“You will see the world in other company,” he said lightly. “You have not missed your only chance.”
Lady Standish appeared on her other side. “I love coming home,” she said with a trace of wistfulness. “Don’t you, Joe?”
“Yes. But you have two homes now.”
“True. But I suspect I could be mistress of Standish for a hundred years and still call Brightoaks home.”
As one, the three turned their mounts and rode together back toward the oaks, the rest of the party trailing out behind them.
When they arrived at the oak grove, a rather splendid luncheon was laid out in covered dishes on a blanket. Agatha and the Spriggs trailed into view, a little red-faced from exertion but full of good humor.
“How odd,” Lady Theresa murmured to Joe as he helped her dismount. “Don’t you mind children running under your feet.”
“I suppose it depends on the children. I like the Spriggs. I even like Roberta’s brats.”
“Brats!” Roberta exclaimed in mock outrage. “Standish will call you out for less!”
It was a pleasant hour, with much laughter and the sounds of children’s games as the younger ones spread out after eating. Maintaining her position as amiable observer, Hazel made no effort to insinuate herself into any smaller groups, merely blocked out the coldness and took pleasure in the rest.
Once, Emma threw her an apple. Joe refilled her wine glass. Roberta joined her to check the children were behaving. And when they eventually rode back toward the house, she thought the frigidity might not be melting exactly, but it came alongside curiosity. Lady Sayle had been right. None of the guests would cut her. And some were already wondering at the scandal surrounding her when the Sayles treated her with such informal and trusting friendliness.
It would be a slow process, of course. She would make no close friends at the evening’s ball, and it would undoubtedly be a lonely and difficult event to get through. But at least she felt she was doing something for herself without having to resort to lies or flight. This was the best way to fight Barden’s poison.
Of course, he was more poisonous than either she or Joe guessed. For as she reentered the house, Lady Sayle was standing in the entrance hall, greeting a tall, elderly gentleman with piercing blue eyes and a military air.
“Oh, Joe, excellent,” Lady Sayle exclaimed when she saw him. “Colonel Farraday has come over early to discuss the highway robbery.”
*
It shouldn’t have taken Joe by surprise, but it did. He had not yet informed the local magistrate of the incident, and neither Selim nor Barden were particularly eager to report it. Joe had planned to wait for the more sociable occasion of the ball itself before bringing the matter to the magistrate’s attention. But this had always depended on the ferocious Mr. Atwood’s silence. The vicar had seen him fighting with Selim in the road and must have recognized him as the same ruffian who had held him up earlier.
However, Joe was used to dealing with unexpected and dangerous situations. He shook hands cordially with Colonel Farraday and bowed his apologies to the ladies of the party before conducting the colonel upstairs to his library and pouring them each a glass of sherry.
“Thank you, Sayle,” the colonel said, accepting the drink with his usual joviality. “I’m sorry to bring this business to you when you have a houseful of guests, and you are about to host the greatest ball of the summer!”
“Hardly,” Joe said deprecatingly. “It’s merely Emma’s birthday party on a slightly grander scale.”
“Still, I hope you’ll forgive me interrupting you, but it’s part of my duties to look into complaints.”
“You have received a complaint?” Joe asked, allowing amusement into his eyes. “About me?”
Farraday waved his glass. “Ridiculous, I know, but there it is.”
“And what am I accused of? Did one of my cows cross a boundary? One of my tenants cheek the squire?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Farraday said. He smiled. He had, by all accounts, been a formidable soldier before injury had compelled him to retire. Joe could not imagine many cases of disobedience under that stare. “Lord Barden visited me this morning—damned early this morning—and has made some frankly bizarre accusations against you.”
“Such as I bundled him out of the house in the middle of the night because I didn’t care for his conversation?”
Farraday blinked. “No. Did you?”
Joe smiled and sipped his sherry.
