[Previously: On the morning after their arrival at Kentham House, the Professor makes the acquaintance of the Earl's nephew, Cedric. We have begun to meet the various players in this story. Lavinia joins the gentlemen in the breakfast parlour. Cedric is captivated by his first sight of Lavinia.]
If Lavinia noticed, she gave no sign--her mind being rather preoccupied just then in reviewing the new information she'd received about her rescuer prior to coming downstairs. Jeanne, her maid, had arrived at Kentham that morning, accompanied by Henri, Monsieur Le Mersurer's man servant. They had come in a carrier's cart, along with the bulk of the luggage, and so had missed the previous evening's adventures. They'd heard all about it, however, from members of the Kentham staff who, with the assistance of one of the servants who was fluent in French, had regaled the pair with what they'd heard of the Le Mersurer's encounter with the local hero known as the Masked Avenger. Jeanne had arrived in Lavinia's room wide-eyed with excitement; alternately condemning a country where such barbaric attacks took place and extolling the Avenger's many dashing attributes, or at least those that she'd gleaned from her fellow servants. That someone of plebeian birth had chosen such an heroic path had stirred all her romantic longings. Oh, how she wished she'd been with her mistress so that she might have seen him, too!
"The Masked Avenger!" At least now Lavinia had a way of referring to him besides, "the highwayman," but what she longed to know was his true identity. He intrigued her, and she'd already decided, on her way down to breakfast, that she would try to uncover his secret for herself. And, she knew something that Jeanne and the others did not: that their hero was actually a gentleman and not someone of low birth. Surely the Earl must know everyone in the surrounding neighbourhood. Perhaps, all unwittingly, he was even a friend of the man behind the Avenger's mask.
With all this on her mind, it was no wonder that Lavinia did not notice the admiration in Cedric's eyes when she first entered the room.
The other two men became aware of her presence and everyone rose from their chairs. Lucius was the first to step forward, expressing the conventional hope that she'd slept well. She responded suitably and he escorted her to a chair then served her himself, waving away the butler and keeping up a flow of pleasantries which seemed to amuse her.
Once she was served, her father gently interrupted their conversation in order to correct a social oversight. "Ma chérie, I do not believe that you have yet been introduced to the nephew of our host."
Cedric, who had remained standing, now bowed to her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," he said quietly before resuming his seat.
As her father performed the introductions, and Cedric expressed his dismay over their misadventure of the previous evening, Lavinia's brown eyes took in every detail of Cedric's appearance--his coat was well-enough made, but not the most fashionable; he wore no wig, rather his hair was tied back in a simple, black riband; his face, though pleasant-looking did not form smiles as easily as his uncle's; his eyes, which he kept mostly down-cast and nearly hidden, held no spark. He was personable enough, she supposed, but hardly in the same league with his fashionable uncle, or her highwayman. His bow was formal, but awkward, and his French stilted; she thought him rather dull.
The conversation at the table became much livelier with the advent of Mademoiselle. Lucius put forth his best efforts to please, and he seemed to be succeeding. He'd spent considerable time on The Continent after an unfortunate affair in his youth had led to a scandal, and so he was full of tales of his travels, tossing in witty comments in French, Italian or German, like so many sweetmeats. He could hardly be blamed for not being more forthcoming about why he'd spent so much time abroad.
Cedric listened with growing dismay as Lavinia appeared to be captivated by the Earl. He had learned, through bitter experience, that Lucius could not be trusted. Surely, he argued with himself, a woman of Lavinia's obvious intelligence must be able to see through a man as shallow as his uncle, but the evidence before his eyes was leading him to believe otherwise. Finally, when Lucius began to tell his guests of his plans to introduce in Parliament the problem of the growing number of highwaymen, speaking as if it were all his own idea, Cedric had heard enough. He stood up.
"If you will excuse me, uncle, mademoiselle, monsieur, I have duties to attend to this morning."
A brief flash of annoyance appeared on Lucius' face, but it was missed by his guests because their attention, for the moment, was on Cedric. Lucius quickly controlled himself, however, but couldn't resist a small verbal jab in Cedric's direction. "Yes, of course, my dear nephew. Your ledgers must be calling you, not to mention the livestock and the peasants."
He started to laugh at his own joke, but it trailed off at the expression on Lavinia's face. She appeared dismayed, perhaps even a bit annoyed. But when she spoke, it was to Cedric, not Lucius, that she directed her remarks.
"Mais, oui! Your uncle has told us that you are his capable steward, monsieur. I, too, am very well acquainted with the ledgers and the livestock. Perhaps, you would be gracious enough to show me something of the estate someday."
He gave her a small, grateful smile. "It would be my pleasure, mademoiselle."
"Bon! I will look forward to it, monsieur."
Cedric nodded, bowed to them all and left the room. Lavinia watched him go--his step steady and sure, but without the grace that she remembered her highwayman possessing. There had been a moment, when Lucius had taunted him, that she'd thought she'd seen ... something. What, she wasn't sure, but it had intrigued her. As she watched Cedric leave, however, she could not imagine anyone further from her romantic rescuer than this sturdy, practical individual.
Lucius' voice reclaimed her attention at that moment, explaining in his most captivating manner that he and his nephew often joked one another, and that he hoped she had not misunderstood their recent exchange.
The conversation gradually returned to safer waters, and Lavinia forgot about Cedric in her quest to learn as much as she could about the man who had rescued her and her father the previous night.
Lucius, however, was little help, preferring instead to loudly condemn all highwaymen. He admitted that there was one bold rogue who claimed to be robbing only those who deserved it. The local common folk had dubbed him the "Masked Avenger"--a ridiculous name but one which seemed to have caught on--but for his part, Lucius proclaimed, they were all thieves and scoundrels and should be hung from the nearest and highest tree!
"He had the audacity to stop even my coach one night--took a ring of great value and importance to my family, in addition to stealing my strongbox."
At first disturbed by this piece of news, Lavinia had quickly decided that the Earl's "Masked Avenger" must have been an impostor. She knew her highwayman, and she was certain he would never steal for personal gain. Also, he'd told her he fought only villainy, and she'd seen nothing to make her suspect that the Earl was a villain. In fact, Lucius' protestations against highwaymen in general, and the Masked Avenger in particular, were vehement enough to make Lavinia wonder if perhaps they weren't, in some manner, a diversion.
It flashed through her mind that Lucius was about the same height as the Avenger, and that his French was excellent, but--! There was ... something in his manner that was incongruent with her memories of the Avenger. She had felt a connection with the Avenger that she did not feel with Lucius. Something in her had responded to something in him; this was a thing beyond words, a thing of the heart and emotions only, and yet very real to her. She could not ignore it.
Of course, it was possible that Lucius was such an excellent actor that he could appear to be two entirely different people, but she didn't think that was the case here. Rather, he appeared to be like most of the men she'd known, and fairly typical of the Englishmen she'd met during her stay in London: charming, well-dressed, and as ready with a compliment as they were with the latest choice on-dits. The Earl was perhaps more charismatic than many of the men she'd previously encountered but, after her disastrous relationship with the Vicomte Claude, she wasn't about to succumb to mere charisma! She wanted instead the depth of character that she'd sensed in her highwayman.
