Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2)

by Lee, Jade

  "Yes, sir, I am." He meant to say more, but his words were cut off by shouts from the crowd.

  "No, 'e weren't!"

  "It were that girl. That lady!"

  "She's over there! Sitting like to tea!"

  Anthony raised his hand, doing his best to quiet the crowd. Eventually, the cries settled enough for him to make his plea. "I wish to discuss restitution," he shouted. The pronouncement had its desired effect. The various owners surged forward, only to be forestalled by the baron, a greedy light in his dark eyes.

  "Make way, gentlemen. Make way. This man is a Hussar. He could cut you down with one glance. Make way."

  Reluctantly, the aggrieved men fell away, allowing the baron to step forward. Anthony met him halfway, and though there was precious little space for privacy, together they managed to create a tiny circle for discussion while the crowd watched with impatience.

  "Now, then," boomed the baron, but Anthony cut him off.

  "Sir, I am afraid I am guilty of lying to you just now. I was indeed not the one who released the roosters from their cages."

  The baron pulled back, ready to begin a loud protest. Clearly the man enjoyed an audience, but Anthony did not allow him to speak. Instead, he pressed a coin into the man's hand.

  "Indeed, sir, this debacle was created by a tenderhearted young lady of the ton. Lady Sophia Rathburn, daughter of the late earl of Tallis." He had no compunction disclosing Sophia's name. No less than a dozen people had seen her release the birds. Her name would come up eventually. A moment later, the Baron confirmed Anthony's reasoning.

  "Yes, yes. I thought I recognized the accused."

  "Then I am sure you understand the need for discretion." He pressed another coin into the man's hand.

  "You cannot think I would simply excuse this happenstance," protested the magistrate as he pocketed both coins. "A crime has been committed! The peace disrupted!" His voice was again rising to overly loud proportions.

  "Of course, of course," agreed Anthony. "But you cannot simply bring a gently reared lady up on charges. And certainly not in a common taproom." Another coin disappeared into the baron's meaty fist. "Perhaps there is someplace more appropriate? Someplace more befitting her station?"

  The baton frowned, confusion clear in his pinched expression. "I suppose my drawing room is rather large..."

  "Excellent!" beamed Anthony as he slipped a few more coins into the baron's pocket. "But must you truly bring her up on charges?"

  The magistrate glanced meaningfully at the crowd around them, the first sign of true reluctance on his face. "I cannot see how to avoid it," he answered in an undertone.

  "Nor I," agreed Anthony truthfully.

  "However," the baron continued, his hand meaningfully open, "We both know she won't spend time in gaol."

  Anthony kept his hold on his purse tight. "On the contrary, I would like her to."

  "What?" gasped the man, his thick jowls quivering in outrage. "I cannot gaol the daughter of an earl!"

  Anthony took a deep breath. Indeed, what he was about to do went against the grain in so many ways. But he had little choice. The sooner Sophia wed him, the better for everyone involved—most especially her. Indeed, this was the only way to save her reputation.

  "Well," Anthony said slowly as he eyed the magistrate. "Do not gaol her, exactly. But perhaps you could detain her for the night. At your manor?"

  The man gaped at him, his eyes bulging in shock. "But why, man?"

  "Because I have taken responsibility for this event. I, of course, would have to be detained with her."

  It took less than a moment for the man to grasp what Anthony wanted. "But you would ruin her!"

  Anthony grinned. "Not if she married me in the morning." He dropped his entire purse into the magistrate's hand. "Certainly you understand that some courtships require more drastic methods than others."

  The baron stared down at his palm, and for a moment, Anthony despaired that he had overplayed his hand. Glossing over a few dead chickens was one thing. Anthony was asking the man to help him ruin the daughter of an earl.

  The magistrate looked up, his expression subdued. "I suppose you wish it to be as public as possible then."