Farraday moved on. “Actually, he accused you of highway robbery. Said you held up his coach and that you are somehow in league with one of your guests—a foreign gentleman by the name of Isyanci or some such—and a lady of scandalous reputation called Miss Curwen who was, apparently, part of the Princess of Wales’s household.”
Joe laughed. “You’re right, that is a bizarre collection of lies! Mr. Isyanci is indeed a guest of mine. I knew him well when I was in Constantinople. He considers himself a guest in this country, and I can vouch categorically for him never holding up or robbing anyone.”
“And Miss Curwen?”
Joe frowned. “Concerning Miss Curwen, I find his accusations thoroughly distasteful, and when you meet her yourself, so will you. She was indeed one of the princess’s ladies and is now a guest of my mother’s. Her only crime was to reject the improper advances of Barden. Any rubbish you read in the scandal rags should be taken as just that.”
“Then you can also vouch for the fact that she did not ride away from the scene of the robbery with the highwayman himself.”
Joe stared. “Did I mention that she is a guest of my mother?”
The colonel flushed. “You will have to forgive me, Sir Joseph. I repeat only the accusations that were made to me.”
“Of course. Drink up, sir, and I shall take you to meet the lady and Mr. Isyanci.”
“I have one more question,” the colonel said implacably.
Joe waited with civility.
“Did you hold up his lordship’s carriage yesterday afternoon.”
Joe’s eyebrows flew up. “Seriously? Can you imagine it?”
“No,” Farraday allowed. “Or at least not since you were seventeen years old. But I cannot just discount Barden’s whole story. I had another complaint from Mr. Atwood.”
“Good lord,” Joe murmured. “He does not accuse me, too, does he?”
“No, but he was held up the same day. And as he drove on, he saw what must have been Lord Barden’s coach being held up. He said the highwayman was fighting—with swords—with another gentleman.”
“Barden?” Joe wondered, allowing the amusement back into his eyes.
“It was no one Mr. Atwood knew. And he could not persuade his coachman to stop and investigate. Understandably. But the funny thing is—and the only reason I ask for your movements that afternoon—that Mr. Atwood’s purse, taken during the robbery, miraculously reappeared on his parlor windowsill that evening.”
Joe withstood the colonel’s gaze. He had the feeling he was rumbled, but he merely said, “Miraculous, indeed.” He finished his sherry and set down the glass. “But if there was no theft, surely there was no highway robbery? Except for the fustian reported by Barden, who is not known as the Regent’s snake for nothing.”
Farraday did not look away. “It would not sit well with an ambassador—an accusation of highway robbery.”
“It wouldn’t,” Joe agreed. “But then, I am not a poor man. I have no reason to take to robbery of any kind.” Reading the colonel’s eyes, he made a decision. “You will make your own judgments, of course, based on evidence and meeting those concerned. But even if Barden’s bizarre story were true, it would not be surprising if a highway incident with or without robbery were not, by far, the lesser crime.”
Farraday’s eyes narrowed. Finally, he released Joe’s gaze and knocked back the last of his sherry. “Glad to have talked to you,” he said abruptly. “Don’t let me keep you longer from your guests.”
Joe h
ad barely acknowledged that he wasn’t yet off the hook when the library door flew open, and an army officer strode in, demanding, “Where the devil’s the head of the house when the prodigal returns? I want my fatted calf!”
Joe was across the room before his brain caught up with his body. With intense pleasure, he embraced the brother he hadn’t seen for two years, and whose life he had feared for at every battle report from the Peninsula.
“Prodigal son, my foot!” he managed to retort. “You’ve been doing your duty since I was bunking off lectures at Oxford.” He pushed himself free of John’s bear hug to look his brother over. “You look well,” he said in relief.
“Told you I was.” Looking beyond Joe, John finally caught sight of Colonel Farraday and walked to meet him with a grin of apology.
“Do you remember Colonel Farraday?” Joe asked. “Colonel, my brother, Captain John Sayle.”
Only when the greetings were over and the brothers politely followed the colonel from the room, did John say under his breath, “Where is she, then?”
