Roberts grinned, a flash of teeth and an amused, throaty noise, before he followed the other gentleman. If her eyes lingered too long on his fading form, there was no one else to know.

To her own annoyance, she liked him – and she’d made a promise to herself never to like anyone purposely selected by her relatives. It was true; Aunt Georgia was getting better at matching her up with possible suitors, though she did so hate to admit it. And she wasn’t inclined to entertain this one for long either, even if he was…different.

There was a gathering around the room’s main hall, curiosity palpable in the air. The music had ceased and Harriet found her way easily towards her aunt in the small crowd.

“I had hoped you would like our Major Roberts,” the older woman said softly, attempting to tease a response from Harriet.

“He is passable, I suppose.” Harriet caught sight of Aunt Georgia’s frown and found she enjoyed it far too much. Truthfully, the man was more than passable, which made a pleasant change from the usual boring fops that were thrust her way. That didn’t mean he’d last though.

“Don’t play games; this is serious,” chided Aunt Georgia. “You must marry soon and well, if you’re ever to be happy.”

“Your version of happiness and mine are grossly different.” Harriet knew better than to argue, pursing her lips, but her protest came out regardless. “Any friends I had when younger have been married off to clerks or clergymen, locked away in stuffy houses with boorish men to live out their days. It’s not for me.”

“We all must do what we can to survive, Harriet,” said the older woman, enforcing her words with a stern, yet concerned voice. “You have good prospects. Do not throw them away over fantasies borne from all the silly books you read as a child – ”

The room hushed. The magistrate’s voice rang out. Aunt Georgia was soon forced into silence and Harriet was saved for the time being. It was a familiar argument and yet, if Harriet could delay any union for as long as possible, she knew her position and home would be restored. The right investments, prompted by wise bankers, would see her through.

A little more time, that’s all she needed – along with a few more adventures out in the green mask – then she’d have enough capital to move forwards.

She only prayed that her luck was better than her brother’s.

“My apologies for interrupting what has been a splendid evening, especially as it concerns a rather grim subject,” began Sir Fielding. He was a stocky man in his later years, defined by a mane of wispy white hair and whiskers that gave him all the appearance of an aging lion – one that still had bite. “The Green Highwayman.”

Harriet’s heart stopped. Her eyes widened. A second was an eternity. For a small moment the magistrate’s glance met hers, but only as his gaze travelled across the room.

“On several occasions the West Country has been terrorised and tormented by that wretched soul and it’s time we put a stop to it…”

A whispered exchange took place behind Harriet, with one fellow commenting to his friend, “I quite like him. All of his targets have been extremely wealthy gamblers, crooks and arrogant fools who need a little terrorising.”

“He robbed your father,” the friend retorted.

“Exactly – we all know what an arse he is.”

Aunt Georgia shushed the talkative pair with a vicious glance and Harriet strained to listen to the magistrate, hoping that no one could hear how her pulse raced or see the guilt in her expression – or the shameful pride.

“We have drafted in the very best to capture the thief, to root him out and make him pay for his crimes. After serving in Spain, later capturing three known robbers on London’s outskirts, and with a personal commendation from the Duke of Wellington, there is no one more suited to the task of intercepting the villain…”

She gripped Aunt Georgia’s arm too tightly and her expression could not hold the calm she wished it would. Where was her mask now?

Gone, left behind, useless.

“And he will make short work of this scoundrel,” continued Fielding. “In fact, he already came face-to-face with the criminal only the other evening.”

What? Harriet reassured herself that all attention was fixed on the gentleman speaking, that no one would look towards her, or see her growing agitation and confusion. She was wrong. One man sought out her eyes and Harriet offered a fleeting smile towards her almost-dance partner, which took her unawares. Her anxiety fled momentarily, caught up in the warmth he exuded – a secret, soft look shared between them.

A balm before the stinging bite of the magistrate’s next words.

