"That isn’t fair!"

"Wherever did you get the idea that I was fair?" Dick exclaimed with a chuckle. "I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble and it takes all my time to do that."

"How much trouble could I get into at a dance?!" Swiftnick protested.

"Lots," Turpin answered, his attention returning to the lane ahead. He thought he could hear a voice coming from up ahead; it sounded like it was arguing with someone.

"If went on my own," Swiftnick said carefully. "And I promised to be very cautious and make sure I stayed out of trouble, you could stay at the hideout and have a nice rest...."

"Implying that I need a nice rest? I'm too decrepit to go to a village dance?" Dick said sarcastically. There was definitely someone up ahead and they were swearing now. A horse snorted and Black Bess pricked up her ears with interest.

"I didn’t say that. But you’d be bored, you know you would. It’s not your kind of thing at all."

"Swiftnick, hush..."

"But...."

"There’s someone up ahead," Turpin qualified before his accomplice could argue. Swiftnick shut his mouth and sat up alertly, eyeing the road ahead. "Sounds like only one man, but keep close and follow my lead. First sign of trouble, leg it. Got that?"

Swiftnick nodded obediently, patting Toby’s neck as the horse snorted. Together the two highwaymen trotted on along the leafy path and rounded the bend with Turpin in the lead and Swiftnick a respectful distance behind him.

There was somewhat scruffy green and black gilded carriage lying half across the path with one wheel torn off and lying in the ditch with the broken ends of the axle poking forlornly skywards. A slender young man clad in a dark green riding coat over perfectly cut riding breeches and sadly dusty boots was walking a horse carefully up the lane. He was swearing, speaking softly so as not to alarm the animal. Hearing the approach of horses hooves he looked up eagerly, saw Turpin and Swiftnick and dropped the horse’s reins to lunge back to the carriage.

Turpin tensed, reaching for his pistol but it was not a weapon the young man was rushing to get but his wig. Clamping it hastily back on over his tousled short black curls, he swept them a flustered bow. "Good day, sir. My apologies for my carriage blocking your path."

"Think nothing of it," Turpin responded graciously. "Clearly an accident, what?"

"Quite. The path was somewhat narrower than I anticipated. On rounding the corner I found myself in rather too close proximity to the ditch. With the results you can see..."

"Yes," Dick murmured, inspecting the gaudy carriage. "A loan vehicle, is it?"

The young man blushed, attempting to stuff his unruly curls back under the wig. "I must admit that I was unfamiliar with its performance."

"Hence your encounter with the ditch," Dick said mildly, restraining his grin with an effort. He could see that the carriage had come off the worst, the horse and driver seemed to be unharmed. "Allow me to offer my assistance..."

"Oh, would you, sir? The carriage is quite beyond my ability to repair and I am afraid the horse is unrideable; it’s gone lame."

"Gladly I will ride on to the next inn and send a groom to collect you..."

"Oh, forgive me for interrupting you, sir," the young man broke in earnestly. "But I must ask more of you than that. You’ll forgive me for being forward, but I must ask if you will loan me your horse. I am quite desperate, sir, and besides I do not believe the inn will have another carriage apart from this...one...."

"My horse?" Turpin repeated in shock, heard a faint half giggle from Swiftnick and recovered himself. "Ah, but the mare is a thoroughbred, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly..."

"Oh, please, it is most urgent. I can pay you will, sir. I do not mean to brag, but I am Cameron Montague the third. I'm sure you have heard of the Montagues? We are quite famous..."

Rich... Dick translated mentally. Absolutely rolling in pure gold...Cameron Montague would be viscount Montague, oldest son and heir to a fortune.... "Sir Willoughby Mallory," he introduced himself. "The poet. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?"

"I'm afraid not," Cameron admitted, blushing in chagrin. "I am afraid I am not well read when it comes to poets. But your horse, sir, I can pay well. Or even that of your valet?"

Swiftnick snorted indignantly but held his tongue at the look Dick gave him.

"He’s my ward. And what you ask is quite impossible," Turpin said firmly, knowing Swiftnick was bound to slip up and behave far more familiar with him than any valet would dare. "I have a very long ride to make myself. I shall send the groom back..."

"Then I am doomed. Doomed!" Wailed Cameron, flinging a desperate hand to his forehead and knocking his precarious wig askew again. "Never again to see my beloved Daphne. To have her snatched so cruelly from my arms...."

Daphne? Dick mouthed silently.

"It is over! How can I go on without seeing that delightful face again? Those eyes, that hair, that mouth, those...er...dimples..."

"I think I get the picture," Dick muttered dryly, aware that Swiftnick was watching this dramatic display with some interest. Probably taking notes for later, Dick thought sourly.

"My beloved, my darling, lost to me forever. I am bereft. I cannot go on..." Cameron flung himself against the side of the carriage, hiding his face in his arm.

"Oh, I say, sir, do you have a hankering to be an actor?" Dick asked dryly. "Come now, Montague the third, this display is quite ungentlemanly."

"You don’t understand. Unless I fly to her side, I shall never see again. The blackguard is to snatch her away to lock her in a tower beyond my reach."

"True love will find a way," Swiftnick offered in solemn reassurance.

"Thank you very much, Nicholas. That will do. He doesn’t need any encouragement from you," Turpin told him sternly, wondering where his apprentice had managed to get such an idea.

"She will probably fling herself from the balcony in despair, certain that I have betrayed our love..."

Turpin sighed heavily. "Are you drunk as well as a bad driver?"

"I am distraught..."

"Really? I would never have guessed," Dick murmured sarcastically then barked sternly. "Pull yourself together, man! Think of your lineage!"

Cameron jerked and gave him a startled look.

"What is this nonsense all about?" Dick demanded impatiently. "And mind, none of this hysterical stuff now, or I will ride on..."

Cameron gulped, struggling to control his emotions and tugging down his coat. "Daphne..." he gurgled.

"Yes, yes, you mentioned her..."

"Her eyes pleading with me for rescue, not to abandon her to her cruel captivity..."

"By the blackguard, yes, you mentioned him..." Turpin said in exasperation.

"We should do something," Swiftnick urged.

