“Do you miss it – the soldiering?”
A wild, feral look claimed his features – a glimpse of the man who strode, sword in hand, fearless, into the worst that Hell and all its monsters could conjure. “I am good at it.”
His response only caught her off guard for a second and she recovered well. “I do not doubt that for a moment, Major Roberts.” There was a challenge in her next words. “Dancing or fighting, what are you best at?”
“If you would care to dance, I could let you be the judge.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“It is.”
“But without seeing you fight, sir, I would not be able to comment on the matter.” She smiled, receiving a barking laugh in return. “Although, I suppose one dance would keep our watchers happy, more so than a duel. Then they’d free us, surely, from any further commitments this evening?”
A stone’s throw away, across the ballroom, was Aunt Georgia and a willowy woman Harriet assumed to be Major Roberts’s mother.
“And we could go our separate ways,” he agreed, holding out a hand. “A worthy plan.”
She studied him for a short while longer, weighing up her options – and she would have gone along with their ruse, had not a thin man with a bureaucratic air interrupted them.
“Pardon the intrusion,” said the sallow pen-pusher, adjusting his ill-fitting wig and paying no mind to Harriet. “Sir Fielding wishes to make the announcement and requests your presence at once, Major Roberts.”
“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