“Did you bring what I asked?” Joe murmured.
“Of course I did.”
“Then you will meet her at tea. Come up with me while I change, and I’ll tell you what’s been happening…”
Chapter Nineteen
During tea, Hazel sat quietly on the fringes of the enlarged company. She was surprised when a personable young army officer pulled up a chair beside her.
“I’m amazed to find you alone, ma’am,” he said by way of introduction.
Then you can only just have arrived.
His smile was winning without being smug or ingratiating, so she allowed herself to reply mildly, “I thought I was in quite a large company.”
“At any rate, I’m grateful these slow-tops are too intimidated to crowd about you, since it gives me a chance to speak to you.”
“I can’t imagine why you want to,” she said freezingly. This, presumably, was another gentleman who imagined from Barden’s tales that she was easy pickings.
“Because I cannot wait to meet the lady who has brought my brother to his knees.”
“Brother?” she repeated with some idea that this must be Lord Barden’s sibling. “Knees? Sir, I am at a loss.”
“I’m not surprised,” Joe said, almost in passing. “I’m afraid he is my brother. Johnny, Miss Hazel Curwen.”
He moved on, leaving Hazel blushing and embarrassed. “Forgive me, I should have known at once you were Captain Sayle! I didn’t realize you had arrived. I’m afraid I haven’t been listening closely enough to the conversation around me.”
“That’s because you are seated too far away.”
“I am seated in just the right place,” she said firmly. She met his gaze with a hint of defiance. “I suppose you have heard my story?”
“Enough of it to want to punch his lordship in the nose.”
“That would be quite satisfying,” she acknowledged, then added hastily, “if we are talking about the same lordship.”
The captain grinned. “Let us not talk about him at all. I want to know all about the Princess of Wales.”
Surprisingly, the time flew by, especially once she asked him about Portugal and Spain. In fact, she greatly enjoyed his conversation, and it was only when everyone left to go about their different pursuits that she realized how it must have looked to anyone paying attention. Almost like two old friends renewing an acquaintance.
Like most of the guests, Hazel planned to rest in her chamber until dinner. Which meant peace from the strain of imposing her company on people who wished she were not there. But as she approached the stairs alone, Joe called to her, and she turned politely to meet him.
No one would know from her calm posture and casual smile that her heart turned over just because he looked at her.
“My brother monopolized you during tea,” he murmured. “So I didn’t get the chance, but I’m afraid I have to introduce you now to our local magistrate. Barden must have finally recognized me and called on him early this morning to accuse me of holding him up—and you and Selim of being in league with me.”
“Oh, dear. I never even thought of him doing so!”
“Neither did I,” Joe said ruefully. “It’s the unexpected that makes him a snake rather than a worm. In any case, I don’t think Farraday believes my declarations of innocence, so I had to hint at a worse crime being committed.”
“Do you want me to tell him the truth?” she asked.
Joe offered her his arm. “You might have to. He has the word of a peer of the realm against us.” When she placed her hand on his sleeve, he led her across the hall. “On the other hand, he has known my family forever, which may count against me since I was a wild youth. Colonel?”
A tall, elderly gentleman turned from his conversation with Mr. Renleigh. He had piercing blue eyes and an amiable smile.
“Allow me to present Colonel Farraday,” Joe said with his usual, easy courtesy. “Sir, Miss Curwen.”
The colonel bowed to Hazel’s curtsey. “Delighted, Miss Curwen, delighted. Would you care to take a turn around the garden with an old man?”
“I would be honored,” she replied politely. She refrained from casting a pleading glance at Joe and merely transferred her hand to the colonel’s arm instead.
“Sir Joseph tells me you were one of Princess Caroline’s ladies.”
“I was, sir.”
“And did you enjoy serving Her Highness?”
“I did, sir. She is a brave and kind lady.”
“Your family must have been delighted by the honor.”
