James, Earl of Crofton

by Rebecca Cohen

  “There will be plenty of people to protect me,” James insisted. “And don’t forget Marchent will be there. He has a canny eye for detail. I do not think he will look past you. He will see you for who you are.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “He is not me.”

  “You trust him?”

  “With my life.”

  “Then I will do the same.” Adam raised his chin, defiant. “I will tell you how I plan to be present.”

  James knew he couldn’t persuade Adam now. Hopefully, nearer the time, he would be more successful. He had no doubt that Marchent would not care that Adam was the Chivalrous Highwayman, but his friend might be able to stop Adam from being so foolhardy.

  Chapter 25

  Despite James’s misgivings, Tilly confirmed she would be delighted to visit Crofton Hall and, as she put it, ‘once again come to James’s rescue’. The letter alluded to Marchent having approached her, but he knew she would have needed little persuasion to be of assistance. The rest of the plan, Adam’s recent changes aside, was well advanced, and James had already selected a number of places between the hall and London where they could enact the trap. Certain elements were beyond his control; he could not guarantee the bandits would be at any of the specific spots, but there were ways and means to influence their actions. Adam sounded almost blasé about how a few well-placed words could make the bandits do as James wished.

  The worst part was the waiting. It had been months since his father’s death and the discovery of something rotten at Crofton Hall. He felt stifled by the inactivity, but at least Lindon and Walters had been summoned, so now he could begin to bring it all to an end.

  Not for the first time of late, he found himself in the large reception room, standing in front of the portrait Anthony Redbourn, the 1st Earl, had commissioned of himself with his second wife, Bronwyn, reminding James of the ridiculous tale his grandfather had told him years ago.

  There was no mistaking Bronwyn for an attractive woman. She was plainer and broader than Anthony’s two other wives, portraits of whom also hung at the hall. Yet the painter had captured something about her that held the eye. Maybe it was the defiant pose, chin held high, or those vibrant green eyes. But the same could also be said for the other painting she was in—the one with her brother, the actor, Sebastian Hewel. Where Bronwyn was plain, Sebastian was beautiful, with the same piercing stare. Maybe it was the actor’s beauty, along with Anthony’s reputation at court of not caring if his lovers wore hose and doublet or farthingale and gown. Whether the story was true or not—that Sebastian had fooled the court into thinking he was his sister—it didn’t matter anymore to James. The idea was enough spur him on. He wanted to believe it, so he would, and he wanted even more to have his own dreams. Anthony had found a way to keep the man he loved at his side, and James would do the same for Adam. But first he needed to make sure he was not building his dreams on false hope.

  “I wondered if I’d find you here. I tried your office and the library, but when you weren’t there, somehow I thought you might be here instead.”

  James hadn’t noticed Adam arrive, and turned to see him leaning against the wall, watching.

  “I like it here,” James replied.

  “You like most places in the hall, but this room has been calling to you of late. Is there a particular reason?”

  Adam had been dismissive when James had told him of Anthony and Sebastian, but James saw no reason not to tell him the truth. “The painting of Anthony and Bronwyn—or Sebastian, if you believe—which, the more I think about it, the more I do.”

  “A romantic notion,” said Adam, but there was no sneer or malice. “But you were also not so convinced when you told me. What has brought on the change of heart?”

  “A man thinks differently when he is in love.”

  Perhaps he should have been more prudent with his words, kept his feelings to himself for a little longer.

  Adam looked at him in a way James couldn’t decipher. “You fancy yourself in love?”

  “It is more than a fancy.”

  Adam pushed himself off the wall and walked towards James, but there was a hesitancy James wasn’t used to seeing, and his stomach churned with the idea his most pessimistic thoughts were true and Adam did not feel for him as much as James felt for Adam. “They are words I had not expected to hear, if I am honest.”

  “But are they words you wished to hear? Adam, I love you. I cannot lie and pretend that what we share is a dalliance to pass the time.”

  “I did not think—”

  “What did you think? That I am just a pretty thing?” A rush of anger surged through him, a visceral bolt of hurt.

  “No! I thought you were content—happy with what had developed between us. After everything I told you, I could not believe you could be anything more than fond of me, that you could hold such a deep affection for me.”

  “You think me shallow.”

  Adam reached out and took James’s hand. “Far from it. You are wonderful and thought-provoking. I could not believe my dreams could be reality.”

  “I thought you were an intelligent man.” Relief seeped through him. He laced their fingers together, loving the way he couldn’t tell which were his and which were Adam’s.

  “I am a cautious one.”

  James snorted. “Someone who rides out as a highwayman is hardly cautious.”

  “That is different—it is not my heart.”

  Adam was a cagey soul. James had said the words, made his declaration, but although he knew Adam loved him, he wanted to hear him say it. “What of your heart?”

  “I had never hoped to find someone I might love, a special man who completes me—and certainly I had not let myself believe that man could be as beautiful as you. You are so alive and vibrant. I am an old man of body and soul in comparison. I have no title or lands—”

  “I have no care for that! And you are not old.”