“We’ll have the Green Highwayman hanged at Newgate Prison by the season’s end,” announced Sir Fielding, to a short cheer. “And it will be Major Edward Roberts who will see it done.”

Applause broke out as the man himself, Edward, stepped forwards. Harriet’s smile was snatched from her face and her breath – turned to splinters – caught in her throat. The room turned dark at the edges and seemed to spin, a carousel of colours, merging into one dark, despairing mass.

Hanged at Newgate Prison.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Aunt Georgia leant towards Harriet after she flagged slightly, pushing concerned words towards her as though they could be used to prop her up. The two talkative gentlemen were there again, to aid her lest she fall, each gripping one elbow. Not eager to draw any further attention, she quickly regained her footing, fanning herself with her hand.

“Yes, no, I – I need a little air, that’s all,” said Harriet quickly, the blood draining from her face. “I’ll be quite all right – no, you needn’t come.”

She pushed her way through the crowd, barely seeing any faces, tripping towards the main doors and into an empty foyer. The August evening air hit her in a wave, blissfully chilled against her cheeks, as her satin-clad feet found the street beyond. Light spilled out behind her, throwing her shape upon the cobblestones, and the music had started up again.

He has already come face-to-face with the criminal.

Then it was he, Edward, who had fired at her, who had almost killed her – who had asked her to dance – and who had been drafted in to find and capture the Green Highwayman.

To capture her.

“Damn it,” she breathed. “Fool.”

“Miss Groves?”

Harriet started, faced by the very man she knew would haunt both her every waking moment and her nightmares from that point on.

“Major Roberts,” she greeted him with a watery smile, stepping a pace or two away, small movements, a head-start.

“May I ask you for a dance – or would you prefer a duel?”

It took all her effort not to stumble backwards, to keep her expression neutral. “I – pardon?”

If she ran would he catch her? How could he already know who she was? When did he –

“A dance,” repeated Edward, slowly, an imposing silhouette in the doorway. “Miss Groves, would you dance with me?”

Every instinct Harriet held told her to refuse, to build a wall between them, to do all she could to never see him again. She had to protect herself, her family, her life – everything she had fought to keep safe all this time.

He was dangerous, he was her demise, he was her death – holding his hand out towards her.

And yet she reached for it.

“Yes, Major Roberts,” she said, drawn to him and the danger he posed, unable to stop herself. “I would like nothing more.”

Chapter Two

The warmth within the dancing hall was an oppressive wave after the fresh night air, dizzying as it brushed against her bare arms and curled around her lithe form. Or was it the soldier’s doing, his presence, which brought the rising heat? She felt safer out there, under a pinprick of stars and the crescent moon; Harriet was herself when the night came, even if she was concealed behind a mask. The thrill, the chase, the risk – she belonged out there, as the Green Highwayman. Under the cover of darkness she was herself and she was free.

She wore a different disguise now – one of polite, contrived civility.

It was crumbling.

Her hand slipped into Edward’s as though it belonged there, fettered, bound, imprisoned. His immovable form beside her quickened her pulse as he assisted her up the few, small steps and back inside. She kept her chin up, smile false, fearing that he would be able to read the deception on her face, as though it had been inked onto her pale, clammy skin.

They had met before; she knew it for certain now. In the woods, a night ago, on the tracks between the two main southerly trading hubs. She had shot – fired into the air – purposely missing him and yet firing nonetheless. If she had wanted to meet her mark, she could have extinguished the threat he posed. But she had promised herself, long ago, that she would never resort to that. However desperate her situation became, she could live with being a thief, but not a killer.

She had not crossed that line yet.

“Are you ready?”

“I am,” she replied.

More than ready.

How many had he killed? How many other robbers had he dragged to the gallows – a noose for a necklace, the hangman’s knot around their throats? She caught Edward’s eye, though he was at ease, nodding her way. Her demon from the forest. Harriet felt captured now, snared by him, unable to pull herself away without questions asked.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“You are shivering.”