"Who wouldn’t happen to be her father would he?" Dick continued, ignoring his partner.

Cameron flushed. "Well...." he mumbled.

"Thought so," Dick said sourly. "Refused to let her see you, has he?"

"Yes, yes, exactly. He has torn us apart and I must rescue her..."

"Before he locks her up in the tower," Swiftnick nodded. "We can’t let that happen."

"I suspect it’s more along the lines that her father has threatened to lock her in her room," Dick told him sourly. "Look, Montague, you’re overwrought and not thinking clearly. What’s the rush? Unless you’ve done more than, er, admire her dimples, you’ve got plenty of time to woo them both. You’re what? Twenty?"

"Twenty one," Cameron said firmly.

"And twenty one is so much older than twenty," Turpin said dourly and sighed again as he glimpsed the shining light in Swiftnick’s eyes.

"I promised her," Cameron moaned. "She’ll think I have abandoned her for another. She’ll think I don’t love her...."

"My goodness, is the girl that fickle?"

"No!" Cameron shot back hotly. "Certainly not."

"What then is the problem?"

"France."

"France?" Dick echoed.

"He’s going to take her on the Grand Tour so she’ll forget me. She’ll think I’ll think she’s abandoned me..."Cameron managed a convincing little sob.

Dick was having trouble keeping up and without all the practice he’d had following Swiftnick’s convoluted logic, he’d have been completely lost. "Why don’t you start at the beginning?" he suggested carefully.

"Oh, we met at the ball...."

"Not quite that far back if you please?" Dick suggested hopefully.

"Oh..." Cameron paused, thinking hard. "Daphne and her father Sir Grayshot are staying at the Goose and Feathers on their way to the sea. Daphne managed to send a message to me and I flew to her side as soon as she arrived. Only her father refused to allow me to see her. She is desperate, quite, quite desperate with love. As am I. If we cannot be together I am sure she will cast herself over the side of the ship and be lost to me forever in the cold dark sea..."

"Seems a trifle drastic to me," Turpin interrupted grimly. "So, you couldn’t see her. You rode off in a huff to get a carriage? Or were you on your way back...?."

"I went to get a carriage. I could not ask Daphne to ride off on horseback with me. It wouldn’t be ladylike."

"Neither is eloping," Dick pointed out dryly. "That is what you had in mind, isn’t it?"

"But it’s the only way for us to be together, sir!"

"No, it isn’t, you young fool. Get your message to her some other way. Arrange to meet along the way. If you’re both sensible, you can throw him off the scent. Even the Grand Tour doesn’t last forever. If it’s love, you can wait for each other..."

"Oh Sir Willoughby," Cameron’s blue eyes rounded in hope. "Would you?"

"Would I what?" Dick asked warily, belatedly scenting a trap.

"Take my message to Daphne?"

"Me?" Dick echoed in shock.

"Sir Grayshott would see you, sir, I know he would. If you went to the Goose and Feathers as a guest, you could meet as if by accident..." Cameron urged.

"And he’d be bound to introduce you to her," Swiftnick added. "You could pass her the message..."

"Yes! She could come and meet me. You could offer to take her out for bit of air....You’re so respectable that I'm sure there could be no objections."

"I’ll do it if you won’t," Swiftnick suggested.

"That’s very generous," Cameron said gratefully.

Two of a kind, Dick groaned silently. "Grayshot would never let you near her if he’s that protective," he said aloud however.

"Oh, he is."

"I could pretend to be a potboy or someone. No one ever notices them."

"He might shoot you if he suspected something though...." Cameron said doubtfully.

"But I would be the hand of Cupid..."

Turpin groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Cupid," he moaned. "That’s all I need. And me with a gun instead of a bow and arrow..."

"Then you’ll do it?" Cameron pressed eagerly. "You’re a poet. Surely such a romantic task would be to your tastes?"

"Think of the epic verses you could pen..." Swiftnick added. "They’ll be right up there with a ‘Sonnet to her Bonnet’."

Turpin gave him a venomous look, but he knew himself to be trapped. Swiftnick had the bit between his teeth. He was going to persuade Dick to help Cameron whatever Turpin thought about it.

"Why me?" Dick groaned under his breath.

"Oh please, Sir Willoughby, please help me?" Cameron begged earnestly.

"I suppose I must be the dove of love...." Dick sighed.

"Oh, Sir Willoughby, that’s marvellous..." Cameron sighed in bliss and clasped his hands under his chin in delight. "With such a poet to help us, how can we fail? Daphne will be mine at last, I know it."

Turpin surrendered to the inevitable. "You’d better give me something to take to her then so she knows it’s from you. Do you have somewhere I can bring her to meet you? I hope you can think of something better than the local haystack?" As Montague blushed in mortification, Dick thought of something else. "By the way, what have you done to make Grayshot turn you down? I’d have thought he’d jump at the chance of you wanting the girl...."

"I, I haven’t told him my name...."

"You haven’t what?!"

The Goose and Feather inn was a quiet but expensive and exclusively respectable establishment on the main road to the coast. As such it counted the rich and noble among its guests and was reputed to be able to count at least two Kings among its visitors in the past. Sir Rodney Grayshot considered it to be barely passable, but with his gout playing him up and his beautiful young daughter having hysterics over his refusal to allow her the attentions of her most ardent suitor – obviously a gold digger and a rake of the worst kind, perhaps even a libertine – he was glad of the peace and quiet. He certainly didn't want tittle-tattling scandalmongers to see Daphne making fool of herself over a completely unsuitable beau.

The clatter from the main door as it rattled noisily on its hinges barely drew his attention from his glass of port, but when it continued to rattle and shake, he lifted his head and peered over his bandaged foot towards the door. The door rattled as someone attempted to pull it open again and Grayshot bent an irritated frown upon his bewildered host.

"I say!" a voice quavered from outside. "Is anyone there? Are you open, innkeeper? The door seems to be stuck."

"Well, man, don’t stand there like a pole! Open it!" Grayshot barked.

The hapless innkeeper was already hastening over to pull the door open and stick out a stalwart arm to support the vision in peach velvet that tottered over the doorstep.

