Read Online The Landlord's Black-Eyed Daughter by Mary Ellen Dennis - Free Book Online

that one highwayman what cut the finger off a lady who wouldn’t part with her ring? Ah-ow-oo!” Grace’s screech echoed throughout the coach’s tight interior. “Then there was another what slit open the stomach of a passenger who’d swallowed her jewels.”
    â€œThat was merely Mr. Cooke’s way of flirting with you, Grace. Highwaymen are more likely to be patricians down on their luck. Don’t you remember what the papers said about the Gentleman Giant and his Quiet Companion?”
    â€œYe know I can’t read.”
    â€œThey said that highwaymen are the elite of the underworld.”
    Grace sneezed into her handkerchief. The coach plunged forward. Elizabeth tried to gauge their whereabouts from various landmarks. Earlier, they had passed through the town of Ripon, which meant they must be somewhere near the ruins of Fountains Abbey.
    With a sigh, she resumed her former position, and—during a particularly loathsome jounce—nearly smashed her head against the top of the coach.
    â€œWell, I can tell ye this much,” said Grace, her cheeks flushing a dull pink. “The only reason the Dales’ve not been overrun by cutthroats is ’cause of Lord Stafford, God bless ’im.”
    â€œIt has nothing to do with Lord Stafford, Grace. What self-respecting highwayman would waste his time in a place that has more sheep than people?”
    â€œYe’ll not give Lord Stafford credit for nothin’, Mistress. What’ll ye do if a highwayman swoops down on us this very moment and takes every shillin’?”
    â€œI still have over two thousand pounds on account at Minerva Press.” Dropping Castles of Doom into her lap, nudging the statue aside with her hips, Elizabeth rummaged through her traveling bag until she found her statement, which she waved before Grace’s eyes. “Look at this. I’ve saved more money than most people make in a lifetime.”
    Even as she pointed to the bottom line, she thought: Why am I justifying myself to my maid, who cannot read the bottom line and would not be convinced if she could?
    She jammed the paper back into her bag. “I know this may seem strange, but I’m proud of my independence. Even if I were nicer to Lord Stafford, and he really meant his marriage proposals, once we were wed I would have no say over any of my funds. He could burn every pound if it pleased him, and the law would be on his side. I shall never risk losing what I have worked so hard to achieve.”
    Which sounded fine enough, thought Elizabeth, except that, despite her brave words, despite her considerable fortune, after she finished paying off her father’s debts, she would be considerably less independent. Especially if she couldn’t finish Castles of Doom.
    Suppose her writing career was indeed over? Then she’d simply devise some new way to earn a respectable living. She might return to teaching; years back she had taught reading and spelling at a dame-school. How about portrait painting? She had a bit of talent with the oils.
    Grace unballed her handkerchief and searched for a dry spot. “Ye’re a peculiar woman, Mistress, if ever I’ve known one.”
    â€œYou’re right, Grace.” Elizabeth’s gaze returned to the window and the darkness, as if seeking something beyond the fog, beyond the abbey ruins. This was one of those moments when she knew she had made a monumental mistake by not marrying and having children and conforming to society’s dictates.
    Where did it all go wrong? she wondered. How did I ever get so out of step with the rest of the world?
    Once she had thought herself in love with a local sheepherder. She had terminated that relationship when she realized that she and her shepherd had little in common beyond the physical.
    Her stepmother, Dorothea, had never unearthed the affair, not that Elizabeth gave a tinker’s damn what her stepmother believed or