“Excitement,” explained Harriet, bunching her fingers into fists until her nails bit half-moon indents into her palm. “I do so love to dance, don’t you?”

Edward’s reply was calm, still surveying her, attempting to get her measure. “It’s a necessary evil.”

Harriet couldn’t meet his eyes, for she only saw her executioner. Mere moments ago, he had been a simple, if affecting creature. Pale eyes that pierced her, a dark humour that already shone through and matched her own, a connection eager to be woven between them.

Now, she saw an enemy.

And it excited her more than it should have.

A new song began, the musicians ready, the melody fast. Dancing couples found their positions opposite one another, joined by the new pair, who made a handsome couple.

The farce would continue. Harriet had to act accordingly: smile when he smiled, respond to his enquiries, play her part to the man who would see her killed if ever he knew the truth. Tonight was simply a game and one she would play. It would not be the first time she was forced to entertain a man she disliked or mistrusted.

“You seem preoccupied?”

“I – no, not at all.” Edward’s question forced her to shut down her inner thoughts, ignore the nagging doubts and tingling fear. “It’s been a long evening.”

“I see,” he said, offering a small bow at the dance’s beginning. “Then I can only assume I am boring you?”

“Hardly,” replied Harriet, a curtsey following. “You’re interesting.” That, at least, was true. “Everyone else comes to these such gatherings to share gossip and brew scandal. This is purely a space for people to talk of the excitement others partake in, being too scared to pursue adventure themselves.”

“And do you pursue it, Miss Groves?”

A weapon in her hand, damp earth kicked up as she ran, a laugh on her lips and adrenaline surging through her veins. That was what she pursued and no man would take it from her.

“Not in the same ways you do, I am sure,” she said sweetly. “We women must find our amusements elsewhere.”

“By embroidering cushions and singing pretty songs?”

“You mock me, sir.”

“Only a little.” Edward had a soldier’s charm, all hard edges and brash wit. “Does that upset you?”

“On the contrary,” said Harriet, close enough to feel his breath ghost upon her jawline, down her neck, across her collarbone. “But you haven’t seen my embroidery, it is quite thrilling.”

He laughed again and she found, mutinously, that she wanted to prompt further outbursts. See his head tilt back, those teeth flash, the easy countenance waiting behind those guarded eyes. No. There was a brief respite from him, when dancing partners changed during the song’s course, where she caught her breath and roped back her common sense.

“I imagine capturing that highwayman of yours will spark many discussions, sir,” said Harriet, finding satisfaction in his ignorance, her own words dampening that tiny affectionate spark he’d kindled. “Your name will be on everyone’s lips up and down the country.”

“Only after I catch him.”

“And you think you will?”

“I’ve never failed before.”

Harriet kept her sweetness, that unaffected smile, as she replied, “There’s a first time for everything.”

She would lie low; she would find other ways to reach her financial aim. If only her brother would keep himself from trouble, she could tide them all over by selling off more land and securing a loan or two and making that one, final investment. The Groves family would survive.

“Is it fame and glory you want, Major Roberts?”

“No, only justice,” said Edward, eyebrows drawn together. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep safer in your bed at night?”

Safer. Soon she would not have a bed to sleep in – or even a roof over her head. Men like him would take it from her. And God, she lost it then, for a small moment, the faux serenity she had cloaked herself in.

“I sleep well enough, but your concern is appreciated.”

“You are an odd creature, Miss Groves.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, ice in her tone, frost on her lips. “That is quite the compliment.”

“I mean it is refreshing,” he amended, taking her hand once more where the dance allowed it. The touch felt like a burn, a brand. “The other ladies present are tittering, simpering fools.”

“You cannot blame a woman for wanting to secure a husband and you are prime marriage material.”

An officer, good connections, a grand reputation and handsome features. For any other girl, he would be hard to resist, despite his tactless nature. In fact, as she and Edward moved across the hall, Harriet felt many a jealous gaze land upon her.

If only they knew this was the last place she longed to be.

