“Because I require a tutor on sporting sorts of things.”
“Well, that makes more sense. But why?”
“That is not the important point, I do not think. The important point is we are both members of the YBC and, as such, we are in a position to do one another favors. Someday, you will require something from me and I will oblige you.”
“It’s about a woman, isn’t it?”
“A woman? No, there is no woman,” Percival said hurriedly. Even to his own ears, he did not sound very convincing.
“It’s always about a woman. I reckon it’s Lady Cordelia, you did get your back up a bit when I named her a pretty little filly.”
“As to that, I simply thought—”
“And, Miss Mayton claims the lady seeks a Corinthian! Now I see—you wish to turn yourself into a sportsman.”
Percival pressed his lips together. It was very inconvenient that Hamill was turning out to be not as stupid as he’d thought.
“I really do not think it matters why I have come to this conclusion,” Percival said stiffly.
“All right, never mind. How about you come along on our little race on the morrow. We leave at sunrise driving our phaetons. The first one arriving to the green at the Pavilion wins. If you can keep up, it might be something you could mention to her.”
“That sounds intriguing, but I am afraid I cannot,” Percival said. “My aunt puts on her theatrical on the morrow, I have promised to be there.”
He did not mention that he did not in fact own a phaeton. When he wished to ride, he rode Pericles. When he wished for his carriage, his coachman drove it. He supposed he would have to remedy that.
“The theatrical is tomorrow is it? My father always does get a laugh over it. Just last evening, he was telling my sister that this year wasOthello. They laughed and laughed and claimed Desdemona was likely to live.”
Percival grimaced. Of course, Hamill was right. Desdemona would live. At least, he thought so. He had not given any particular instruction regarding the use of swords, one sportsmanlike skill that he had actually mastered. His aunt claimed they’d worked it out on their own—they had blocked out each step and practiced with wooden swords until they could do it in their sleep.
He was still hopeful that he could convince them to stick with wood swords and leave real swords alone.
“I should be back in Town on Tuesday—I’ll take you to Jackson’s for a few go rounds, then we can walk over to Angelo’s for some swordplay.
Percival nodded, though it sounded like quite a lot for one day. No wonder Hamill never had time to read.
“Very much appreciated,” he said. “Now Hamill, I would ask that this arrangement remain just between you and I.”
“Mum’s the word, though it won’t go unnoticed that Lord Harveston has laid down his books and entered the ring.”
No it probably would not go unnoticed. If only thetonwere not so set on reporting everything they see!
“We could always claim it’s for health reasons—doctor’s orders and all that,” Hamill said helpfully.
“Yes, yes, that would make sense,” Percival said. It really was the only answer. He certainly could not say why he was really doing it.
He was not so sure he understood it himself.
*
Cordelia had beenvery diligent with her studies and had rather surprised herself with her enthusiasm. Mr. Lackington had been so very helpful!
The gentleman had found them wandering the aisles with dazed looks on their faces and immediately took them up the stairs to a charming receiving room overlooking the square. He’d ordered a pot of tea and biscuits and asked them to explain precisely what they looked for. He was certain that, whatever it was, he could find it or order it.
Cordelia had explained that she was not, perhaps, as mindful of her studies as she should have been when she had tutors. Now, she was a member of a literary society and would like to acquire a more well-rounded education.
Juliet had jumped in with the major caveat to the idea. They had no use for literary types who took five words and transformed them into fifteen and looped-de-looped, backtracked, and went off on tangents for hundreds of pages.
Dear Mr. Lackington had laughed heartily over it. He’d seemed to know precisely what Juliet meant by it. He’d questioned Cordelia about her interests and selected a variety of works that might engage her, all written in a straightforward style.