  Doubt once again surged through Anthony. Could he subject Sophia to such humiliation? One glance at the angry crowd dissolved his guilt. Sophia would suffer no matter what he did. The matter was already public, her name already bandied about. Neither he nor the baron could change that.

  "Public trial or not," he finally said, "the damage is already done."

  The older man did not seem to hear, his thoughts centered on the hearing's outcome. "I cannot sentence her to a bedroom," he said. "That would seem too much like a garden party." Then he smiled, and Anthony's purse disappeared into his now-heavy pocket. "But I have a priest's hole in the wine cellar "

  Anthony nodded. "Then I shall leave it in your most capable hands."

  * * *

  "Are you sure you're all right?" the major demanded. "Sophia, do you know what could have happened? Lord, do you even know what will happen now?"

  Sophia did not answer. Indeed, her entire body seemed encased in ice, so much so that she could barely think, much less respond. Besides, she was too weary with the whole situation to argue. Unfortunately, their difficulties had only just begun.

  They were currently lumped into the back of a wagon being unceremoniously escorted to the residence of the local justice of the peace, otherwise known as Baron Riggs, who had been present at the fight. Sitting across from her in the conveyance was the local constable, a dour old man with a face wrinkled into a perpetual frown. Behind them followed everyone who attended the cockfight. Rich and poor alike, all trooping to the baron's residence for her trial.

  Not a one of them, from the baron down to the poor boy she had rescued, cared that she had been acting on humanitarian instincts. To a man, they were annoyed that she had ruined their sport. Everyone, that is, except Percy. Strangely enough, Lydia's fiance had come to the country for sport—and had won a bundle betting on Sophia emerging alive and unscathed from the fight.

  "I knew you could do it, Sophia," he prattled as he walked beside the wagon. "Not a one of them knew you had so much bottom! Can't say as I did, either, except that I couldn't bet against you. Not with yourself and Lydia being so close."

  "Glad I could be of service," she responded dryly.

  "Sophia!" snapped the major, and her attention returned to him. Naturally, Percy took that opportunity to drift away, abandoning her to the major's tirade. "They are taking you to trial. This will be gossip fodder for the entire country by nightfall."

  She shrugged, feeling her mind and body slow, turning sluggish. She recognized the feeling—the chill that distanced her from everyone around her. Indeed, it was this very demeanor that had earned her the appellation "the Ice Queen."

  Odd how she had not felt so cold since the major's return to her life.

  "Sophia?"

  She blinked, startled by his worried question. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You are hurt! Where? Is it your head?"

  "Apart from one peck, none of the birds paid the least attention to me. I am completely whole." Which was more than she could say for the major. His shin was in tatters, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth flesh beneath. He had cuts along both his arms and a rather ugly gash along his cheek. For a moment, concern overrode her annoyance. "How is your leg? Does it pain you? I could..." She was imagining rubbing it as she had in the hospital, but her voice trailed away at his glare. Apparently the major did not want her touching him, and Sophia relapsed into a stoic silence.

  Thankfully, the entourage soon reached the baron's house. The baron dismounted first, puffing up his chest with importance as he preceded everyone into his hallway. Cockfights were apparently quite a passion for the man, and he had acted quite indignant while supervising her arrest.

  The constable climbed down next, all the while keeping a gimlet eye upon both herself and the
major. Other men gathered around them, literally surrounding the wagon in case she or Anthony chose to make a run for it. Which was a ridiculous notion. With all the bodies squeezing forward to gawk at her, Sophia barely had room to breathe, much less attempt an escape.

  She merely stood and allowed the constable to assist her to the ground. The major followed directly after, stepping to a spot behind her right shoulder, as if trying to shield her in some way. As they began to move toward the baron's entryway, she felt him wrap his arm around her, pulling her into his protective embrace. Any other time, she would have resisted his solid support. As it was, she had no energy to fight, her mind and body too frozen to do more than shrink into his side.

