Stand

  and

  Deliver

  By Ivy Warren

  Copyright © 2025 Ivy Warren All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  No AI has been used in the creation of this book. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication for the purpose of training AI technologies.

  The contents of this book are historical in nature, but may contain inaccuracies. This work should be considered as purely fiction.

  Written by Ivy Warren

  Edited by EB Editorial Services

  Cover Illustration by Chris Fowler

  Content warning: on page explicit sex, kidnapping, violence, death, discussion of domestic abuse

  Thank you to my friends who are so full of encouragement. You’ll never know how much it means to me to have your support.

  Chapter One

  The Countess

  It was the morning of the last day of my life, and I was late. If I were honest, I did not resent the delay. I had already weighed up in my mind how terrible it would truly be if I were to simply throw myself under the wheels of my carriage instead of going through with this abominable marriage.

  If Charlotte, my lady’s maid, were to hear me voice such notions she would be quick to chide me and say that things would all work out for the best. She was unfailingly optimistic and, while at times it could be infuriating, I was glad to have her by my side for what was to come. Her companionship on this journey was one of the many things I had insisted upon and one of the few that I had been granted.

  But Charlotte was wrong. My life was over. As soon as that ring was upon my finger, I would be shackled to a pallid, soulless existence in the cold, echoing halls of Farrelworth Manor. Lord Farrelworth was a notoriously vile man but, unfortunately for me, a rich and well-connected one. When his latest in a long line of bride’s met with misfortune, he was quick to suggest my suitability as her successor. My aunt and uncle were undoubtedly wealthy but did not have the same sort of prestige that he did. The bulk of their wealth came from my late parents’ estate which had been sold off after the funeral. My own Countess moniker was simply an informal courtesy as a mark of respect for my family name. In truth, I held no true title and could only inherit my portion of their fortune through marriage. Lord Farrelworth did not care for rankings or prestige. He merely wanted something beautiful that he could play with until it gave him an heir. Or until it broke. Even now, my skin crawled at the memory of how his rheumy eyes had wandered down the front of my bodice when he came to make formal arrangements with my family.

  I had hoped that despite my so-called unruly nature, my uncle still harbored some goodwill towards me. Alas, he had suffered enough of my antics and told me sternly that marriage would sort me out.

  How preposterous.

  Had I been born a man, I would not have encountered a lick of criticism for my behavior let alone have my life signed away over minor indiscretions. Had I been born a man, I would have actually inherited my father’s title instead of an empty gesture. Was it so dreadful that I should like to live my life rather than simply endure it? Was it a crime to long for excitement and danger and romance like I read about in those tattered, well-thumbed books I hid in the back of my drawer? In my case, it seemed that it was.

  My dress on this day was perfect, of course. A gown of yellow silk as bright as spring flowers, with intricate lace adornments decorating the bodice. A matching hat and silk gloves completed the ensemble. Tasteful yet striking. The dressmaker had been full of compliments for me and even more for herself upon its presentation. My aunt had beamed with pride. Not many women could wear yellow like I did and the season was still warm enough that I could wear silk and not freeze even though the skies had turned a ghastly gray. Every one of the shop’s patrons had paused to admire both myself and the garment. Even the handsome young man sweeping the street took a moment’s rest to gawk through the window. At the time, I had preened at the attention, but once I discovered that gown’s purpose was to initiate formal wedding celebrations, I would have happily burnt the thing to ashes. My family’s horror would have been delightful.

  I glanced at the empty spot beside me. My aunt should have been here with me, sitting on these uncomfortably hard seats and fussing over my posture or lecturing me for the thousandth time on how to conduct myself in the presence of Lord Farrelworth, but a bout of illness had confined her to her bed. I fought the wave of panic that made my stomach twist. My earliest memories—tinged with the terror of the plague that had decimated so much of the country—were never far away.

  My aunt, I was assured, would recover from this present infirmity within a few days and join us at Lord Farrelworth’s estate; yet my treacherous mind persisted in its torment, asking, again and again, horrid questions—what if it should prove something grave? What if that kiss on the cheek this morning was the last time I ever see her? What if she had passed a sickness on to me? Any illness, however slight, made me unbearably nervous.

  My fingertips traced the gold locket at my throat, as they always did when I fretted. It had been my mother’s and pressing the edge to the pad of my thumb until it left a groove always calmed me.

  Recognizing the sign of my distress, Charlotte reached over to squeeze my hand. Her smile was encouraging but her big blue eyes were filled with pity. Although she was but eighteen to my twenty-two, she had a caring nature, and her vibrantly red hair may as well have been gray with the manner in which she fussed over me like an old nursemaid.

  As much as I cared for her, Charlotte could never understand my position. She was free to love in ways that I never had been. Or ever would be. I had seen her and the kitchen boy, William, together one too many times to not work out that they were sweet on one another. Something raw and ugly bubbled up inside me every single time I saw the little gifts he would leave her. A flower here, a sweet treat there. And once a roughly carved wooden horse that looked so awful that he must have made himself.