“It is wrong to be hard on them, for they only want to secure your attention,” said Harriet, more harshly than intended, too eager to find fault. “The fairer sex has no other way to survive, but to depend on artless men like you.”

“I am not here to be depended on, madam.” She’d struck a nerve. Good. “I am here to capture a criminal and then I will go back abroad to fight.”

“Is fighting all you do?”

“Yes,” said Edward. “It is.”

God, she should have shot him when she had the chance.

The music ceased abruptly and applause began. Edward stood before Harriet, stock-still with that same unfathomable expression. She longed for a pistol’s weight in her hand, for protection.

“But a man cannot fight all the time. I dance as well – or had you not noticed, Miss Groves?” The room was still aflutter with chatter and laughter, though nothing could distract the couple from one another. “Life is a fight; we do what we must to get by.”

Chin angled upwards, her question bold, she asked, “How many men have you killed?”

Edward’s strength and tall frame were impossible to overlook as he took a step towards her, too close for comfort, and his answer too honest for her liking. “More than I can count.”

“And you will kill again before you leave the county, will you not?” The anger was there, the hurt, the betrayal. It should not have felt like one, but it did. She had been charmed by him; she had let him in – if only for a moment – a moment too long. It would not happen again.

Not ever.

“Yes,” he answered simply. “If I have to.”

She felt trapped under his gaze, a butterfly pinned to a board. “What if you do not find this rogue, Major Roberts?”

“I will.”

“And then?”

A severe looked claimed Edward, his attention solely on her. “Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts, for the bandit will be dead in a week, Miss Groves. Then we can all go back to our lives.”

“A week?” The two syllables were all she could utter. He had made the remark so offhandedly and casually that its gravity would not take root in her mind. A week to live? Not if she killed him first. “You’re so brave, Major Roberts, so self-assured. I cannot help but feel sorry for your intended prey.”

“Don’t.” If he picked up on the insincerity in her words, he did not reveal it, hearing only what he wanted to hear. “When a man chooses the darker road, he must face the consequences.”

“Hear, hear!” A portly figure a few paces away raised his glass, causing Harriet to start back, skin prickling. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Miss Groves,” said Edward. “This is Captain Renner.”

Another toast came at Harriet’s elbow, before their conversation was brushed aside. Others claimed the soldier’s attention. It was an easy way out, even if she resented it. Harriet’s chest was tight when she strode back across the ballroom, as though it had been bound. Another dance was about to begin, but it would spin on without her. She didn’t belong here anyway. They all knew it – and the major would soon find out. Old acquaintances and new ones glanced her way, not a single kind look, nor a welcoming word. Heavy footsteps, a graze upon her wrist, his voice, again.

“Miss Groves?”

Harriet’s steps faltered as she pushed her smile back into place. “I need a little air. It’s ever so stuffy in here.”

“Let me escort you – ”

“No,” she pulled herself away from his touch. “I can manage alone – and besides, there are so many people here you should meet, it would be selfish for me to keep you longer.”

“Then I am all for you being selfish.”

An honest grin, belonging to a girl far younger and much less jaded than herself, claimed her pointed features. “I am sure we shall run into one another again.”

Whether we like it or not.

“I shall look forward to it.” A small nod and Edward took his leave, turning back only once, leaving Harriet with only echoes of emotions, nothing fully realised, all forbidden. Once upon a time, in another far-off world with happy endings, she might have let herself fall for a man like him.

The knowledge frightened her.

A soft hand touched her elbow, wrenching an audible gasp from her, her stomach flipping.

“What’s wrong, Harriet?” It was only Aunt Georgia, her mouth puckered into a frown. “I know that look. Something’s happened – tell me.”

“Nothing,” soothed the younger woman, holding her aunt’s arm and squeezing it companionably. “Can we leave?”

“Of course, yes,” the woman said instantly, putting the back of her hand against Harriet’s forehead, testing her temperature. “But you look terribly peaky, as though someone’s walked over your grave.”