  Moving inside, she felt him stumble slightly, his limp obvious now that she was pressed so intimately against him. She reached out, guilt creeping past her defenses. After all, she was the one who had begun this whole escapade. The major should not suffer for her actions.

  "You need not protect me, Major," she offered softly. "You are much more injured than I, especially with your hurt leg."

  "If ever a woman was in need of a keeper, Sophia, it is you. Good God, when I think of what could have happened!" His voice was haggard, his anger palpable, and when she looked up into his eyes, she could see fear lingering there. Fear, apparently, for her safety.

  "Perhaps now you understand why I worry about your leg," she said. She had spoken softly, but she felt the impact of her words for his entire body stiffened. Meeting his startled gaze, she knew without a doubt that he understood her meaning. Some fears lingered despite all reason. She would always worry about his health, just as he would always feel horror when he recalled this afternoon's work.

  The thought was oddly warming, as though it bound them together in some way. But she had no time to contemplate it as events once again overtook them. They moved into the baron's main reception room. Gentlemen crowded about them, pushing into the front hallway. The constable drew both her and the major to the center of the room, then glared fiercely at them before stepping back. A small circle of space opened up around them, and Sophia took her first deep breath in twenty minutes. Beside her, the major straightened, but he did not release her.

  The baron took great time opening the chamber's windows to their fullest extent. All too soon, each opening became a disconcerting wall of eager faces as people who could not find space in the main room moved around to peer in through the window enclosures. At last, he raised his hand and waited in pompous glory for the citizens of Staffordshire to become silent. It took a long time.

  When a modicum of peace reigned, the baron turned to Sophia, addressing her with his booming voice.

  "Lady Sophia," he began. "You have caused quite a scene and hundreds of pounds' worth of damage this afternoon. What have you to say for yourself?"

  "Merely that cockfighting is an uncivilized and repulsive sport where the ridiculousness of the event is matched only by the stupidity of the birds and their audi—"

  "Sophia!" That was the major, releasing her as he pushed forward. "Perhaps you had best let me speak."

  "Yes," agreed the baron in stern tones. "Major Wyclyff, are you responsible for this sharp-tongued woman?"

  "Certainly not!" Sophia exclaimed. But when she made to move forward, the major cut in front of her, neatly blocking her out of any discussion. She opened her mouth to object, but the major began speaking, his forlorn look aimed at the baron.

  "You have hit upon the very problem, sir. The young lady refuses to wed me. If we were married, I might have a bit more say in her choice of entertainment. As it is," he said with a sad shrug, "there is little I can do but follow along and mitigate the disaster."

  Sophia was shocked. How could he bare their dispute to the world like this? How humiliating! The crowd roared with laughter, alternately cheering the major and jeering her. And rather than silencing the audience, the baron encouraged them. Obviously relishing the attention, he first smiled at the onlookers, then shook his bald head sadly at the major. "A quandary indeed," he said ponderously.

  A quandary? Sophia thought in shock. This... this spectacle was a quandary? She felt her hysteria grow as she looked about. How had she come from a London drawing room to this, being the center of a display that would likely be talked about for generations to come?

  Her only hope was that the major would somehow end this situation. She had meant to rely on herself but was frankly at a loss. She turned to him, hoping for a miracle, only to feel her spirits sink.

  The major's expression was blank, totally devoid of feeling or expression. It was the exact look she herself had worn when she could stomach no more, when she had despised London so much she'd turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

  The major looked like that right now. And she could not blame him. Actually, this was exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to prove herself so vulgar that he would immediately get himself off to London to find some young debutante far removed from cockfights and the threat of gaol. Didn't she?

  Sophia bit her lip. It was done now. All she could do was pray that this business finished quickly, while she did her best to maintain as much dignity as possible.

  The room settled as the baron raised his hand for silence. He appeared about to make some official statement, and Sophia could only breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would be over soon. With luck, next would come judgment, and without nearly the vulgarity she might have expected from a public trial.

  "Ahem," began the baron.

