Page 1
Story: An Improbable Scheme (Courting the Unconventional #1)
L ady Elsbeth Caldwell tightened her grip on the pistol, her gloved hands steady despite the chill that seeped through her wool coat.
She sat atop her restless mare, hidden among the shadows of the dense trees lining the winding country road.
Her breath misted in the cold night air as she waited, her heart pounding in anticipation.
Tonight, she would uncover the truth, or so she fervently hoped.
Her stepfather, Mr. Alfred Stockton, was a merchant—a wealthy merchant, but a merchant, nonetheless.
On the surface, he was polished, polite, even charming, but Elsbeth’s instincts screamed otherwise.
Her mother, the once Countess of Bedford, dismissed her suspicions as nonsense, blinded by the stability he had brought into their lives after her father’s death left them with very little.
Now, they were forced to live at her stepfather’s country estate in Polperro.
It may be grand, but it felt like a gilded cage to her.
The life she had known growing up was over.
But Elsbeth could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. Her stepfather’s locked desk drawers and secretive behavior confirmed it. If only her mother would listen.
The faint rattle of carriage wheels reached her ears, and she adjusted her black mask, the fabric itchy against her skin.
The image of her stepfather’s polished smile flashed in her mind, spurring her resolve.
She could not falter now. If she could obtain the key he kept in his jacket pocket, she could unlock his secrets.
A coach came into view, lanterns glowing faintly in the foggy darkness. Elsbeth clicked her tongue, urging her horse forward. She rode into the middle of the road and leveled her pistol at the driver, who pulled the reins with a startled shout.
“Highwayman!” the driver bellowed, his voice carrying through the still night.
Elsbeth summoned the deepest voice she could muster. “Stand and deliver!”
A moment later, the coach door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out. The glow of the lanterns revealed his sharp features. He had a square jaw, dark hair neatly brushed forward, and long sideburns. His posture was confident, his expression mildly curious rather than alarmed.
He was not her stepfather.
Drat.
Elsbeth’s heart sank. She had stopped the wrong coach. This was a waste of time. She lowered the pistol slightly, irritated with herself. Why had she not taken more care to ensure it had been her stepfather’s coach?
“You may go,” she muttered.
The man raised a brow, stepping forward. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you may go.” She tried to maintain her commanding tone, though the encounter was already spiraling into absurdity.
“Are you not here to rob me?” he asked, incredulous .
Elsbeth shook her head. “Not today.”
The man took a step closer to her. “Why did you stop and inconvenience us then if you have no intention of robbing us?”
He did make a valid point. She had never tried to rob someone before. It might look suspicious if she did not try to take something from him. “Fine. Give me your pocket watch.”
The man hesitated before removing a gleaming gold pocket watch from his waistcoat. “This has been in my family for generations.”
Feeling sympathy for the man’s plight, Elsbeth said, “Then keep it and give me something else. Something worthless. A trinket, perhaps.”
The man studied her for a long moment before smirking. “You are not a very convincing highwayman.”
“I am,” Elsbeth declared.
The man did not look convinced. “For starters, you are a woman.”
“Women can be highwaymen,” she argued.
“It is rare,” he said. “Almost as rare as a young woman wearing trousers and sitting astride on a horse.”
Elsbeth felt her frustration starting to grow. “I do not have time to argue with you on the merits of highwaywomen. I am growing tired of this conversation. If you are not nice, I will demand your pocket watch as payment for you to continue on this road.”
“That is fine,” the man said with a slight shrug. “It is a trinket that I picked up when I was at the market. It is worth nothing.”
“You lied to me?” she asked, trying to ignore the irony of her question.
The man chuckled. “Says the woman in trousers who is trying to rob me.”
Elsbeth pointed the pistol at the man. “You, Sir, have just lost your pocket watch. Bring it to me and you can be on your way.”
“Very well, but you could at least tell me where you live,” the man said as he slowly approached her.
“And why would I be foolish enough to do that?”
The man stopped next to her horse and extended the pocket watch. “So I may know where to retrieve my pocket watch.”
“Where I live is not important.”
The man’s lips curled into a smile. “I disagree. A lady highwayman is quite rare.”
Elsbeth grew tense. “I never said I was a lady.”
“You did not have to,” the man said. “It is in the manner in which you speak and how you sit atop your horse that makes me wonder why you have turned to a life of crime.”