"Oh, I say," gasped the wigged fop, clutching at the innkeeper until he managed to right himself on his high heeled slippers of peach satin. "You are a wonder, sir, a veritable wonder! I thought I would be exiled in that dismal stable yard forever."

Grayshot sniffed and returned his attention to his port. As a bluff hunting man he had no patience with dithering dandies like this one.

"There now, sir," the innkeeper soothed, recognising quality and money with it from the fop’s clothes. "All’s well. Why don’t you sit yourself down and have a mite of a rest?"

"Oh, yes, yes, an exquisite idea! But you must get that door fixed you know..."

"I’ll see to it, sir. Can I bring you anything?"

"Perhaps a bite or two. Pheasant, some truffles, soufflé, nothing too much. I eat like a bird, you know, a bird! Oh, and a private parlour where I may rest and take my repast?"

The innkeeper glanced warily over at Grayshot who bent a forbidding scowl on him. "I'm afraid the parlour’s taken, sir."

"Oh, surely not." The dandy followed the innkeeper’s gaze and studied Grayshot for a moment through his gold rimmed quizzing glass then a brilliant smile crossed his face and he tottered towards the stout grey haired man. Flourishing a gold lace edged handkerchief, the vision swept Grayshot a superb bow. "My apologies, sir. I did not see you there. The innkeeper quite distracted me and for a moment I quite forgot my manners. Who do I have the honour of meeting, sir?"

"Rodney Grayshot..." the gentleman responded sourly.

"Not, Sir Rodney Grayshot?" Turpin exclaimed, gazing upon him wide eyed. "Of the Hampshire Grayshots?"

"Er, yes...." Grayshot admitted cautiously.

"Why then we must surely sup together!" Turpin seated himself without waiting to be asked and fluttered his handkerchief at the horrified innkeeper. "Bring a bottle of brandy if you please. I, Sir Grayshot, am Sir Willoughby Mallory. The poet. You have heard of me of course?"

Grayshot floundered. But the man had a title and was at least his equal if not his superior and had obviously heard of him. It would be rude to deny it. "Oh, yes, naturally," he muttered, little realising that he had floored Turpin with the casual agreement.

"Oh, excellent...." Turpin managed, flustered.

"Yes, yes, knights and jousting and things. That King chappy. My daughter Daphne reads all that sort of trash. Er, not that that’s trash, but I'm a blunt man and I say what I mean. Not my style all these books and things. Girl takes after her mother for that."

Dick held in an enormous sigh of relief as he realised Grayshot has mistaken him for someone else entirely. "I would be delighted to meet such a well bred young lady," he murmured.

"Ah, well, she and her mother will be joining me for luncheon shortly. Went off to primp and preen herself I don’t wonder." Grayshot paused, eyeing Mallory in speculation. Beneath the powder and lace unless he was mistaken was a handsome, fit mature man. Mallory might provide an excellent distraction for Daphne, better than that dolt she had clinging to her skirts. "Why don’t you join us, Sir Willoughby?"

Turpin bent a smile on him that was not quite smug. "I would be enchanted, sir," he said warmly. "Tell me what brings you to these parts? You are a long way from Hampshire."

Grayshot snorted. "Quite. We’re taking the girl off on the Grand Tour."

"Oh?" Turpin said blandly, engaged in removing a speck of non existent fluff from one peach velvet sleeve.

"It’s Florence’s idea. Lady Grayshot that is. Got some young chap chasing after her."

"Oh, I say, how vulgar! And how embarrassing for Lady Grayshot! Perhaps a duel is called for? I would happily stand for second in such a matter of honour..."

"Not after Florence!" Grayshot exploded. "After Daphne. Won't do of course Not the right type. Too young for her. Needs a proper man to look after her. A mature man with a title and a bit of money..."

Dick flinched and thought fast as he caught the speculative look on Grayshott’s eye. He was saved by the return of the innkeeper with the brandy. "Ah there you are, man! Wherever did you wander off too?" he exclaimed. "A mirror!"

"A mirror?" the innkeeper echoed in bewilderment as he placed the brandy beside Turpin on a small table.

"Yes, sir, a mirror! I absolutely must have a mirror! At once! Surely you have such at thing?"

"Well, sir, I don’t rightly know...."

"You don’t have one? I am shocked sir, absolutely shocked! It won't do, it won’t do at all! How can I review your establishment when I am in such a dishevelled state?! And half starved...."

"Dinner won’t be but a moment, sir. Although it won't be pheasant. But what review would that be, sir?"

"What are you, man? A parrot? I write articles about inns and such establishments so that my readers can assure themselves of where they may stay. Only the best, sir, only the very best win my approval I assure you...."

"I’ll find you one right away, your lordship," the innkeeper said hastily and rushed off to the kitchens to harass the maid’s in search of what was required.

Grayshot was boggling at Mallory in some disbelief, wondering if he was mistaken about him after all. A poet was bad enough, but some kind of writer too? Reviewing country inns?

Dick sat back in his seat, patting at his wig and sipping at a restorative brandy. "Daphne Grayshot," he murmured thoughtfully. "I think that I shall never see a sight lovelier than thee."

"I didn’t know you’d met my daughter..." Grayshot growled.

"Oh, I haven’t sir. But the mere name conjures visions of sylvan woods and flower bowers...Oh if only Daphne would have me..."

"Sir?!"

"Oh, don’t mind little me. A poet must rhyme when his muse sings to him though it be of sin...."

"What?" Grayshot roared.

Turpin fluttered his handkerchief. "Nothing, nothing....a mere trifle..."

Grayshot scowled at him, wondering if the poet was running mad talking to people who weren’t there. Muses indeed!

"Rodney, dear?" Lady Grayshot’s voce was soft and curious as she entered the room. She was as slender as Grayshot was stout, with luminescent grey eyes and blonde hair artfully arranged. Grayshot lumbered to his feet and out of sheer instinct, Dick bounded up to help him then sweep a bow to the ladies. Beside her was a young girl of about Swiftnick’s age, as blonde and slender as Lady Florence and with the same grey eyes that seemed huge in her delicate pixie shaped face. Grayshot muttered the introductions, scowling as Dick promptly swept an even more extravagant bow and proceeded to charm the stockings off both ladies with fulsome compliments. Lady Florence was obviously amused but Daphne drank in every word with enormous eyes and pretty blushes.

