Sophia was here, shining like a jewel in the midst of this provincial assembly. James had a purpose in seeking her out: a message to give her from his aunt and cousins. He had considered and rejected the idea of a call on her aunts’ townhouse: he was unlikely to be permitted a private conversation, particularly given that her brother Hythe was in the Haverford camp. However, she had already shown she would not snub him in public. He could pass on the message his Aunt Grace had sent with him and she could decide where and when they might talk. Besides, he could combine pleasure with business and ask her to dance.
He made his bow to her aunts before asking his lady for a dance, and then the pretty little sister, so his attentions to Sophia would not cause gossip. With the same end in mind, he allowed the Master of Ceremonies to present him to other ladies as a partner for the dances before the ones with the Belvoir ladies.
Lady Felicity seldom sat out a dance, James noticed, but Sophia spent most of the evening with her aunts, watching from the chairs placed in groups along the room’s walls. Did she prefer not to take the floor, or did most of these idiots fail to see her beauty—not just of face and form, but of character and intelligence?
At last, it was time for their dance; a country dance in the long form, which was fortunate, for they would have time for conversation in the privacy formed by the music and the concentration of the other dancers. First, though, James could take his turn with her in the patterns of the dance, his hand holding hers, his gaze fixed on her fathomless brown eyes. A pattern of two couples followed, a swapping of partners, and then back to circle with Sophia before they separated once more, each to their own row.
The couple leading the line wove in and out of the dancers before promenading back up the middle of the rows, and setting off to repeat the patterns: each couple meeting and circling, two couples, swapped partners, and back to Sophia before the lead couple danced away down to the other end of the rows and the next couple began the sequence over again.
The time would come for James and Sophia to find themselves odd pair out at the end of the rows, and stand aside for several minutes. Meanwhile, James enjoyed Sophia’s grace, the fleeting touches of her hand, even the sway of her body against his when they linked elbows in passing. Under the blazing candlelight, he could not tell whether the flecks in her pupils were green or gold, but her brown hair certainly glinted gold as the well-anchored curls in her coiffure bounced with the vigour of the dance.
At last, their turn came to lead the line, and then to circle around to the back, there to stand and rest for a few minutes. James kept his eyes on the other dancers, rather than feasting them on her as he would prefer.
“Lady Sophia, I have a message for you from my aunt and cousins.” He glanced at her. “They asked me to come up with a way to escort you to Sutton-Under-Swinwood on behalf of your committee, to check that all is well there.”
She had also been watching the dance, but now she turned towards him her eyes widening. He could see the thoughts passing across her expressive face. Relief, followed by concern, then thoughtfulness. He could swear she was wondering what he knew.
He dropped his voice, though no-one was close enough to listen to their conversation. “I shall leave you to visit the residents while I enjoy myself in my stables. Charlotte explained the nature of the village.” He spread his lower arms, hands up, emphasising how inoffensive he was. “It is some distance from the house and ordinary from a distance. I can help, my lady. My new steward is one of your problems, is he not?”
The estate was the original demesne of the Earls of Sutton, and the traditional responsibility of the heir to the duke, but Sutton said James was likely to have both title and estate soon, and he might as well begin now.
James had appointed a man who was knowledgeable about horse breeding without realising the use to which the ladies of his family had secretly put the village that had been largely abandoned when the land was enclosed. At Winds’ Gate, his aunt and cousins had been horrified.
Once he knew about the refuge they had created, he had willingly agreed to ride to Oxfordshire and warn his steward and the other new men against any interference with or gossip about the village and its inhabitants. The opportunity to spend time with Sophia was a bonus.
Sophia gave him a cautious smile. “Have you thought of a way for me to make such a journey with you without occasioning comment?”
“We must return to the dance in a moment,” James pointed out. “May I call on you tomorrow to discuss this further?”
Another considering look. “Felicity and I will walk to the Royal Well tomorrow morning. We generally leave my aunts’ house at eleven o’clock.”
“Number five, Royal Crescent,” James said. She acknowledged this with a nod as they moved to take their places back in the dance.