  She would be leaving him behind when we moved to Farrelworth manor, of course, but there would be another kitchen boy or butler for her to fall for. Charlotte was a pretty girl, and she could have her pick of whomever she liked.

  Perhaps I shall be too miserable and broken to be jealous of her then.

  Envy and bitterness caused my teeth to ache as I ground them together. As much as I yearned for romance myself, it had no place in my life. Not for lack of trying, mind you. I had shared secret kisses with the stable lad, the gardener and once a rather handsome delivery boy who had been so flustered afterwards that he had tripped down the back stairs.

  But for all my dalliances, nothing gave me the rush Charlotte had described when she had first pressed her lips to that of her sweetheart. To me, those kisses had felt like no more than the touching of two body parts—not horrid, but certainly nothing I hastened to continue. Women of my station could never marry for love anyway, so what was the point in allowing myself to yearn for it? Still, I longed for a taste of romance-—like a forbidden fruit, it called to me.

  I sighed for the thousandth time that morning as I looked out the carriage window and toyed with the lace on my sleeve. At least our tardiness today could not be blamed on me and someone else had been the focus of my uncle’s wrath.

  A gift for Lord Farrelworth had not been ready when we arrived to collect it and had taken an extra few minutes to be boxed up. That was enough to have my uncle choking on his own rage. I had watched him blustering, red in the face, and jabbing the shop assistant in the chest with the handle of his cane as I cringed from within the carriage. His long curled wig had bobbed and danced with a life of its own as he berated the poor man.

  And he called me an embarrassment. I was incredibly thankful that his business took priority and he would not be coming with us on this journey. I could not bear to have to contend with his scrutiny alongside my own misery today.

  Now with just Charlotte and I in the rattling carriage, I slid the wooden box out that contained the gift from under my seat and tugged the ribbon on it loose. It had been a pretty adornment, and it pleased me to ruin at least a tiny part of it. Ignoring Charlotte’s anxious tittering, I opened the box. Even through the silk of my gloves, I could feel every ridge and curve of the intricately decorated pair of pistols that lay nestled in the red velvet lining. Gold filigree and pearl inlay in a delicate design sparkled in the dewy sunlight that streamed past the carriage’s curtains.

  They were undeniably beautiful. I had little interest in the weapons themselves, but I could not fault the fine craftmanship. Lord Farrelworth had a distinct preference for beautiful things, and these were sure to please him.

  Heavier than I expected it to be, the pistol felt unwieldy as I lifted one out of its box.

  “Miss,” Charlotte whispered, urgency turning it into a squeak.

  I ignored her and turned the pistol over in my hands, wondering idly if there was something I could do to them to make them fire backwards into Lord Farrelworth’s sneering face and save me from this cursed marriage. Even then, the world was full of horrid old men that my uncle would be happy to ship me off to if my betrothed were to have an unfortunate accident and retire from the land of the living.

  Perhaps I could just shoot him myself?

  But the pistols were not loaded, nor did the box contain any ammunition. Even if I had known how to load them correctly, I could never shoot anyone no matter how horrid they were. And having the skill to alter t
he pistols to my whims was even further out of the question.

  I snorted as I dropped it back in its box. Pretty things. Useless things.

  Much like me.

  While Charlotte fussed over retying the ribbon, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane of the carriage window. We had begun trundling over packed dirt rather than the cobbles of the town, and the houses and shops gave way to lush green fields. Soon, we would be surrounded by trees and wilderness as the road wound through the thick forests that made up half the county.

  I shifted in my seat, stretching my legs as much as I was able. The interior of the carriage was exquisite, but the seats were still hard and uncomfortable for hours of simply sitting still. Groaning, I slumped in an unladylike fashion until Charlotte’s rough, calloused hand slipped into mine again and gave a tight squeeze.

  She did not say anything. There were no words to say. I had cried all of my tears in the days leading up to this journey already. I had tried to negotiate, to plead, to threaten my way out of this marriage but there was nothing to be done.

  All I could do was pray for some miracle to save me.

  Chapter Two

  The Highwaywoman

  It was time. I had waited months for this.

  So where is the damn carriage?

  The anticipation was the worst part. Staying low in the shadows and checking my flintlock pistol for the thousandth time with sweat slick, shaking fingers. My knees twinged from crouching so long and a persistent fly buzzed around my face. I ached to swat the irritating thing, but even one single move at the wrong time could ruin this whole job, and I would never forgive myself if I were the one to blow it.

  We’d done jobs similar to this countless times—quick, smooth and most of the time bloodless—but that knowledge didn’t stop my stomach from rebelling against me as the silent minutes ticked by while my crew and I waited for our quarry.

  Soon, the soft rhythmic thuds of hooves and the trundling of carriage wheels met my ears. My lips curled up in a grim smile. This would be our biggest take yet. My chance to prove myself. One step closer to paying my debts. One step closer to freedom.