Grayshot obviously didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed by his daughter and started muttering about knights and kings again.

"Oh, papa!" Daphne cooed, taking his arm. "That’s a different Mallory completely. That’s Thomas Mallory. Sir Willoughby is a poet."

"That’s what I said. Probably knows this Thomas though, what? Brother is he?"

"No, sir, not my brother," Turpin said firmly.

"Don’t be gruff, papa," Daphne pleaded as Sir Rodney started to scowl. "I'm sure Sir Willoughby will be delighted to read us some of his poetry. Won’t you, Sir Willoughby?"

Gazing down into the limpid pools of her eyes, Dick smiled his agreement even as he sighed inwardly. Daphne was every bit as much of an innocent idiot as Montague. But she didn’t seem particularly distraught to him. Not for the first time he wondered what on earth had possessed him to get involved with this mess. Mostly he blamed Swiftnick, but he had a feeling that Cupid was involved somewhere too...

"Don’t you think you should have told Sir Grayshot your name? It might have made things a bit easier," Swiftnick asked. He and Cameron were riding along a green country lane that wended its way pleasantly through the sun dappled shade of the wood. Once Turpin had left them, Swiftnick had let Cameron ride behind him on Toby and, leading the carriage horse, ridden to the inn. After few coins and a lot of muttering had been exchanged, Cameron had been mounted on a solid chestnut and they had ridden out to await Daphne at the rendezvous point.

Cameron sighed heavily, fiddling with the strands of his horse’s mane. He was quite a good rider and Swiftnick had relaxed his fears that he would fall off. "I suppose it would, but how could I?"

"Well, a bit awkward after he’s told you to sling your hook, er....refused to let you see her, but surely if you’d mentioned it before...?"

"But then how would I have known if she truly loved me?"

"You didn't tell Daphne either?" Swiftnick exclaimed, shocked.

"Oh no, My papa is always warning me against gold diggers. I had to be sure."

"I’ll bet she was miffed when you did tell her. Er, you have told her?"

"Oh yes, as soon as I was sure that our feelings were mutually engaged. She understood immediately of course. It really is terribly romantic when you think about it. The lady falling for the gallant but roguish highwayman...."

"Highwayman?" Swiftnick squeaked in alarm.

"Who turns out to be a rich nobleman in disguise. Haven’t you read any novels, Nicholas? I would have thought Sir Willoughby....?"

"He prefers educational books," Swiftnick said sourly if truthfully. Dick was a firm believer in improving his accomplice’s mind.

"Ah, my papa is like that," Cameron gave him an understanding look. "Sir Willoughby seems a bit er...."

"You haven’t seen him at his best," Swiftnick said evasively, thinking that Cameron would have paled to the seams if he had see Turpin in his full flow as Sir Willoughby. Sometimes Dick enjoyed the persona so much it scared Swiftnick.

Montague changed the subject. "Well, it’s a standard plot. Sometimes the handsome nobleman falls for the poor maid who turns out to be a secret heiress and much more eligible that all the other females lusting after his money. Or the noble is a dashing masked swordsman out to win back his rightful title and lands...." Cameron paused, flushing and added hastily,. "At least, so Daphne tells me. She reads them, you know."

"Bookish is she?" Swiftnick said innocently. Most girls he knew would barely write their own name, let alone read.

"I hadn’t thought of it that way, but no. She does all the useful things too. Sews, cooks, you know...And she’s so beautiful.....What man could see her and not love her? Oh...."

"Oh?" Swiftnick eyed the appalled expression that had crossed Montague’s face warily.

"You don’t think Sir Willoughby-?"

"Oh, my...goodness no...." Swiftnick exploded, biting back a giggle. "He and Lady Lucinda Roebuck have an understanding...."

"Ah...." Cameron nodded wisely, relaxing slightly. "Tell me, do you think he’ll succeed?"

"With Lady Roebuck? That’s a bit personal...."

Cameron blushed furiously "At speaking to my beloved...."

Thinking of the expression on Turpin’s face when he left them, Swiftnick grinned and nodded. Dick would get Daphne to her tryst if he had to sling her over his saddle at gunpoint and forcibly carry her off to her lover’s waiting arms. Turpin did not appreciate being thwarted at the best of times...

Holding the chair for Daphne so she could sit down, Dick waited a moment for Grayshot to seat Florence and then settled into his seat beside Miss Grayshot, flicking out the elaborate skirts of his coat as he seated himself and shooting his lace cuffs neatly back into place.

"Excuse me, Sir Willoughby?" the innkeeper approached warily and Dick lifted his quizzing glass to inspect him.

"Yes, what is it now, man?" he asked primly.

"Your mirror, sir," the innkeeper explained, gesturing towards the door of the parlour where the inn’s two footmen were struggling in with a large full length gold framed mirror that had obviously been brought down from one of the bedrooms.

"For me? Oh, how delightful!" Leaping out of his chair, Dick tripped over to the mirror and peered into it. "Oh, my, oh my, oh my!" he exclaimed, pressing his fingers to his cheeks. "Look at me! I look an absolute fright! Whatever must you think of me?!"

Grayshot goggled at him and Daphne watched in awe. Lady Florence hid a smile behind her fan, watching Dick’s performance with admiring amusement.

Anxiously Dick fussed with his lace, pressing and smoothing to rearrange his ruffles and smooth down the nap of his velvet. The footmen watched in fascination, propping up the mirror as Turpin turned this way and that, admiring himself for every angle; rearranging a knee clock here and a bow here until he was if not satisfied at least soothed. "There! I suppose it will have to do," he exclaimed at last.

"Good grief, man, you are an absolute peacock!" Grayshot exploded.

Dick turned limpid eyes on him. "Oh, thank you, Sir Rodney. You are so kind! The peacock is such a lovely bird, it truly stands out from the herd...."

Grayshot spluttered, starting to swell in fury. Florence patted his arm soothingly. "There, there, dear, be calm. Have some tea before it gets cold. Sir Willoughby, will you join us?"

