Page 32 of Rogue’s Holiday

Robbie led Jack down a side street and entered Woolbridge’s cigar shop only to leave by the back door moments later, managing to lose their shadow.

“What was that excursion about?” asked Jack, perplexed. “I thought to buy a few cigars but your quick exit made that impossible. And weren’t we hurrying to a game of brag?”

Robbie kept walking but he knew he had to give Jack an explanation. Perhaps it was time for the truth. “We were being followed. I can’t explain now, but I will later.”

“Très bien, I shall hold you to it.”

Robbie worried that whoever the man was, he had gained a knowledge of Robbie’s favorite haunts and his daily pattern. He would alter those to determine if the man was acting alone.

After a quick round of brag and a luncheon of cod pie and ale, Robbie hurried them on to meet Sir John Lade at the Brighton racecourse. He found Lade standing at the edge of the course that would soon play host to races patronized by the king, drawing out the whole town.

With Sir John was a tall lady wearing an enormous plumed hat. He recognized her as Sir John’s wife, Letty. They were talking with Sir Bellingham, who was equally tall, and another gentleman of a powerful build he knew to be that belonging to Lord Alvanley. Except for the Lades, who were older, the other two were of an age with Robbie and Jack.

Behind the small group stood a beautiful chestnut mare. As they drew closer, he said to Jack, “I’ll introduce you to the ones you have yet to meet.”

“Ho! If it isn’t the newly knighted lion,” said Lord Alvanley with his slight lisp.

“So it is,” said Sir John. “And right on time.”

“How nice to see you again,” said Letty, smiling at Jack.

Robbie made the remaining introductions. When Lord Alvanley learned that Jack was a vicomte with vineyards in Saintonge, he broke into fluid French. “Bienvenue à Brighton, Monsieur Donet. Saintonge produit l’un des meilleurs cognac de France! Vous devez vous joindre à nous pour une soirée de plaisir.”

Since Robbie well understood French, he had heard Alvanley’s compliment concerning the cognac of Saintonge. Though the province where the Donet vineyards were located had been renamed the Charente-Maritime during the Revolution, the family title, now restored, remained the same.

Jack returned Alvanley a broad smile. “Il me fera plaisir de me joindre à vous,” Jack said, accepting the invitation to join Alvanley for an evening out.

Sir John ran his hand across the mare’s withers. “Now, how about this fine mare, Powell? Are you interested?”

“If he isn’t,” put in Jack, “I am. She’s a beauty and I need a riding horse for the frequent times I am in England.”

Much was said in praise of the fiery red mare named Electra after King Agamemnon’s daughter. Sir John never owned a horse that did not win accolades. Robbie had two riding horses in London, so he suggested that Jack should have this one.

A price was agreed upon and Jack had his horse. “I’ll bring her around to the king’s stables,” offered Sir John.

Lady Lade suddenly spoke up. “Might we have a ride together tomorrow with you? John and I would enjoy that.”

Robbie glanced at Jack and then at the others.

“Go on,” said Sir Bellingham, “you won’t often get a chance to match yourself against riders as accomplished as the Lades.”

Robbie looked at Sir Alvanley expectantly.

He held up his hands. “Not me! A good walk is enough exercise.”

Robbie said, “Very well, Letty, you’re on.” Recalling that Miss Reynolds was supposedly an experienced rider who, according to The Grand Countess, was known for riding hell-for-leather, he added, “I might bring a lady friend, if that is acceptable. I expect Miss Reynolds would love to meet you.”

“Of course!” exclaimed Letty. “I should be delighted to have another woman with us who likes to ride.”

Surprisingly, Jack did not rush to the opportunity. Instead, he said, “Might I borrow your new curricle, Robbie, to take Miss Crockett for a ride about Brighton while you are with the Lades?”

“But of course!” To the Lades and Alvanley, Robbie said, “My uncle, the vicomte, has a fondness for Miss Reynolds’ companion.” Whether Jack cared for Miss Crockett or Robbie’s curricle and fine pair of grays, he could not say but, this way, Jack could have his wish and Robbie could keep his promise to The Grand Countess to watch over Chastity. At least that’s what he told himself.

As Robbie and Jack walked back to the Pavilion, Robbie kept a watch for any who might be following them but saw no one who drew his attention.

“All right, Nephew. Time to confess. Who’s been following us and pourquoi?”

Robbie took a deep breath and let it out, his mind seeing again that night on Cato Street. “You have asked what I did to earn the baronetcy. It was the Cato Street Affair.”