The next morning, Jeyhun engaged Lady Felicity in conversation while James presented Lady Sophia with his idea for an unobtrusive trip to Sutton-under-Swinwood. The warrior must have been listening to what James and his beloved were saying, though. As they rode out of Cheltenham after their walk with the Belvoir ladies, he commented, “You go to considerable trouble to spend time with the lady.”
Jeyhun was well aware that James had been commissioned to relieve Lady Sophia of her errand to the village. He could instruct his servants; he could even visit the village with the letters of introduction Aunt Georgie and Sarah had given him, but where would be the fun in that?
“The villagers prefer to deal with a woman,” James pointed out.
No hint of a smile showed on Jeyhun’s face or voice as he replied, with a grave courtesy that broadcast his amusement to anyone who knew him, “The comfort of your tenants is your only purpose, most excellent of landlords.”
James met the thrust with a grin, and nudged Seistan into a canter. His plans would see him spend nearly two days in his lady’s company, and he felt too happy about that to allow Jeyhun to needle him.
They arrived an hour later at the village closest to Hamner’s estate. As planned, they paused to gather intelligence. James took a pork pie and a mug of the local ale out to eat on a bench in the sun, while Jeyhun sat inside, standing out in his Turkmen garb: long red coat worn over loose black pants that tucked into his high riding boots, crowned by the traditional sheepskin telpek on his head. The village men were shy, but Jeyhun managed to strike up a conversation with the maid over the quality of the meal.
James, sitting under the open window, could hear her say, “Ye’re not from around here, are ye?”
“I am from far to the East, lovely one,” Jeyhun explained, seizing the opening, “but England is now my home. I came to serve a fine English family; the family of the Duke of Winshire. Have you heard of him?”
The maid shook her head, but admitted, “I saw a duke once. Him of Haverford. Came through the village, he did, to visit our earl.”
“Saw his carriage, you mean,” scoffed one of the drinkers at the bar. “Our Suzie says she saw the duke!”
Other villagers joined in with their own claims to vicarious fame, and soon the conversation became general. Jeyhun boasted of the fine English family he worked for, and all the elegant English notables he had met as he travelled around the country with his lord. The villagers did their best to outdo one another in impressing this exotic stranger with tales of their own local gentry, and ‘him in the big house, our earl’ was the finest of them all.
“The earl is liked, Jamie,” Jeyhun reported, as they rode the half mile to Hamner’s gates. “More, they’re proud of him. He has made speeches in the House of Lords that have been reported in the newspaper, or so they say.”
“Yes, I heard.” The villagers’ chief allegiance was to Hamner’s mother, who ran the estate in his absence. They had been full of praise for ‘our lady’. “They are surprised he came home before Parliament closed,” James noted. By what the villagers said, even his mother had not expected him.
They’d reached the turnoff to the estate. James signalled the turn to Seistan, and stopped while one of his escort rang the bell for the keeper of the gate lodge, a very pregnant woman with a wailing toddler on her hip, who scurried out to open the way for them to enter the carriageway that stretched for a few hundred yards and then wound out of sight around a small wood.
James handed the gate keeper a shilling, and bent down to touch the child’s head. The child cut off the noise mid-wail, staring open-mouthed up at the horseman, little face awash with tears and slimy around the nose and mouth. “A new tooth?” James asked, noting that one cheek was redder than the other.” He missed the nieces and nephews left behind in Para Daisa, but he did not miss the troubles they put the whole citadel through when teeth erupted.
The mother sighed. “Aye, milord. I’m sorry to trouble ye with him, but me man is off to the town, and I’ve to mind the poor bantling and the gate both.”
“A penny for the little lad,” James said. He retrieved one from his purse and handed it to her. “My sisters rub the gums with a little oil. The massage seems to help.”
Unexpectedly, the woman grinned, clearly amused that the fine gentleman thought to offer her advice. “That it does, milord.”
Before he and Jeyhun could ride on, a horseman rounded the curve of the wood, riding towards him.