  But at that moment a burly man suddenly pushed forward, dragging a dead bird into the room. "An' wot about me cock? He cost me three p a day just to feed, an' now he be deader than me Uncle Joe." The rooster landed with a dull splat at the major's feet. In fact, the major had to dance backward a step just to avoid it.

  "Yer Uncle Joe woulda fought better!" called someone from the crowd.

  The burly man stiffened and began shouting back at the other, his bellows containing words Sophia had never heard before. Rather than puzzle them out, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

  "Please, gentlemen! I will pay whatever restitution is necessary," Sophia called, trying to establish some sort of order. How she would find the money for it, she did not know, but she would manage. Incredibly, the men completely ignored her, more intent on arguing than fixing anything.

  Unfortunately, her pronouncement was heeded by everyone else in the room. The excitement was deafening as owner after owner shoved their way forward.

  "Me bird was a champion!" cried a woman in a shrill voice as she tossed another dead cock onto the floor.

  "An' mine—"

  "An' mine—"

  Sophia flinched as the bodies of the roosters were piled one by one at the major's feet. He looked like he was dancing a jig as he tried to avoid being spattered by bird after dead bird.

  It was at that moment that Sophia began counting the number of dead fowl littering the floor. Goodness, there was no way she could have released so many animals in those few short moments. It took less than a minute for her to realize that some of those birds had been recently killed. Why, one was even a hen!

  They were killing new birds just to claim recompense!

  "This is outrageous!" she cried, but she was silenced by both a roar from the audience and a wave of the baron's meaty hand.

  "Those who wish restitution shall present themselves forthwith," cried the baron.

  "Wot?"

  "What he say?"

  "Line up and present your claims!" bellowed the baron.

  It was as if the Red Sea had parted only to be forcibly pressed into a ragged line aimed at the baron. The entire town scrambled for a position in the raucous assembly. Three fistfights broke out over line disputes, while bird after bird continued to pile at her feet. It looked as if it would take the whole of the dowry she no longer had just to pay for all the claims.

  "Just so as we all maintain our dignity," whispered Sophia sardonically
to herself, her face burning with mortification.

  The baron, at least, appeared equally appalled by the stampede of people. He quickly raised his hand, then waved it at the constable. "Er, present your claims to Virgil." Again the line shifted in a mad scramble toward the dour constable, but this time, they had to stumble through those who had begun to brawl.

  Sophia closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight.

  "Lady Sophia!" She opened her eyes at the baron's angry tone. "I shall hold you directly responsible for any damage to my house."

  "You cannot be serious!"

  "I am. As for you, Major Wyclyff, am I to understand that you do not approve of ladies attending cockfights?"

  "Approve? Absolutely not." Anthony's response was so crisp that Sophia half expected him to salute. Except this time when she looked closely at his face, she saw the distinct twinkle of amusement. Gone was his blank facade, replaced by a reluctant humor.

  He actually found this situation comical?

  "If you were to wed the lady," continued the baton in his booming voice, "would you prevent such an event from happening again?"

  "Absolutely!" he said, then the major turned and grinned at Sophia. "And most definitely."

  Sophia felt her jaw go slack, finally undemanding the baron's direction of thought. Was he thinking of forcing them to marry as part of her punishment? Was she to be married as a public service? "I protest!" she cried. "I will marry no man, and certainly not one who thinks he shall have the least success in preventing me from going wherever I see fit."

  At this pronouncement, the crowd exploded into a frenzy of catcalls and jeers. She was nearly bowled over from its sheer volume.

  The baron merely shook his head, as if she were a lunatic. "She is quite shrewish," he said to the major. "Do you truly wish to have her?"

  Anthony turned, leisurely inspecting her from the top of her tangled hair to the bottom of her mud-stained hem, much to the delight of the crowd. Sophia stiffened in outrage, but there was little she could do while the major was providing such wonderful entertainment for the locals.