“Indeed, sir.” She glanced at him. “You are probably wondering why I was chosen, being young and of insignificant family. I believe it was the intercession of the late Duke of York’s family. They are in some way related to us.”
“Ah. None of my business, of course, but I am a curious fellow. To be honest, I am more interested in how you are such an old family friend of the Sayles.”
Hazel smiled wryly. “When, to your knowledge, I have never been here before? The matter is simple. I am not such an old friend. I knew Sir Joseph slightly through the princess, and he was kind enough to help me out of a scrape. Not only me, I should add, but my friend’s young siblings. Lady Sayle has taken us all in and made us welcome in a difficult situation I am not proud to have saddled her with.”
“Meaning?” he prompted.
She met his gaze, flushing slightly. “Meaning the lies printed in the scandal sheet. If you have not read it, I’m sure you have heard about it. I won’t go into details, but without the Sayles, I would have found myself alone and friendless.”
The colonel’s gaze remained steady. “And Lord Barden. Did you also meet him through the Princess of Wales?”
“I did,” she said shortly.
“Then you must have been pleased to meet another friend here.”
She gazed back at him. “I was not.”
“I see.”
She rather thought he did and breathed a sigh of relief.
Until he said, “I don’t suppose that displeasure led you to play a prank upon him?”
For an instant, she thought he meant bundling him out of the house in his nightgown, but of course, Joe was right about that. Barden would never have revealed such an undignified departure. She had no doubt Barden had told Colonel Farraday he had left in high dudgeon upon finally realizing who the highwayman was.
“I have never played pranks on Lord Barden,” she said flatly. “And never will. I most certainly did not hold up his coach! Apart from anything else, it would have been an outrageous abuse of Lady Sayle’s hospitality.”
“You certainly don’t look much like Dick Turpin,” Farraday said gravely, and she laughed.
To her surprise, the colonel changed the subject. For the next five minutes, he made polite small talk about the roses and the garden in general before escorting her back inside the house and thanking her for her pleasant company.
*
&n
bsp; “I think he has enough doubts about Barden to ignore the complaint,” she murmured to Joe as everyone gathered in the salon before dinner. There were even more guests than before as several local families had joined them. “I think he imagined you and I holding up the coach as some kind of vengeful trick. I must have looked flabbergasted, for he agreed I was no highwayman and stopped asking questions.”
“I knew meeting you would put an end to his suspicions,” Joe said, apparently unsurprised.
“You are a perfect English lady,” Selim said solemnly as Lord Dowlton and his mother walked past them. The lady smiled graciously at Joe and Selim but avoided meeting Hazel’s gaze.
“Did he speak to you?” Hazel asked Selim when they could no longer be overheard.
“Yes. I told him Lord Barden had kindly given me a seat in his carriage to Brightoaks and that we were held up by a masked highwayman. He asked me about dueling with the villain. I said we had been fighting because I hoped not to give up my purse. But then it came to me that I was a foreigner, a guest in this land and that killing even a thief in this country would not be good for me or, perhaps, the friendship between our nations. So, I let the ruffian win.”
“That was clever,” Hazel said admiringly.
“I know,” Selim said. “For a low thief would have no skill with the sword.”
“Thank God you didn’t bring your scimitar,” Joe said.
“I did. It’s in my luggage, but a curved walking stick would look odd.”
Hazel laughed and moved on, wary of accusations of monopolizing her host.
For dinner, she was placed beside a scowling old gentleman called Mr. Atwood. Hazel was instantly wary, for she knew this to be the clergyman Joe had held up before he found Barden. And indeed, the vicar told her the story of the robbery and then of the purse’s reappearance on his windowsill that evening.
“A miracle,” she said.
“Of the human kind,” the vicar agreed. “I doubt the Lord has time or inclination to return my meagre coins to me! But perhaps He influenced the heart of the scoundrel who took them in the first place. I hope so. Though, of course, I was furious with him at the time.”
Pursued by the Rake Page 20