The Highwayman's Mistress by Francine Howarth

love and romance through history in and
around the county. For a young man he was quite shrewd, too. He had not been
told of her reason for banishment, but had guessed, and she’d spilled her heart
to him. It was as though he had fully understood her pain and loss, and had
then confessed a similar dilemma to that of hers and Francois. Poor Hugh was in
love, but the lady in question unattainable, and the young lady’s parents
adamant he would never be the one for their daughter.
      How cruel life could be sometimes, for she
now had to return home and there would be no Francois, and not a word from him
or Angelica. Richard had sent one letter to say Francois had moved Angelica
into a house near Gloucester and, that he’d ceased renting the house and land
in Faringdon. He’d further said Angelica feared Francois had returned to
Guernsey with a broken heart, and doubly feared for his life.
      She pondered her two-month stay in
Pembrokeshire and the date Richard’s letter had arrived, and all in all it was
now three weeks to the day. So much could have happened in that time, and she
had no idea what dreadful news might await her upon her return home.
      “Are you ready, dear?” enquired Lady
Fortnum, entering the room in the manner of stately galleon at sea and brisk
wind to its stern. “Your luggage is stowed, and it really is time to go, or you
will not make Llandovery before nightfall.”
      “I am ready, and thank you for being so kind
in allowing me a great deal of freedom these last weeks.”
      “Piffle. You two young things out-walked me,
wilfully rode off ahead of my carriage, and ventured places I dared not even
consider.” Lady Fortnum smiled, and in a flash hugged her tight tears brimming.
“I shall miss you, Diamonta, miss you very much, and I am most happy you and
Hugh became, well, let’s say good friends.”
      “I shall miss Pembrokeshire. It’s a truly
beautiful place, and I shall miss Hugh, terribly.”
      “Be gone with you, you wicked girl,” said
her ladyship, bustling her out of the room, out of the house and past the
servants lined up to see her depart. “Hugh is waiting outside.”
      True enough, there he was, his father and
mother, and it all felt a little bizarre to be setting out alone after having
been chaperoned for the greater part of her stay. She cast one last glance at
their beautiful house with its turreted frontage and gargoyles here and there
peering down as though permanent watchmen, and then it was good byes all round.
      Hugh finally caught up her hand and escorted
her to the coach, and the liveried groom opened the coach door. It was a
private coach, yes, but most unusual crest on the door. The door now held wide
she could no longer see the coat-of-arms, and was it her imagination or had she
spied two fleur-de-lis at top left of diagonal sword and one to bottom right?
      Hugh stole her attention whilst she ascended
to coach and to seat. “Lovely weather for travel, Diamonta, and you should arrive
in Llandovery for early supper.”
      “I do hope so,” her reply, as the liveried
groom secured the door.
      “Well, you are setting off a little earlier
than expected,” said Hugh, a broad smile. “Good job that message arrived in
time last night, or you might not have been ready when the coach arrived this
morning.” He stepped back, the livered groom already scrambling aboard the
coach. “Good bye and God bless.”
      Lady Fortnum said something, her mouth
animated as she waved a kerchief but Diamonta heard not a word as the coach
lurched forward and its wheels scrunched on gravel. Hugh’s words were still
ringing in her ears. Good job the message arrived in time last night,
or you might not have been ready this . . .
      Her heart lurched. The coach had been scheduled
to arrive at eleven o’clock, and it was now about half-past-nine. Was it
madness to think kidnap? Oh, how the mind can play tricks when hope leads one
in desperate pursuit of