  “I am older than you.”

  James shook his head. “I have not had cause to think you infirm—quite the opposite.”

  “Such things are not so easily swept aside. Your adventures at court with other men are mere games. A man could never be more than friends in the long term with another man. Polite society would condemn us both.”

  “I have always been more interested in impolite society.”

  “James, be serious.”

  James was not about to let Adam talk himself out of their future happiness together. “I may not be able to shout from the rooftops that you are my lover, but I will not let that stop me. You asked why I believed Anthony and Sebastian’s story, well this is why.” He brought Adam’s hands up to his lip and kissed his knuckles. “I want to believe. And I want what I believe Anthony had. Tell me, Adam Dowson, do you love me? Let me hear the words.”

  Adam leaned forwards so their foreheads touched. “I love you more than life itself. If God be willing, I would spend the rest of my life at your side.”

  “Then it shall be so.”

  Adam’s lips were soft, and James returned the kiss with equal tenderness. He knew this would not be the end of the discussion, could tell he would need to give Adam further reassurances about what their future would look like, but for now they were at least on the right path.

  Chapter 26

  Adam had been insistent that the man now sitting in front of James was the ideal candidate to be James’s new secretary. True, he had glowing references, but Peter Stokes seemed more the type to be behind the counter in a shop than sorting out the day-to-day business of an earl. The way he worried the brim of his hat did not bode well either.

  “Mr Stokes, my advisor Mr Dowson may have informed you of my need for a secretary.”

  “Yes, my lord. He told me to report here this morning.” Stokes glanced around the room. “He said you needed someone to get you organised.”

  “Did he now?” muttered James. “I have read your recommendation from the local priest, stating your good character, a
nd from a cloth merchant in Hertford, saying you know your letters and are of a stable temperament, but I am a little lost as to the relevance of your experience.”

  He twisted his hat and James didn’t think it could stand much more of the treatment. “Did Adam not tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I was clerk for Sheriff Milner, but when Walters took the role I found it difficult to remain in the position. As much as I needed to feed my family, I also needed to have pride in what I do. We disagreed on many things, and he dismissed me. He made it clear if I made any fuss I would find myself on the end of an investigation, with a false allegation I helped someone escape.”

  Now that was an interesting tale. “Hence why you were working for a cloth merchant?”

  “Yes, my lord. I could not find the same type of job, and it was good of Mr Trevers to take me on, given the potential troubles Walters could cause. It was much less than I was used to, but I could not be fussy when I have mouths to feed.”

  James was warming to Stokes, but he had other questions. “How did you come to know Mr Dowson?”

  “Through my father, my lord. He knew the general, they fought together, and Adam has been good to those of us who have not had it so easy. He put in a word for me with Mr Trevers.”

  “And now me.”

  That made things a lot clearer as to why Adam had recommended him. As a clerk, Stokes would be handy around an office, and his issues with the sheriff meant his affiliations were not in the wrong camp.

  “I cannot say I am a supporter of our good sheriff.”

  “Adam did say as much, my lord.”

  If Stokes had been a half-decent clerk, he could easily have the skills James needed for him to manage his paperwork and keep his appointments straight, but usually he would have someone in that position accompany him to London, and Stokes didn’t look the type to live outside the provinces, and would probably baulk at the idea of being at court, even if he was on the fringes. “You are a local man, correct?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What are your experiences of London?”

  “It is a fine city, my lord.” His face lit up. “I would often go on Mr Trevers’s behalf. Truth be told, he can’t stand the place. I might be a local man, but I have spent time in the city. Learnt my letters as an apprentice in Stockwell.”

  Another surprise. Maybe he should have trusted Adam’s instincts. Stokes was sitting straighter in his chair, and James thought with a better set of clothes he could be made presentable. “I split my time between here and London, sometimes travelling on a whim. I would expect, if I were to require your services, you to do the same.”

  “Naturally, my lord. My wife and children are used to me being away from time to time, and with a better job I could afford a better place for them. I hope to save enough to send my lad to school.”

  James was still unsure, but a pile of paper caught his eye and he realised he couldn’t continue as he had been. He needed someone to sort his papers, to help Adam with estate business until he had a new steward, once Clement was dealt with, and to keep track of his appointments. Stokes was the best on offer, and there was a good chance he might work out. There were tithe cottages on the land, and a local school if he proved to be worthwhile, but for now maybe a trial period would be for the best.

  “I tell you what, Mr Stokes, let’s see what you can do for two months, and if we are able to work together, I’ll take you on as a permanent addition to my staff. I should warn you, I am not the type of man to care much of what others think of me, or my actions.”

  “That’s why you’re the earl, my lord. You don’t have to care what naysayers snipe. I will endeavour to serve you to the best of my abilities, and you will have my full loyalty.” He smiled. “And discretion.”

  James waved his hand over his desk. “So, when can you start?”