“I did not turn to a life of crime,” Elsbeth stated, growing defensive. The unmitigated gall of this man. He did not know her. He did not know why she was doing this.
The man held the pocket watch up higher. “Take it, my lady highwayman.”
Keeping the pistol trained on him, Elsbeth reached with her other hand for the pocket watch. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Just in case you are wondering, my name is Niles Drayton, the Earl of Westcott,” he informed her with a slight bow.
“I was not wondering.”
His smile grew. “Pity. I find that I very much want to know your name.”
“Well, you shall leave disappointed, then.” Elsbeth glanced down the road and wondered if she had missed her stepfather’s coach this evening. Either way, her time was short, and she didn’t have time to converse with this infuriating earl.
She urged her horse to back up. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Do you want anything else?” Lord Westcott asked. “I have coins. Lots of coins. Perhaps I could remove our trunks, and you could sort through what you would wish to steal.”
Elsbeth furrowed her brow. Surely this was not normal behavior. Why was this earl offering to give her more than what she was asking for? “No, I do not need—or want—your money. Or whatever it is that you have in your trunks.”
“Just my pocket watch.”
Looking down at the pocket watch in her hand, Elsbeth said, “I do not want this either.”
“Then why did you take it from me?”
“You left me little choice,” Elsbeth said, holding it out. “Take it back.”
Lord Westcott made no attempt to retrieve the pocket watch. “No, you can have it. I want you to have something to remember me by.”
Elsbeth let out a slight huff. “You flatter yourself, my lord. I do not want to remember you.”
Cocking his head, Lord Westcott said, “You are truly the worst highwaywoman ever. Would you care for some pointers?”
“No, I would not,” she replied. “I would prefer if you kept your opinions to yourself.”
Ignoring her words, Lord Westcott’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Is this how you envisioned your robbery to go?”
“I think it is going fairly well,” she lied.
Lord Westcott chuckled, the noise grating on her nerves. “I hate to tell you this, but you would be wrong. In fact, everything you are doing is wrong.”
“And how would you know this?” she asked. “Have you ever robbed a coach before?”
“No, I have not.”
“Then how can you speak with such certainty?” Elsbeth asked.
Lord Westcott held his hands up in surrender. “I am merely pointing out that you are a truly awful highwaywoman. ”
Just then, Elsbeth saw the driver reaching for something under his seat. She swung her pistol towards him. “Stop that, or I will shoot!”
“Do as she says, Parker. Let her go,” Lord Westcott ordered. His tone brooked no argument.
The driver stilled, muttering under his breath, and Elsbeth seized her chance.
She turned her horse sharply and galloped into the dark woodland, her heart pounding in her chest. The cold wind bit at her face as she raced towards her stepfather’s estate, the familiar path of the woodlands calming her nerves.
Niles Drayton, Earl of Westcott, watched as the highwaywoman disappeared into the dense cover of the trees.
Instead of anger or frustration at being robbed, he felt something far more inconvenient: curiosity.
Who was this brazen woman? The encounter had felt oddly halfhearted, almost as if she had not truly meant to rob them.
He turned and stepped into the coach, shutting the door firmly behind him. The conveyance jolted forward again, creaking as it resumed its journey. His sister Eugenie sat across from him, her keen blue eyes studying him intently.
“Why on earth did you give that highway woman your pocket watch?” Eugenie asked.
Niles shrugged, leaning back into the worn leather seat. “I had little choice in the matter.”
“That is utter nonsense. She tried to return it to you, and you refused. Do not tell me that Father’s pocket watch means so little to you.”
“It means a great deal,” he replied. “I simply have every intention of getting it back.”
“How, pray tell, do you plan to do that? ”
Niles’s lips curved into a faint smile. “By uncovering the identity of that highwaywoman. Surely there are not too many genteel women in Polperro riding about in trousers and wielding pistols.”
Eugenie adjusted the thick wool blanket draped over her lap, fixing him with a skeptical look. “And what will you do when you find her? Will you turn her over to the constable?”
“That depends,” Niles said.
“On what?”
Niles gave his sister a knowing look. “On whether or not she gives me back my pocket watch.”
Eugenie shook her head. “We are here to visit Aunt Margaret, not to embark on a search for a highwaywoman.”
“I can do both.”
Turning her attention towards the window, Eugenie said, “This entire conversation is absurd, as is your obsession with her.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1 (Reading here)
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43