"For tea? How marvellous! So much more conducive than brandy." Dick fluttered back to the table and allowed the innkeeper to seat him. The much put upon footmen lifted the heavy mirror and lugged it away, muttering under their breaths about having to lug it all the way back upstairs.

"Nothing wrong with brandy!" Grayshot barked, aiming a glare at the hapless innkeeper. "You make sure I get a good burgundy with the food!"

"Oh, claret, sir, surely?" Dick protested.

"Burgundy!"

"But claret is better for you, dear," Florence murmured. "Much lighter..."

"Quite, quite. Brings out the flavour of the food so much better...." Dick agreed as he sipped his tea gingerly. To his relief, it was a decent beverage and not the muck he had encountered in some inns who salted the tea with all kinds of horrible things to make the leaf go further.

"I’ll have burgundy!"

"Remember your gout, Rodney," Florence said mildly, unperturbed.

Grayshot glared at her, but it was quite clear who was going to win and when the innkeeper brought the bottles, he only muttered a little sulkily when Florence handed the bottle firmly back to the innkeeper.

Dick made skilfully polite conversation, enthusing over the quality of the duck and plums in sauce the innkeeper brought in even as he wistfully missed the pheasant. "The carrots are perfection, such crispness, such colour!" he exclaimed. "Such perfect peas, round as a dimple and as fresh as a maiden’s smile..."

Daphne gave him a startled glance as he mentioned dimples and blushed furiously.

"And this duck, absolutely melts in the mouth. Why Lord Montague himself does not lay such an exquisite table! I shall have to be most effusive in my review. Most effusive!"

Grayshot grunted, chewing his way through his roast potatoes in moody silence.

"Oh, we are mere acquaintances. I have dined at the Place several times of course. I know his son much better. Viscount Cameron Montague?"

Grayshot choked on his peas and the innkeeper who was hovering attentively hastily patted him on the back. Grayshot waved him off. "I will not have that person mentioned at my tables!" he wheezed.

"Oh papa!" Daphne wailed. "How can you be so cruel! You know I love Cameron!"

"Tosh! Barely know the popinjay! Not good enough for you! You’ll soon forget him..."

"Not good enough?! But papa!" Daphne sobbed, his huge eyes brimming over with silvery tears of distress.

Dick absently handed her his peach silk handkerchief. "Viscount Montague not good enough?" he murmured. "You surprise me, sir. Surely you have heard of Montague of Montague Place? The Montagues own half the county. Incredibly rich, family lineage goes back so far they practically built England! Can’t think of anyone more worthy! I shall have to go and comfort the poor boy if you’ve rejected his suite."

Grayshot was staring at Turpin with a strange look on his face then he turned his gaze on his wife. "I did tell you, dear," she murmured. "I said he was from a good family."

"You wouldn’t even speak to him!" Daphne wailed, her voice muffled by Dick’s now damp handkerchief. "And he was going to offer for my hand! Only now he’s gone off and left me! He’s probably bereft! He’ll never love again. He’ll never speak to me again! Why he’s probably fled the county! Fled England! He’ll become a pirate and maroon himself on some island in the middle of nowhere! He’ll spend the rest of his life writing poems to me! And I shall never see him again! I’ll spend my life locked in my room and throw myself overboard when we set sail!"

Turpin gazed at her in awe, astounded by how like Cameron she sounded. They were obviously a perfect match for each other. Grayshot was still sputtering, attempting to control his own confusion and sooth Daphne. Florence sipped her tea and gazed at Dick with an indulgent faint smile on her serene features. When Daphne leaped to her feet and fled the room in a flurry of primrose skirts, Grayshot flung aside his napkin and lumbered after him.

He could be heard calling after her in the distance "Now, now, sweeting! I'm sure it’s not so bad. Come now! I shall buy you a new dress...and a matching bonnet!"

"Well..." Dick murmured, somewhat taken aback.

"A marvellous performance, Sir Willoughby..." Florence murmured.

"Excuse me?" Dick flashed an alert look at her.

"Merely thinking aloud, Sir Willoughby. Daphne’s terribly spoilt, you know. It was quite a shock to her when Rodney refused to see Cameron," Florence remarked. "She takes after me, won't be gainsaid."

"You’re not....worried?" Dick asked warily.

"No, no, not all. Rodney will come round and Daphne will have her beau. Silly boy didn't tell Rodney who he was."

"But you knew?"

"Not at the time. Silly young creatures thought it would be a wonderful surprise to spring it on him. Of course Rodney exploded. He doesn’t like to be thought a slow top. Finding out his darling little Daphne has a serious beau when she’s barely come out was a terrible shock to him; made his gout worse, which didn’t help the situation at all. I knew about Cameron of course, boy was at every ball, every party, every soiree; I’d have to be a fool not to notice. It was a harmless enough flirtation and I was delighted that they were obviously in love. Cameron always seemed perfectly suitable to me even before Daphne told me the truth. Rodney however thought he would have the choice of who he’d give her too."

"Someone suitably rich and important and er...."

"The word you are grasping for is older," Florence said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Hence the taking her off to see a bit of the world. A bit of bronzing now she’s out to make her more alluring. And to get her away from Cameron..."

"That would be before he asked for hand."

"Quite. I think Rodney can be persuaded to change his mind. A Viscount would be quite a catch, don’t you think?"

"Indeed...."

"And the fact Cameron sent you as go between suggests he is quite serious," Florence murmured thoughtfully.

"Did you think otherwise?"

"The way he raced off in a huff did seem to suggest Rodney had put him off somewhat."

"Foolish boy went off to hire a coach to take her away with him."

"An elopement?" Florence’s eyes glinted in amusement. "How terribly romantic. Daphne would love that."

"I am persuaded that Sir Rodney would not"

"No, gout or no, he’d be on his horse and after them with a brown bess in one hand and a horsewhip in the other."

"So what is to be done, my Lady?"

"Do you think she noticed the note you slipped her in your handkerchief?"

Dick grinned at her. "I believe that is why she ran out of the room after her little display."

"Exactly. May I ask what was in the note?"

"Cameron requested that she meet him."

"Ah, then we must make certain that she does. You will I trust persuade them to return here?"