  As Richard Lindon helped himself to a few choice cuts of meat, he looked as if he’d be at home in any situation he found himself in. It had been two weeks since Marchent had warned James of the summons to London and Lindon had since then been swiftly installed in the role of the county’s sheriff. He’d accepted James’s invitation to dinner, quick to reply, and seemed delighted to be important enough to be the sole guest for the evening.

  “Lady Crofton is not joining us?” asked Lindon.

  “She is visiting friends. After Father’s death I have tried to encourage her to keep busy.”

  “A wise choice. My own mother pined away after my father passed. I was not the son she needed at the time, but then my duty was to the king—I still regret my lack of care.”

  “It is a difficult balance. We must be true to His Majesty, and I am sure your mother would not have held any malice towards you for that,” said James.

  “Your support of your mother shows your depth of character, my lord. You are known at court for many things, but no one has a bad word for you.”

  James laughed. “I should hope not.”

  “Indeed. I thought I should mention that the Duke of Marchent spoke highly of you also, and he said you have been troubled of late, in ways the local sheriff should have helped. Yet my predecessor was found lacking.”

  “I did wonder if Marchent might have talked to you,” James said, trying for nonchalance. “His visit, when he was accosted by bandits, has led me to believe I need to act. I would prefer to do so with the backing of the law, but as you say, I had become aware that Walters was not as honest and law-abiding as a man in his position should be.”

  Lindon put down his knife and shifted in his chair. “He will be spending considerable time in prison for the crimes when they are proven, but I did not hear of anything related to the Crofton estates.”

  “No. I cannot prove his involvement in what I think is happening, but that doesn’t mean he is innocent of additional crimes.” James had thought long and hard about his approach when talking with the new sheriff. He needed Lindon on his side and cooperative, but he did not want to tell him everything. Firstly, he needed to protect Adam and not have any aspersions cast on him, and also he did not want to admit how rotten the core at Crofton Hall was. “I will describe to you want I think is happening and how I hope to stop it. I am relying on Mr Dowson’s guidance and his vouchsafe that you can be trusted.”

  “I have known Mr Dowson since he was a young boy. His father was a good friend and fellow soldier-at-arms. You can trust his wisdom.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” He pushed away his plate and rested his hands carefully on the arms of his dining chair. “I believe that guests of Crofton Hall are being deliberately targeted, that someone is either feeding a gang of bandits information or they are taking great pains to watch my home. I myself have been accosted twice in woods heading to London, and so has the Duke of Marchent. There have been several others.”

  “Very troubling indeed. The roads are dangerous, and there are many opportunists and desperate men.”

  “They knew what I was carrying. That is not an opportunist, that is someone who knows my movements, which leads me to think I may even have a servant in league with these devils. But on that I must ask for your discretion.”

  Lindon picked up his wine glass and took a sip before answering. “Every great house has a bad apple or two. I am well aware men are only human, and houses like yours can be a great temptation. However, that is not an excuse. We will not want this servant of yours to get wind he is suspected. You can count on me not to be the weak link in the chain.”

  “I already have plans in place to bring this to a conclusion. I would appreciate your assistance, and it would be a considerable feather in your cap as the new sheriff to deliver these criminals to justice.”

  Lindon sat a little straighter in his chair. “It is my duty to uphold the law. Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “My cousin, Lady Matilda Carson, will arrive with the Duke of Marchent on one of her relatively regular visits. She is well known for her love of expensive gemstones, and she
will be wearing something nice and shiny around the hall. When she leaves, Marchent will remain behind, so even with a guard on her carriage she will be seen as an easy target.”

  “But that is no guarantee bandits would strike, or, if they do, that they will implicate one of your servants.”

  “Let us say I have an influencing voice in place which could help steer the act to happen.”

  “Then you are more than suspicious of your servants—you are sure.”

  Lindon was quick-witted, which was not always a trait found in sheriffs. “Yes, you could say that. Additionally, my mother has mislaid an emerald brooch. It has been made known that she thinks she left it elsewhere, and we know it has been taken from the place it was left, although, miraculously, no one has come forward. I believe the servant will take the opportunity to be one of the guards, in order to hand over the find during the bandit attack.”

  “The road back to London is long. You cannot ensure where the attack will take place,” said Lindon, but he was clearly thinking James’s plan through as he spoke.

  “Again, the correct influence can be applied. The road may be long, but there are places that are more opportune than others.”

  Lindon puffed out his cheeks and held up his glass in salute. “You are a very shrewd man, my lord. Woe betide any who try to swindle you. I, of course, am at your service. Let me know how and when and a band of trusted men I can round up will be there.”

  James returned the salute. “I am glad to hear it. Mr Dowson will call upon you in a few days. Now I know you will be of help, the plan is ready to be enacted.”

  Chapter 27

  It had taken a further three weeks to put the remaining pieces of the plan in place, and Marchent and Tilly were due to arrive in a matter of hours. The thrill of at last being able to rout the bastards made James giddy. Adam had been magnificent help once again, running messages to Clement and separately to Lindon. Clement was convinced that Tilly could easily be stripped of her jewels, and the emerald had, in turn, been a huge draw for the bastard brother.