Cornhill Ward, London, December 1665
Anne stared at her reflection in the looking glass, thoroughly saddened she hadn’t been born a man who could do what he liked. She shook her head, allowing her beribboned auburn curls to bounce. She jutted out her jaw and even though Mother thought her heart shaped face handsome, Anne considered her chin too pointy. She hoped her betrothed liked her appearance.
Her father should have demanded a portrait of Geoffrey so she knew what he looked like. Now, she could only guess.
Very soon, she would meet this elusive Geoffrey Hamilton and his family for the betrothal feast. As the clock in her bedchamber chimed the hour, she listened to street sounds, waiting for the Pilcher coach to arrive.
Their London house had been scrubbed and decorated for the event. With many thanks to the highwayman, new furniture graced several rooms. Sprigs of freshly cut ferns placed in the dining chamber kept flies at bay. Colourful ribbons hung from rafters throughout the house and wafted in the early winter draughts.
Anne swiped her hand against the ceiling ribbons. Why Mother put them in her bedchamber, she could not imagine. Geoffrey would never come up here. She gazed out the window at the crowded street and sighed. No one of import walked below.
Pilcher and his family were staunch Presbyterians, yet they would eat very well at the feast. Dressed beef, gently roasted, sweet potatoes from the Colony of Virginia, raw oysters and barley bread would fill the board. To finish their meal and freshen their palates, Mother had found China oranges and grapes from Italy. Father ordered the bungs removed from a large barrel of beer and several wine barrels. Anne wondered what Father was about spending so much when their guests preferred all things plain; then she saw his tight-lipped smile.
He’d raised her chin with his finger. “Let us see how ravenous they are with this lovely feast. Or will they request a plain egg and some crumbly cheese?” His eyes sparked. “I shall never forgive Pilcher for his treachery to our family, me girl.” He glared at her. “Nor will you. The old man is an abomination afore good Christian persons.” He dropped his hand and walked away.
Anne wandered back to the window. The Hamiltons were late. Hopefully, they’d been caught in the snare of that highwayman, left to rot on the road and their carriage pillaged of goods. For a blessed moment, she closed her eyes and smiled.
She snapped them open when a coach with iron-clad wheels rattled to a stop outside their house. How could the highwayman ignore Pilcher when he attacked every other that trundled down the road? The Lord Mayor was up in arms over the matter. Soon the wretch would be caught and hanged.
Her heart suddenly beat in a sad rhythm. She had enjoyed Gentleman Jack’s lovely kisses. She couldn’t imagine her betrothed’s kisses would be so sublime.
A large coach and six filled the lane. A tall man, fitted in black, descended the steps. His grey periwig matched everything about him that was dreary.
Lord Pilcher, the grandfather.
Anne saw a blighted, unhappy future roll before her. Tears pricked.
A younger man fitted in a dark blue, brocade doublet and breeches, his cloak lined with some sort of fur, stepped down from the coach. He wore a fashionable blond periwig that flowed past his shoulders. Atop all this was a beaver hat with a jaunty blue feather in the hatband.
Geoffrey Hamilton, Esquire.
She raised the lace curtain for a better view. He was handsome but not as Mother professed. Anne could not imagine the man below so pretty, women staggered to a stop whenever he came near.
Pilcher waved away the coach then looked up at the leaded windows fronting the house. Anne quickly dropped the lace curtain edge and backed into the chamber.
In the open doorway, her maid knocked on the doorjamb.
Anne’s hand flew to her throat. “Oh, I did not see you there.”
Sally curtseyed. “Your mother wants you in the parlour.”
Anne groaned. She leaned against the railing and slowly footslogged her way to the lower floor and the parlour.
Decorated with good cheer, silver-plates with prawns and deboned pullet pieces adorned the tables. A pitcher of strong spirits called aqua vitae and small glasses sat on a cupboard. She intended to pour herself a liberal portion thereof and would see the old man and Geoffrey’s reaction. Hopefully, they’d cast her aside as unworthy.
Oaken panels with pastoral scenes lined the parlour walls. A settle sat against the far wall, tapestried cushions wedged onto the oak bench. More cushions decorated chairs placed carefully about the chamber. Anne always liked this room, but today, a chill filled her.
Pilcher and his grandson walked into the chamber. Erect and stern in his low crowned, narrow brimmed hat, the old man nodded at her father and mother. He ignored Anne.
His clothing bespoke of the Cromwell days with a plain doublet and bone buttons, his collar of simple white linen. He wore black breeches and black woollen hose. His sword sheath bore the only trace of posy with its handle draped in black ribbon.
She curtseyed.
Pilcher examined her with unblinking eyes. Anne forced herself to remain calm, but it was difficult under the man’s relentless regard. As a servant passed around Venetian glasses of wine, Anne waited for Father to make the introductions.
Father’s visage was pale, his eyes stark. He cleared his throat. “Daughter, please welcome your new family to heart. This is My Lord Thomas Hamilton, Fifth Baron Pilcher. And this gentleman is Michael Hutchinson, Esquire, friend of Sir Thomas—”
“Hutchinson is not a friend but a distant relative,” Sir Thomas interrupted.