"I think that would be the most respectable thing for them to do. Will Sir Rodney consent to a betrothal?"

"I believe that can be arranged," Florence smiled back. "Will Lord Montague?"

"Cameron assures me that he will," Dick said firmly, even though he had no idea whether he would or not.

Florence took another sip of tea, musing aloud, "Let me see now, Daphne will believe she has slipped out of the inn without any of us suspecting to run off and meet her beloved. Discovering this, you will ride out in search of...."

"Your lost waif and stray," Dick declaimed.

"While Rodney and I search the inn, for I am sure he will not believe she has actually ridden off on her own. He does not quite believe what a flighty little creature she can be, or how desperately she loves Cameron. You will find Daphne and take her to Cameron who will of course bring her home...."

"Thereby proving himself to be honourable and respectable."

"And in the meantime, I will persuade Rodney to accept their betrothal. Isn’t it exciting?!"

Dick smiled at her, finding her delightfully refreshing. If she wasn't Sir Grayshot’s wife and obviously devoted to him, he might have been tempted into a flirtation. "Thoroughly," he agreed. "And though I am no more than Cupid’s messenger I will do all that I can to bring them together...."

Her ruffled feelings soothed by the promise of a new pink silk dress and a bonnet to match, Daphne retired to her room to lie down with a cold vinaigrette to rest. Sir Grayshot reluctantly retired to soothe his own feelings with a glass of claret, muttering under his breath about the vagaries of women in general and flighty young girls in particular. As soon as the door was locked and closed behind him, Daphne abandoned her vinaigrette and took out the note that Sir Willoughby had given her concealed in his handkerchief. As soon as she had sent he little dove lovingly inked on the parchment she had known it was from her beloved and eagerly broke the seal to read Cameron’s words. After his protestations of unfailing love and adoration and wishes for her arms and her kisses, he requested her to ride out to meet him at the fairy oak in the Bluebell Wood. Even though there was not the remotest possibility that there would be so much as one bluebell poking its head out of the half frozen ground, Daphne immediately carpeted the wood in her imagination in shawls of elegant blue sweet smelling flowers with singing birds and golden sunshine as she skipped hand and hand through the trees with her darling.

The clatter of a horse leaving the stable yard broke her from clutching the note to her bodice in a delightful reverie. She had known Cameron would have a plan to make sure they were together forever. Even now he would be anxiously awaiting her in the wood, probably with a carriage to whisk her away to paradise. But now it was up to her. She was must be brave. No maiden off to meet her knight would quail at the even a moment at the task of escaping the watchful eyes of her parents.

Casting a swift glance around her bedroom, Daphne hurried to her travelling trunk and flung open the lid. Her maid had been given the rest of the day off after breakfast and would not return until it was time to help her mistress change for dinner, this however was no problem to the resolute young maiden. Many times she had dressed herself in order to slip out unseen to meet her beloved. After a brisk battle, Daphne shed her primrose dress and slipped into an elegant deep pink riding habit with dainty little kid boots to match.

A short while later, patting her lace into place and fastening her last buttons, Daphne slipped out of her room and hastened along the corridor to the back of the inn where she had observed the servants stairs. It led down to a dusky corridor that wound a long the back of the kitchens and finally out into the yard. Flitting across the yard with her skirts lifted daintily high, Daphne scurried to the stables where she was grateful to find only an awestruck young stable boy drowsing in one of the stalls, while his elders and betters ate their lunch. Commanding him to saddle a horse for her, Daphne hugged her luck to her. Surely Cupid himself must be watching over her to make her escape so easy. It never occurred to her that Dick had smoothed her way for her by slipping the lad a few coins when he rode out before her.

She was feeling extremely proud of herself when she rode out a few minutes later with her head held high. Her darling Cameron would be amazed by her audacity...

Some fifteen minutes later however, Daphne was no longer feeling so sure of herself as she trotted through the woods. What had seemed an ideal dream in the safety of her bedroom was starting to be a trifle unsettling. She had no idea where she was or where Cameron’s oak was and the wood was a lot bigger and darker and colder than her sunlit vision of paradise had been.

When Dick rode out of the trees to sit across the path she let out a little shriek of dismay and nearly fell off the horse. Turpin grabbed hastily for the reins, realising that she had little control her startled mount. He had been starting to think she had decided not to come, or had an accident. Now he could see what had taken her so long; changing her clothes for the ride! "Gently now, Miss Grayshot," he said lightly. "No need to take alarm."

"Oh, Sir Willoughby! You startled me!"

"My apologies, dear lady. I assure you it was not my intention."

"I didn't know you had left the inn."

"And I am certain that your parents do not know that you have done the same."

"Why whatever do you mean? I always take a ride after luncheon..."

"Alone? I don’t think Sir Grayshot would approve."

"It is none of concern whether he approves or not. Now, release my rein."

Dick smiled at her warmly, amused by her indignant pride. "Now, now, don’t take flight. I am a winged messenger."

Daphne’s trepidation faded into puzzlement, tinged by a hint of interest. Sir Willoughby had a very handsome smile. "You are a pigeon, sir?" she stammered, blushing.

Dick blinked. "A pigeon?"

"Those are the only winged messengers I know, sir..."

"I mean Cupid. You know, bringer of love, bow and arrows and all that...."

"Oh...." Daphne’s pretty little mouth and big grey eyes rounded in astonishment. "Shouldn’t you be a dove rather than a pigeon then?

"I didn’t mention pigeons," Turpin pointed out with an effort at staying calm.

"Although I've never head of dove’s carrying messages. They’re very pretty of course, but not very bright..."

I could say the same about you, Dick thought sourly. "Cameron asked me to bring you to meet him at the oak tree. He said you would know it, but for your safety..."

"Oh, are you sent by my knight to protect me from the goblins?"

"Goblins?" Dick echoed.

Daphne giggled sweetly if vacantly. "Knights always fight goblins for their damsels fair. I am a little lost. But I'm sure love would have shown me the way...Indeed Cupid sent you, did he not?" she assured him happily.

Dick swore under his breath. It was good thing he had decided to wait for the girl despite Cameron’s insistence that she would know where to find him. "You could say that. But you do know which oak he means?"

