Suddenly, both seemed to note that they’d had a civil exchange for once and both looked away in embarrassment. Cassandra could not say why in particular she should be embarrassed over it, except for perhaps the meaningful glance coming from Lady Marksworth from the other end of the table.
They had one further interesting conversation before the dinner ended. Cassandra had mentioned her father’s interest in safety measures for his farm workers. Lord Hampton had commented that his own father routinely ordered sick hands to stay abed, as it had been his observation that one sick hand would lead to all sick hands unless the first to come down with the sickness was separated from the rest. That had led to a conversation on safety practices in general, and Cassandra had noted that nothing could be more prone to accident than the sidesaddle and she’d added a second girth to her own to mitigate the risk of sliding.
After she’d said it, she worried that she’d wandered dangerously close to the subject of riding without a groom, but the lord did not allude to it. Instead, he had appeared to view it as good sense and had even hinted he might pass the idea on to his sister.
It occurred to Cassandra that while their conversations were commonplace, his words somehow managed to make Lord Hampton even more attractive than she had originally thought him. When he was engaged in a subject, his features were more lively and his strong jaw softened. When he looked at her with interest, she felt a soft shiver run down her back.
It was a ludicrous thing to feel a shiver while a man talked of dogs. And it was also a shame he was to be a duke and involved in that ridiculous pact.
In any case, it appeared the rift between them was mended and for that she was grateful.
*
Lord Hampton leftthe Sedways’ dinner in some internal consternation. That consternation had evolved quite significantly over the course of the evening. At first, he had been confounded to find Miss Knightsbridge in attendance, and then further aggravated that he was to take her into dinner. Despite her looks, and they could slay any man with eyes in his head, he had no wish to hear of anymore of her bizarre habits. He already carried a touch of guilt over Dalton’s plan to dig up gossip, even though he tamped it down by convincing himself she’d earned it.
But then, she had apologized for her remarks at the Bergrams’. She’d not rescinded them, which he’d thought odd, but she regretted them. He had begun to feel sorry that he’d allowed Dalton to take what the lady had said and attempt to make something of it. It began to feel shabby to cause a lady trouble, no matter how little, in an effort to move the attention away from the gentlemen subjected to the pact.
That regret only grew the more they spoke. When they’d talked of dogs, there had been a real ease to it, very unlike his usual conversations with a lady. She’d even understood the importance of drains in a kennel, a subject he’d spent months discussing with his father’s master of the hounds.
And who would have guessed a gentlewoman would prefer a mastiff over a puff of fur meant to be carried round the house like a bad-tempered reticule?
Then, of course, she’d modified her sidesaddle to make it safer. He would only see the good sense in that and was determined to write his sister about the idea.
All that, and there was that pretty face to contend with as well.
Though Lockwood knew he had a weakness for a heart-shaped face, his friend did not know the beginnings of the inclination. When Hampton had been eight years old, he’d fallen hopelessly in love with Jenny, one of the dairy maids on his father’s estate. He’d even thought of how he would convince his father that they ought to marry. He’d hung around the barn when she milked the cows and one day finally worked up the nerve to tell her of his undying love.
He blushed to think of it now. The girl had laughed as if it were the greatest joke in the world, called him a goose, and told him she planned to marry a young farmer down the road.
It had taken him months to recover from being thrown over for a farmer, and he never did recover from his attraction to a heart-shaped face. He supposed now that his preference had been there all along and Jenny had only been the first female with such a face who’d crossed his path.
Hampton reined in his horse, leapt down and handed it over to a groom.
Here was another such heart-shaped face to cross his path, and far more complicated than Jenny had ever been. Miss Knightsbridgewasunusual, that could not be denied. He still could not resign himself to approving of a lady wielding a shotgun. But then, he’d felt far more favorably about a lady knowing something about a well-built kennel. And, of course, she was a lady and not a dairymaid.
Was that all, though? There was something about her that drew him in despite having no inclination to be drawn in. Each time he had turned to talk to Miss Darlington, half his attention had stayed directed toward Miss Knightsbridge and her conversations with Burke.
His opinion of her felt in flux. What was not in flux was his determination to see Dalton and call off the scheme to use Miss Knightsbridge as a decoy for the convenience of him and his friends.That, he was now decidedly against.
*
Mr. Tuttle hadfound no difficulty at all in making his way round Guildford and its environs, gathering information for Lord Dalton on a certain Miss Knightsbridge. He’d been managing such clandestine forays for high and mighty gentlemen for two decades and Surrey was very like every other county in England—express interest in its doings and there was no end of folk who wanted to talk about it. Particularly, those on the low end of the stick delighted in talking about those on the high end of the stick.
It was true that this particular business was not like his usual jobs. He’d been in the habit of tracking down a fellow’s wife, invariably that lady found with some ridiculous paramour or other. Or sometimes, locating a gentleman who’d run out on a debt. He’d even collared a clergyman who’d skipped off with the parsonage’s silver and brought him back to face his accusers. This was different. It had taken him quite some time to understand Lord Dalton’s meaning, but it seemed this lady did not cuckold a husband nor owe anybody a vast sum of money. She was to have broken more delicate rules, like riding her horse without a groom and shooting pheasant.
He wondered what England was coming to, now that the high and mighty spent their time on such inane matters. Nevertheless, Lord Dalton had said he had reason to believe there was something more seriously amiss about the miss, and Tuttle was to discover it.
Through his many conversations in various taverns, and the hours of useless information he’d gathered, there had finally been a diamond in the ashes. A man down on his luck, having been fired as the master of ceremonies at the Guildford Assembly Hall, had told him a remarkable story. He’d seen with his own eyes a certain Mr. Longmoore in heated conversation with Miss Knightsbridge. From what the man could overhear, the conversation had been of a personal nature. The old sot had even winked and said, “Very personal, if you understand. The lady hit him right in the face.”
Tuttle did not understand precisely the meaning of what the unemployed master of ceremonies had witnessed, he’d not enough facts to go on, but he’d managed to find Mr. Longmoore and watch the man’s movements carefully. Finally, the gentleman in question had taken himself into the Beef and Boar, and Tuttle had followed him in.
It was never any great trouble, when one insisted on buying one’s quarry a considerable amount of ale, to become fast friends within an hour. Within two hours, Tuttle had guided the man to the event in question and hinted at a large payment if the information was sufficiently interesting. Eyeing Mr. Longmoore’s rather frayed cuffs, Tuttle guessed any sort of unexpected funds would be most welcome.
“I only say,” Longmoore said, “well, blasted, you know.”
Of course, Mr. Tuttle did not know, and was becoming irritated with the gentleman. He’d run into his sort before—a man in the habit of saying a lot of words while saying nothing.
“Mr. Longmoore,” Tuttle said smoothly, “my patron is very highly placed and has particular reasons for knowing what there is, if anything, against Miss Knightsbridge. He is prepared to pay handsomely for such information. Now, had you any sort of encounter with the lady that might prove interesting?”