Anne felt acute shame as Mister Hutchinson’s neck turned red, the colour climbing into his face.
Her father stepped forward. “Please make acquaintance with our lovely daughter, Mistress Anne St. Warre.”
Michael Hutchinson bowed, showing a leg. “Mistress St. Warre.”
Anne curtseyed. “Mister Hutchinson.” If Geoffrey had not come, the wedding must be off. “But where is Milord Geoffrey?” she blurted.
Sleet clattered against the windows. Hutchinson hiccoughed. Mother leaned into Father, her face filled with remorse. Anne eyed the Delft pitcher that held the aqua vitae.
“Mister Geoffrey Hamilton is not a lord, Mistress, nor will he be,” Sir Thomas flared.
The amount of venom in Pilcher’s carriage astonished Anne. “But…” She did not understand why the old man would say such a thing, for if Geoffrey was a direct descendent, Pilcher could not stop his grandson from obtaining the title. Could he?
Sir Thomas pulled a handkercher from his sleeve and blew his nose. “As far as the delay, he had some business to attend to. Have no fear, Geoffrey will be here shortly.”
“Did someone mention my name?”
Everyone turned to regard Geoffrey who stood in the open doorway. He grinned and struck a pose.
Anne’s mouth fell agape with incredulous shock. No wonder the highwayman had gone stone cold when she mentioned his name. The man before them was the cur of the highways she had met two months past. Unlike then, when he wore wool and leather, smelled of gunpowder and sweat, today he’d attired himself like a foppery peacock.
What was she getting into? He could be caught in a snare by the authorities and sent to Tyburn. Her fond memories of his kiss melted her heart. She did not want him hanged.
Marriage to this man would be an unsteady affair, one that would keep her eternally surprised. She grinned.
Aflame with colour, Geoffrey splashed into the chamber. He wore cunningly placed patches upon his face. His hat, with a curled brim a-froth with feathers, sat on a light brown periwig. Anne wanted to cover her eyes against the bright pink and yellow of his short doublet, his slashed elbow-length sleeves showing a ribbon-lingerie shirt. His neckband of lace ended with a pom-pom of yellow, crocheted petals that dangled upon his breast. Heavy lace fell from the knees of his breeches. He wore yellow stockings and pink shoes with red heels. The scabbard at his side was adorned with gold and silver-plate, the pommel and basket-hilt encrusted with jewels.
Mother’s and Father’s mouths had fallen open. Again, Anne eyed the Delft pitcher with aqua vitae. Michael Hutchinson appeared ready to burst with laughter. Sir Thomas scowled and grabbed the hilt of his sword.
Geoffrey pranced to the servant holding a tray of wine filled glasses. “Come Grandfather, what’s this scowl? I’m here, aren’t I?” He sipped wine, his eyes bright with wicked humour.
He toasted her mother. “You must be the merry bride-to-be.” He took her hand and bowed, showing a fine leg. “How lovely to meet you.”
Pilcher harrumphed. A little chirp of laughter escaped Mister Hutchinson.
Father sucked in a breath. “Erm, this is my wife, My Lady Louise St. Warre, Viscountess Claimore.”
Mother smiled. Her cheeks dimpled. “Lovely. You may not call me mother.” She giggled.
Anne found it difficult not to roll her eyes.
Father turned to her. “May I present my daughter, Mistress Anne St. Warre, your intended wife?”
The man turned a twinkling eye upon her as she raised her hand for his greeting. He bent low and murmured, “Ah, but of course. Pleasure, I’m sure.”
When Anne curtseyed, she caught a whiff of a musty cellar. “Mister Hamilton.”
She could not fathom this new person who appeared so different in his flamboyant clothes. If she met him in the halls of Whitehall, she’d never consider him a fellow who rode a horse like the very devil or kissed her so well amongst the pile of stones. Her legs grew weak as she thought of it.
Anne wondered what game he played. She took a quick glance at the dour Sir Thomas and then at Geoffrey, knowing she would soon learn the truth of the matter.
A servant bowed in the open doorway. “Dinner is served.”
* * *
They seated Anne and Geoffrey together so they could learn of each other. They were the centre of attention even as simple discourse floated over the table. The discussion had changed from generalities to Gentleman Jack.
Father dipped his hands in the fingerbowl. “We must do something about that rogue. He’s far too impudent and should be brought down a peg or two.” He briskly wiped his hands with a square piece of linen. “The fellow stole a houseful of my furniture and some fine, family jewels that came down to us from King Harry’s time. I’d like Parliament to authorize the militia to hunt him down. I’d even watch him swing at Tyburn.”
Anne stifled a gasp. She’d never seen Father with this violent tendency, especially when the person he wanted to see dance the jig sat in this very chamber. She truly hoped nothing would come of this for she liked Geoffrey very much.