Harriet nodded blankly and was led out through another exit, her movements automatic and rigid. She had held up carriages; she had robbed the wealthiest, most corrupt souls in the city with an easy grin. She enjoyed the rush it had given her. As the Green Highwayman, she was famous; she was unstoppable. Yet that man – that Major Edward Roberts – had rattled her to her core. With only a few words he had pulled the rug from under her feet and taken her composure with it. Even now she cast a look back into the gaiety within, as if wary he would find her – and half wanting him to.

The time between when their carriage was called for and when it actually arrived felt like an age. Aunt Georgia’s worried stare was a dead weight on her shoulders, but she did not question Harriet – as they both knew she undoubtedly would – until they began moving back through Bath’s dark streets. Nothing could keep that woman from gossip.

“This isn’t like you. I shall call for the doctor the second we’re home.”

“A dizzy spell, that’s all. Sleep will aid it,” replied Harriet above the carriage’s movement. “I am sorry to worry you.”

“Harriet.”

“It is nothing.” She heard her aunt huff loudly, deprived of further information. The interrogation was far from over and Harriet knew this would be only a small lull in her demanding questions.

“Was it that Major Roberts? The militia are all the same…”

“He was a perfect gentleman.” If only he wasn’t, then she would have a real reason to hate him. Confused feelings darted around her mind like silverfish fleeing daylight. Her hands were a tight ball in her lap, for she could still feel the ghost of his grip, see the humour in his eyes.

“Oh, thank goodness, I am relieved to hear it.” Aunt Georgia beamed, sagging back against the cushions. “For he’s to be a guest at my dinner party two days from now, on the Thursday.”

“What? No,” gasped Harriet, mouth agape. “No, I can’t see him, I can’t – ”

“His mother is a good friend of mine, or at least, a friend or sorts,” amended Aunt Georgia. “I don’t think she’s good friends with anyone. She’s a prickly character.”

“I have to leave tonight. I think Father might need me. Ellen had a sore throat before I left. I should go.”

“Then you can enquire after their health when your maidservant, Mary, gets here tomorrow. We need the extra staff to cope and she’s a good worker,” said the older woman, putting an end to the discussion, as though she had not heard her niece’s protests. “It will be a splendid evening, trust me. You could even try to enjoy yourself, for a change, if the whim took you.”

“But, I…” There was nothing else Harriet could say and no excuse to be offered that would make sense. “I am looking forward to it, Aunt Georgia.”

Another evening with Major Roberts. Their third, if she counted their gunpowder-drenched meeting, when he was only a shape in the darkness, commanding she not draw back from his death if indeed she meant to kill him. The scene replayed in her head over and over, only this time her memory filled in the blanks, gave the shadow a face, a smile.

“The major is handsome, is he not?”

“He is handsome,” Harriet agreed absently. “And he is just and courageous and far too good for the likes of me.”

Aunt Georgia had a look that suggested a plan in the works and Harriet was not ignorant; she knew what the woman intended.

“Nonsense, Harriet,” said Aunt Georgia. “If anything you’re his superior, for the Groves family line stretches back centuries. Our blood is almost royalty.”

“I did not mean station.”

“Then what did you mean, dear?”

Harriet pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth to stop forbidden confessions from escaping.

“It’s nothing. I am overtired; pay me no heed,” she eventually replied, as the night passed beyond the carriage windows and left the ball behind.

Dead in a week, Major Roberts had promised.

He seemed like a man of his word.

Chapter Three

Mary’s arrival at the Bath townhouse the next day was a mixed blessing. She was the sort of woman who was only happy when she was occupied and therefore got in everyone’s way constantly. Harriet had resolved not to worry the maidservant with all she had learned the night before, despite how isolated she found herself. If they were both caught for highway robbery, the sentence would be harsher on Mary for her lower standing in society. It was not fair, nor right, and therefore Harriet was determined to protect her from it. This was a burden she would bear alone, no matter the consequences.