"Oh yes, we danced there and wished to see a fairy. I know it well, but I am not very good at directions..."

Dick gritted his teeth. Goblins and fairies. Whatever next next? Giants? Last time he helped a damsel in distress, let alone some idiotic Viscount! "Allow me then to show you the way."

"Indeed, Sir Knight! By all means, lead on!"

Swiftnick was very deliberately not chewing his nails or pacing because Cameron was doing enough for both of them. The young highwayman had spread his cloak on a frost covered old tree trunk and was sorting through the collection of mushrooms, herbs and wild onions he had gathered while they had been waiting.

"She’s lost! Lost forever in the woods!" Cameron wailed.

"I doubt it," Swiftnick answered absently, examining a mushroom with some suspicion and finally deciding that it looked a bit too risky for his tastes. Tossing it aside, he glanced back at Cameron. "Sir Willoughby will find her. He won’t let her come to any harm."

"Assuming she comes at all. What if she believes I have abandoned her? What if they have already sailed?"

"That’d be difficult. We’re miles from the sea," Swiftnick observed.

"Or cast herself from the balcony...."

"The Goose and Feathers doesn’t have any balconies. I know. I've been there."

"Or perhaps they have ridden on...."

"That’s possibly..." Swiftnick said doubtfully. "But you said you were sure she’d wait for you..."

"That man could have forced her to go. He might have manhandled her into the carriage....You don’t know what he’s capable of! Oh, this is useless! Useless! I knew I should not have trusted another with my beloved’s hand!"

"You can trust Sir Willoughby," Swiftnick said firmly.

"I must go! At once!"

"Go? Go where?"

"To her side of course! I see it all now. Only true love can rescue true love..."

"Here now, hold on!" Swiftnick protested. He knew perfectly well who’d get the blame if he let Cameron go riding off so he wasn't there waiting when Turpin turned up with the girl and it wasn't going to be no blasted Viscount with more hair than his wig could cover! "You can’t do that!"

"But I must...." Cameron looked round wildly for his horse and Swiftnick hastily darted across to block his path. Placing a firm hand on his chest, Swiftnick held the nobleman in place with surprising strength and a great deal of youthful determination. Dick had set him the task to keep Cameron at the oak and he was not going to let his partner down by failing him.

"What if Daphne arrives and you’re not here? Then she’ll really think you’ve abandoned her, that you’re playing a cruel jest on her..."

Cameron’s eyes widened in dismay. "Do you think so?"

"I'm sure of it," Swiftnick said firmly and then sighed in relief as Montague once more started his anxious pacing, crunching his way through the still frost shadowed leaves. "Look, shouldn’t you be thinking about Lord Montague?"

"My father? What has my father to do with it? You don’t think she’s gone to him, do you?" Cameron looked at him in alarm.

"No!" Swiftnick exclaimed in exasperation. "But how’s he going to react to you getting betrothed?"

"Oh, that is of no consequence! I've already told him. The Grayshott’s are perfectly acceptable. Not that that would matter. I would live in a straw hut and become a, a highwayman if it meant I could marry my beloved Daphne. Oh, where oh where can she be? What if she’s been eaten by wild beasts?" Cameron gave him a shocked look as the horrifying thought hit him.

"There aren’t any," Swiftnick pointed out reasonably. "Look, she’s probably had trouble slipping out. You know what girls are like, always primping and preening and fussing....A bit like Sir Willoughby really..."

Cameron shot him a startled glance and then chuckled ruefully. "You think I'm quite a gudgeon, don’t you?" he murmured.

"Ah now, I never said that..."

"You are still too young to understand, Nicholas," Cameron told him. "But love thwarted can unhinge a man...."

Swiftnick smiled soothingly and wondered if now was a good time to fetch his pistols. He was saved from having to answer however by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. "There you are..." he announced. "Told you they’d be here..." Nonetheless he held his breath until Turpin trotted into the clearing with a pretty blond girl on a chestnut horse in tow.

"Juliet!" cried Cameron, rushing to meet her.

"Romeo!" shrieked Daphne, extending her hands to that he could lift her down and crush her in his arms. Montague gathered her to him as if she was the most precious of porcelain.

"I thought he said his name was Cameron," Swiftnick muttered as Dick dismounted and gave the lovers a sour look.

"I think I'm going to be nauseous...." Dick muttered.

"Oh my Juliet, thou are so fair...."

"My own true Romeo...." Daphne sighed blissfully, twining a chain of somewhat wilted snowdrops around his neck.

"I shall treasure your gift forever. I shall press them in a book and think of you every time I gaze upon them..." Cameron sighed rapturously.

"Very nauseous," Dick growled, watching them gazing blissfully into each other’s eyes.

"They look a right pair of drips," Swiftnick commented. "What took so long, Dick? Cameron was getting restless."

"Silly widgeon had to stop and make snowdrop chains," Dick explained, glaring at his green fingers. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is?"

"You helped her?" Swiftnick gazed at him wide eyed and bit back a giggle.

"I had to. It was the only way to get her back on the horse, otherwise you’d still be waiting next Valentine’s Day!" Dick cocked his head to one side, listening to the lovers crooning candied endearments to each other. "Cameron!" he barked.

"Yes, sir?" Rather unwillingly Montague lifted his head from gazing adoringly into Daphne’s equally adoring grey eyes.

"We haven’t got all day, man! Kiss the girl!"

"Oh I couldn’t...." Cameron stuttered.

"We shouldn’t..." Daphne gasped, blushing.

"You bloody well should! I've got a gun..." Dick’s threat however was unnecessary for Cameron and Daphne were already exchanging their first shy, sweet kiss.

"Ahhh...." Swiftnick sighed.

"Don’t you bloody start," Turpin muttered. "Right, that’s enough of that!" he added sharply as he noticed Cameron’s hands tentatively starting to wander as Daphne wound her own arms around his neck. "Oi! You two! I said enough!" Stomping over, Dick scowled at the startled young lovers as they broke sheepishly apart then remembered his role. "Oh I say, my dears! Forgive me for intruding, but one must remember one’s role as chaperon...."