“Here comes my lord earl now,” the gatekeeper said. Sure enough, it was Hamner, blond eyebrows raised over frosty blue eyes as he approached close enough to recognise James.
“Sutton’s son. What are you doing in Gloucestershire?”
“Looking for you, Hamner,” James said. “I’d like to talk.”
Hamner gave a single nod, almost a bow. “I suppose I owe you a conversation. Very well. Follow me to the village and we’ll have a pint. The Bell and Bush makes a tolerable brew.”
James and Hamner carried their drinks out to a bench in the sun. “I did not know—” Hamner began, but James held up a hand as the maid arrived with the tea Jeyhun had ordered. He took a sip and his lip curled a little. “Tolerable,” he said to James, “but barely.”
“The ale is actually quite good,” Hamner commented.
Jeyhun shrugged. “I am a servant of the Prophet, blessed be He,” he explained. “I do not drink fermented beverages.”
Hamner’s eyes widened, and he shifted his gaze to James. “Then you are not a Muhhamaden,” he speculated. “Haverford says that you are.”
James took a sip of his ale, thinking about Haverford’s prejudices and how foolish the man was not to make the least investigation. His parents were both Christian. In Para Daisa, the little congregation was Assyrian Catholic, his mother’s faith. Like everything else, James’s religious practice had changed when the old duke had first deigned to remember his exiled son. Father had explained that many of the privileges of the peerage were denied those who didn’t at least pay lip service to the Church of England. He and James had continued to worship with the family, but he had also coached his eldest son in the services contained in the Book of Common Prayer.
“Haverford is wrong, Hamner. I will be able to make the Oath of Allegiance when the time comes for me to be duke, which I pray is far in the future.”
Hamner lifted his own mug, not answering. James decided to get straight to the point.
“Did Haverford put you up to forcing a duel between my brother and the Weasel?” he asked.
Hamner shrugged. “A duel was not the result I was expecting.”
James took another sip of ale, swallowing an angry response along with the brew. “You repeated an insult to our mother in a way that made it impossible for my brother to ignore the remarks. What did you expect, if not a duel?”
Hamner didn’t attempt to prevaricate. “A fight, then and there. Fisticuffs in the ballroom. Haverford told me… well, suffice it to say he was mistaken and so was I. I owe you and your brother an apology, and I make it, most sincerely. I would not blame you if you did not believe me, but I am very grateful your brother was not injured, and that Weasel got what he deserved.”
Jeyhun pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Your apology might have been more meaningful had you delivered it before you left London,” he observed.
“Haverford said…” the young earl trailed off. Neither James nor Jeyhun spoke as Hamner turned his mug around and around in his hands, focusing on the frothy surface. “The words grow tedious with repetition, do they not? You are in the right again, Lord Elfingham.”
Calling him by his title was a considerable concession for one in the Haverford camp. James followed his instinct and asked his question directly. “Were you aware that Haverford had an assassin hiding at the duelling field with instructions to kill me and Weasel both?”
Hamner blanched, and his jaw dropped. He shook his head. “That can’t be. If such a man—” He caught the slight movement Jeyhun made and James’s hand on his companion’s arm to restrain him, and started over. “I beg your pardon again. I did not intend to imply I doubted your word. I am glad to see you escaped him. You cannot, however, expect me to believe that Haverford sent him, and with such instructions. Why, he backs Weasel—” The earl trailed off, before making yet another verbal gaffe.
“Fortunately, the man was captured before he could shoot. We questioned him, and have no doubt about his instructions.”
“That explains it.” Hamner was nodding in approval of his own words. “The man lied about who sent him. I know Haverford can be autocratic, but such an action would be entirely without honour. You cannot seriously believe a duke of the realm would be so base.”
James examined Hamner’s face over the rim of his mug as he took another deep swallow of the ale. Making up his mind, he put the mug down. “Your mischief-making might have had deadly consequences, Lord Hamner. I accept your apology, but I ask a boon. Go and talk to Lord Aldridge about the assassin. He knows the truth.”