Geoffrey slipped his hand under the table and fondled hers. A strange thrill coursed through her veins.
Pilcher clutched his knife and spoon. “The militia won’t do. Too expensive and we must request the king to authorize it.”
Her father stabbed his meat with the knife tip. “Then what should we do?”
“I know an alderman who will search to the ends of the earth for the villain.”
Father took a sip of wine. “What has he done to the alderman?”
“Frolicked with his daughter, and still does, if I have it aright. Stamp is deadly mad and, if allowed, will kill the man with his own hand.”
Geoffrey sucked in a breath; his fingers squeezed Anne’s. She turned to him, a scold on her tongue, but when she saw him regarding Sir Thomas with undisguised hatred, she pressed her lips together.
“I know Alderman Stamp,” Father mused as he toyed with the Venetian glass stem. “He’s a neighbour of ours.”
Mother rushed to her feet. “Not our dear Jemima. She’s a good girl and wouldn’t allow such heathen behaviour.”
“The filthy creature taps at the back door and begs your worthy lady to bundle with him.” Sir Thomas sent his gaze about the table. “She has forsaken the Lord and His ways. She will burn for it.” He stared blankly at his food. “As will the highwayman.”
Mister Hutchinson coughed. He swept up his wine and took a healthy swallow.
Geoffrey released her hand and cut into the beef with his knife, sopping up the gravy with bread. He closed his eyes and chewed as if he had found paradise. Anne waited for a glimpse of his roguery but he acted as if he had not a care in the world.
She smiled. “Well, Mister Hamilton, what say you of this pirate?”
Geoffrey dabbed his lips with a napkin and sucked meat from a tooth. “An arch-villain if there ever was one. But I shan’t go looking for him, my sweet-biscuit.” He wagged his head. “’Tis far too demanding to sit a-horse for hours at a time, especially since the weather’s turned so foul.” He shivered, his jowls rocking back and forth.
Anne bent closer to Geoffrey and sniffed. Despite his well-clothed appearance, he smelled like an old cellar. She must ask him why.
Pilcher growled. “Thou art an embarrassment to the Hamilton clan.”
Geoffrey tensed. He bit into the bread and chewed as if he must mash it to death; then he took her hand and stood. “Let us withdraw to the parlour, Mistress.” He bowed to Mother. “Thanks to you, milady, for the fine fare. Please keep to the table. I shall treat mistress most gently, have no fear.”
His tone brooked no challenge, a startling difference from his earlier foppery one. When they reached the parlour, Anne stopped Geoffrey midstride. “I will have questions answered.”
He walked to the board with the aqua vitae and poured two glasses. “As you wish.”
She glanced at the landing then closed the parlour doors. “Are you papist? What did you do with my father’s furniture, the dray wagon, and the jewels?”
Geoffrey grinned. “Odds fish, but you’ve a rapscallion opinion of me, my dear, and here I am afore you, mostly innocent.” He removed a pipe from his pocket and stared at it for a long moment. “I had nothing to do with the thieving of your family goods, me girl, but I know where they are. It was a very handsome catch, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I knew you were the infamous fellow when those men chased us across the county.”
He grinned. “Did you?”
“This marriage business has caused a very hell in my mind, but now all is well.” She twirled around in a little dance. “Within a fortnight of our marriage vows you’ll be caught in a snare and dragged to Tyburn. Very convenient for me, I assure you.”
“Indeed, you’d make the fine, grieving bride but if I swing, you’ll be branded a thief’s widow and barred from Whitehall.”
“Nay,” Anne declared with her nose happily in the air. “His Majesty is most generous to the rakes and thieves in his own circle. I shall be most saddened by your grave condition, and be pardoned forthwith.”
“I shall never be caught but praised for my daring wit under the most troublesome of circumstances.” He lit his pipe and puffed contentedly for a moment. “I’m considered a fair Robin Hood by common folk. Haven’t you heard?”
“You are but a wretched brigand who has a most exciting life. Have you given my father’s goods to the poor?”
“Not as yet.”
“There you are, a vainglorious beast. Your life is far from the dullard existence of most I know.”
“’Tis a dangerous life. One wrong move and my ways are forfeited, your future shamed and the common folk disappointed.”
Anne smiled. “Aye, the common folk will be disappointed.” She pressed her hand against his chest. “We’ll have an exciting, charmed life, we will. Now, Master Hamilton, you may kiss me.” She raised her face and puckered her lips.
Geoffrey frowned. “If you think to join me on the highway, think again.”
“You cannot stop me.”
“I say but you are a cunning piece. It will not happen.”
Anne wrapped her arms around his middle and splayed her hands against his backside, pulling him toward her. He sighed and leaned down to kiss her. When their lips met, Anne melted against his strength.
She pressed against him until she could feel all of him. “Hmm, lovely.”
Geoffrey chuckled. “You are a flower ready to be cut. Tonight, when all are abed, I shall fill your vase full.”
Her whole body thrummed with excitement. “I shall give you a map to me bedchamber.”