"Hah!" Commented Swiftnick sourly.

"And return the lovely lady to her parents..."

"Oh no! No! You cannot betray us so!" Daphne wailed, clutching at Montague.

"Indeed, sir! I had not thought it of you!" Cameron protested defiantly as he clasped Daphne’s hand. "Why, allow me but to arm myself and you may name the place..."

"Oh, stuff and nonsense, man! I won’t duel with you!" Dick snapped in exasperation. "The matter is all settled, or will be if you show some common sense and return Daphne to her parents..."

"Sir!" Cameron yipped. "I must insist..."

"Oh be quiet! By the time you return Daphne to their loving embrace, Lady Florence will have settled the matter of your betrothal...."

Cameron and Daphne looked at each other then at Dick in bewilderment.

"For goodness sake! All they want is a decent marriage for the girl! You’re an ideal match! All you had to do was tell Sir Grayshott who you are!" Dick sniffed in his best Sir Willoughby’s tones.

Light started to dawn on the young couple’s faces. "You m-mean....you have persuaded them?" Cameron stammered.

"Nothing to it! All of this could have been avoided if you had done the thing properly and made a proper introduction of yourself and your intentions. All this playacting was terribly foolish. Could have ruined everything. Should have told him straight or had Lord Montague make the approach for you..."

"Oh Cameron...then we can be together! Betrothed!"

"Yes, my darling, yes! Betrothed!"

Dick groaned, realising he had lost them again. He turned a scowl on a grinning Swiftnick. "Nicholas, get the horses. We’d better send them back to the inn before they forget they aren’t married yet....Oh for goodness sake!" Dick grabbed Cameron’s arm and detached it briskly from around Daphne’s willing waist. "Montague, you will remember both her honour and your honour and keep your hands of her. A chaste kiss is one thing, fondling her, er, dimples quite another!" Cameron went scarlet although Daphne merely looked puzzled. "Now, you will both of you get on your horses and ride back together to the inn and you will behave with perfect propriety every step of the way or I’ll shoot the both of you."

"May we at least hold hands, Sir Willoughby?" Daphne sighed hopefully.

"If you must and you can manage it without falling off I suppose it’s all right," Dick allowed with a heavy sigh. "Cameron!"

"I wasn't doing anything!" Montague protested hastily.

"You were thinking it, but I merely wanted your attention. If you want this to go well-?"

"Yes, oh yes..." Cameron said wistfully.

"Oh yes...." Daphne agreed longingly.

"Then remember it is your responsibility to appear as a respectable responsible young man returning his beloved to her home with her virtue and her reputation intact!"

"Oh, I say...." Cameron blushed, although Daphne looked vaguely thoughtful.

"That way Sir Grayshott will be convinced by lady Florence’s persuasion. But if you step out of line I strongly suspect he’ll chase you off with a horsewhip; viscount or no viscount. Daphne comes first with him before any other consideration. At least allow him to pretend he has changed his own mind by showing him your restraint and willingness to wait for her..."

"But...."

"Yes?!" Dick raised a forbidding eyebrow at him.

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked uncertainly. "It seems a trifle underhanded..."

"Trust me," Turpin responded. "Sir Grayshott is a proud man. Wound his ego and you’ll never see Daphne again...."

"Oh Cameron! I could not bear it!"

"Nor I!" Montague agreed, clasping her small hands tenderly between his own as he gazed into her eyes.

"Neither could I," Dick muttered. "Courage, my dear ones! All will be well if only you carry through the plan...."

Gingerly extracting his hand from Cameron’s hand and hour or so later and dodging Sir Grayshot's determined efforts to slap him effusively on the back again, Dick managed to make his excuses and his tottering escape on his high heels into the stable yard where Swiftnick was waiting for him. The young man was perched on one of the tables, swinging his feet and chatting to one of the young maid servants from the inn over an ale. Seeing Turpin heading for the horses however, he gave the blushing brunette a quick kiss on the cheek and scrambled to catch up with him. Dick was already astride Black Bess when he scrambled aboard Toby’s broad back.

"Having fun were you? Another lass to meet you at the dance?"

Swiftnick flushed, then countered with a grin, "Did you get them safely betrothed, Cupid?"

"I did! And stop calling me Cupid!" Turpin retorted as he nudged the mare out of the gates and onto the open road. "They want me to write a poem for their betrothal!"

"Hmmh, what rhymes with dimples?"

"Wimples," Dick said promptly as he let Black Bess lengthen her stride. After the gentle paced ride of following Daphne and Cameron through the woods, the mare was bored and in the mood to gallop. Dick could feel her muscles flexing in eagerness to run. "And you can stop thinking about Daphne’s dimples. They’re Cameron’s now."

"There’s always simples."

"Of which you could do with some to keep your galloping urges under control. And it rhymes with pimples," Dick remarked.

"Watch it, Cupid! I don’t have pimples!"

"You keep calling me Cupid and you will have a whacking great bruise of one."

"Oh great winged one, you wouldn’t hit your erstwhile apprentice, would you?" Swiftnick grinned.

"But I will start calling you cherub," Dick retorted grumpily. "It’d suit you."

Swiftnick hesitated suspiciously. "Why?" he asked cautiously at last. "What’s a cherub?"

"It’s a small plump baby that delivers messages for Cupid and chucks rosebuds at unsuspecting people." Dick smirked.

"I am not a baby!" Swiftnick protested.

"Ah goo?" queried Dick.

"I am not!"

"Ah goo, goo, goo?"

"Stop it!"

"Ah wah?"

"Dick! I'm not!"

Turpin only laughed and gave Black Bess her head, letting her stretch herself into a ground eating gallop as Swiftnick raced after him, still yelling indignant protests. All in all, Dick mused as he let his apprentice turn it into a race, it had been a worthwhile effort to make two young people who were very much in love happy. Now if only he could keep Swiftnick under control long enough for the lad to fall properly in love rather than in lust and maybe he would be able to relax his vigilance over the lad’s morals.

Speaking of which, maybe he would go to the dance for his own sake as well as to guard young Swiftnick’s morals. After all he had been through to help Daphne and Cameron, Dick felt he deserved a little loving as a reward for himself!