  As the carriage came into view, my mouth watered. No one had a personal carriage, let alone a carriage like that, without some serious money. I slid my white handkerchief from my pocket and waved it once. Hidden in a ditch on the other side of the road, the rest of my crew would see my signal and know the job was on. It was time to get paid.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  The deep shout of my second-in-command cut through the silence of the forest, startling birds into flight. From my position I could not see the faces of the driver or footman, but their shock would’ve been a treat.

  I leapt down from my hiding space, boots thudding onto the road and my cape fanning out behind me, and took up position behind the carriage, cutting off any hopes of escape to the rear. The rest of my men flanked the carriage, creeping out of the shadows like ghosts.

  Pride warmed my chest as I approached my prize. The opulence of the carriage made my stomach flutter. Carved cherry wood sprawled over every edge in coiling, floral pattern with hints of gold inlay. I could smell the fresh lacquer over the tang of the horses. It pained me to leave such beautiful artistry behind, but we could hardly lug it along with us.

  One day, I’ll have a carriage like this of my own.

  I traced a gloved hand over the glossy wood, allowing myself a moment with its beauty while my crew directed the driver and footman to their knees. Our quarry hadn’t brought any guards with them—why would they? This part of the county had never been afflicted with highwaymen the way that the southern towns nearer the capital had. I grinned again. That was exactly why we’d travelled a little further to get this score. Away from well-travelled roads that lead to London. No one was expecting us here in the quiet countryside. Easy pickings and fat purses. I allowed myself a satisfied smirk at my own cunning. This job was going to be a huge score, and it was going to be mine.

  I whistled and was answered by the same tune.

  All clear.

  Now for the rest of the job. I yanked open the door.

  “Good morn—”

  My greeting was cut off by a heeled shoe thrown at my head. Or it would've been if my assailant had even a smattering of good aim. The shoe sailed harmlessly out of the carriage and onto the road several feet away.

  So much for easy pickings.

  I sighed, cocked my pistol and slid into the carriage. I didn’t necessarily enjoy this part, but it had to be done. The carriage was spacious enough to fit four or more people inside, but the cushioned interior was currently occupied only by two young women. I forced my way into the carriage to seize the girl seated closest to me before anything else could be thrown and pressed my pistol against her temple.

  “Shall we try that again?” I growled, my voice low. Whereas my men had simple scarves covering their lower faces, I did not take any chances. My mask was black leather and nightmarish.

  The girl I’d grabbed was shaking like a leaf in a storm and crying hysterically. A lady’s maid, if I were to guess by her garb.

  Shit, she’s barely more than a child.

  I relaxed my grip a fraction. I wasn’t a good person by any stretch of the imagination, but even I balked at the thought of harming a child.

  “No one will get hurt if you do exactly as I say.” I turned my gaze to the other occupant of the carriage. She was the real reason we were here. I inclined my head in a mocking gesture of respect. “Countess.”

  The woman opposite glared at me with seething hatred. Her hands were balled into fists in their dainty white gloves. She was also young, barely more than twenty, and she would have been quite a pretty thing had she not been snarling at me and missing one shoe.

  “Release her immediately!” she demanded. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, Countess, that is precisely why I am robbing you,” I said slowly, enunciating each syllable. Even the simplest man in our crew knew how to spot a rich target, but I took the time to actually know who they were and where that gold had come from. I had aspirations, after all. The best way to steal someone’s money was not to shove a gun in their face on a stretch of lonely road. If they thought you were one of them, more often than not, they would simply hand it over. Investment was the magic word. Like scattering breadcrumbs for hungry pigeons, the high and mighty would squawk and fall over each other for the promise of further riches. Their greed was their downfall every time. They were prey to me, and I knew them all. And their assets. So yes, I knew exactly who Countess Victoria Edmunton was.

  The countess’s brown cheeks flushed a deep red—a stark contrast to the cheerful yellow of her dress. She looked like those little yellow flowers that spring up from the grass. What were they called—oh yes, buttercups.

  “How dare you?” she raged. “You men think that you can just take—”

  “Enough chatter.” I fished a sack from my pocket and set it on the cushioned bench beside me. “I want all of your jewelry in there, and a little birdie told me that you have a gift for Lord Farrelworth too. An exquisite engagement present, I believe. Hand it over.”

  I expected fear when I revealed just how much I knew about her life, but an unexpected expression passed over the woman’s face at the mention of the engagement gift. I frowned. The countess actually looked like she might take ill.

  She shuddered as she brought out a polished wooden box from under her seat. My heartbeat quickened. She licked her lip as her fingertips glanced over the latch.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warned her. “I know exactly what is in there and if it even looks like you are about to attempt something foolish, then I will shoot you both here and take that box from your corpse.”

  The countess didn’t even flinch, but the maid’s sobs took on an even higher pitched wail at my threat.

  “Shhh,” I murmured in the same tone I would use for my horse when he was upset. “All will be well. I don’t wish to harm anyone.”

  “Just take it,” Countess Edmunton said hoarsely as she thrust the unopened box towards me. “He does not deserve it.”