The Lord of the Highwaymen - Elizabeth Bramwell Page 0,11

bird of paradise?”

“Emily!” gasped the parrot lady, her offense obvious.

The milkmaid’s eyes glittered, but she kept her attention on William.

“Erm,” he said before coughing into his hand. “I am merely abiding by the royal scamp’s code, my dear lady, for as we cannot steal from the poor or the virtuous, I’m afraid that a touch of a milkmaid’s fingers is all I may request.”

He may have succeeded in mollifying her, but the parrot turned her wrath upon William so suddenly that he almost took a step back.

“Are you suggesting I am not virtuous? How dare you! Wait until my husband hears of this insult!”

“Your husband would undoubtedly agree with the rogue,” retorted the milkmaid. “Oh, do stop playing the role of a wounded innocent, Caroline, no one cares.”

As the women began to take sides in the coming battle, William took the opportunity to slip away before he was drawn back into the conversation.

That had not gone well at all, and any confidence provided by the champagne evaporated as a result. He could see Amelia just a few feet before him, her dark hair like silk as she slipped, alone, out onto the veranda.

He hesitated, not knowing what to say or how to approach her. He did not have the words to express how just being in her company made the world less incomprehensible to him, or how her smile could have him walking on clouds. No poet he could think of had ever put to paper a way that adequately described how magnificent she was when passionately arguing a point of science or how her laughter could brighten the dullest of lectures. She was beautiful in a way that made that word insignificant and small.

He’d tried to explain it to Dook only a few nights earlier.

“It’s like trying to explain to your favorite mare all the reasons it is such an excellent creature. You could describe at length everything from her sweet nature to the strength of her back, but to the horse, all you’ve done is describe every other member of her species. She’s incapable of understanding why you know that she is better than all the other horses, even if they claim differently.”

Dook had looked thoughtfully at William’s whiskey glass and then removed it from the table.

“Whatever you do, my friend, do not tell Amelia that she’s your favorite horse.”

William sighed at the memory. He was a fool to think he could do this.

He was about to walk away, perhaps even leave the ball altogether, when he caught sight of a gentleman in Tudor dress stepping out after Amelia. Interest, and not a little jealousy, flared up in William’s chest, and he was following the man before he knew what he was about.

The veranda, as it turned out, was anything but secluded. Lanterns cast pools of light over the slate-tiled floor, and the hum of chatter from the Melbournes’ guests filled the evening air. William glanced about him purposefully, avoiding catching the eye of anyone as he searched for Amelia. When he finally spied her, his heart sank a little further. Several gentlemen were paying court to her, and from her broad smile, he guessed that she was enjoying their gallantry.

He thought back to the parrot and the milkmaid, shuddered, and then pushed the memory as far away from him as he could. He was not a fool. Amelia Fellowes was a diamond of the first water, and if he did not at least attempt to win her heart soon, he could very well lose her to another. He had been too young and foolish to declare himself before her first marriage and had reconciled his heart to being nothing more than her friend. Now that she was out of mourning for the late Lord Fellowes, he could not let this opportunity go.

“Courage, William,” he murmured to himself. “She enjoys your friendship, so with luck, she will also wish for something more.”

It was enough to make him move forward. He straightened his back, trying to imagine he was Louis, or Conway, or even Dook, as he forced himself to smile.

Her back was to him, but he performed a low, deep bow of the sort more typical of centuries gone by.

“Stand and deliver, my good lady, for I regret that I must relieve you of your treasures.”

She turned, and as William got a better look, he realized the terrible mistake that he’d made.

The lady, dressed as a Grecian goddess, was most certainly not Amelia.

“And what treasures were you thinking