“Aye, well that charm’s goin‘ to get ’im in trouble one o‘ these days. Shouldn’t wonder if it ’asn’t already done so,” Adam said darkly.
Ellen’s eyes sharpened. “Tell me.”
Adam told her in a very few words.
“Lord Granville’s daughter!” Ellen looked at him in horror. “But Granville’s utterly committed to Parliament. Anthony can’t possibly be involved with his daughter. She’ll betray him to her father.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Adam waved a forefinger. “First off, Anthony’ll never let ‘er in on ’is secrets. He’s far too canny an‘ careful.” He paused, frowning, then said, “Besides, this one’s not like ’is usual sport, Ellen.”
“How so?”
“Spirited kind of a lass,” Adam said. “I doubt she’ll fall fer ‘is line some’ow. One minute they’re all over each other, next she’s off with ’er nose in the air an‘ Anthony’s lookin’ black as a wet Monday.”
“Oh dear,” said Ellen helplessly. But she turned brightly at the sound of Anthony’s step in the scullery. “Thank you, my dear.”
“My pleasure.” Anthony stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, regarding them with a quizzical gleam. “I trust you’ve both enjoyed your little chat. Dissected the situation thoroughly, have you?”
“Oh dear,” said Ellen again. “Couldn’t you… well, couldn’t you find someone more suitable, Anthony?”
At that he laughed. “Suitability doesn’t come into it, dearest Ellen. But don’t fret, the lady’s not exactly falling over herself to get into my bed.” A shadow crossed his eyes as he said this, a shadow not missed by his companions.
He took his jacket off the hook where he’d hung it when they’d arrived and slung it over one shoulder. “Come, Adam, it’s time we were on our way.”
Ellen walked with them to the gate.
Anthony bent to kiss her and then came to the main point of this visit. “I’ve a considerable consignment of luxury goods to dispose of. Can you get word to our contact in Portsmouth? Wind Dancer will be in Portsmouth harbor the day after tomorrow and I’ll hold the auction the next day.”
“I’ll send the message this evening. Just have a care, my dear.”
Ellen watched them stroll off down the lane towards the river, then she hurried inside for her cloak and made her way to the vicarage to deliver her message.
“Beggin‘ yer pardon, m’lord.”
Cato looked up from his breakfast the following morning at Giles Crampton’s familiar portentous tones from the doorway. “What is it, Giles?”
“A letter from the colonel, m’lord.” Giles came into the room, dropping his head in the gesture of a bow to the three ladies at the table. “I think summat’s up,” he confided.
“Sit down, break your fast.” Cato waved to a chair as he took the letter.
Giles offered another nod of his head to the ladies as he took a seat at the table. He had known the three women for a long time, in Olivia’s case from early childhood, and while he offered a degree of social deference, he was perfectly at home in their company.
“Ham, Giles?” Olivia pushed the wooden carving board towards him.
“Thankee, Lady Olivia.” He speared ham, cut bread, helped himself to eggs, and settled into his meal.
Phoebe gestured to a servant to fill a tankard for the sergeant from the ale pitcher on the sideboard.
“Damn,” Cato muttered, his eyes on the letter.
“What is it?” Phoebe asked.
“A summons to London. I’m afraid your husband is needed too, Portia.” Cato glanced at his niece as he refolded the letter.
“Well, I shall stay here, if I’m welcome,” Portia said with a smile.
“You and your tribe.” Cato returned the smile. “We’ll be away a few days, not too long.” He pushed back his carved armchair.
Giles instantly set down his knife and rose too.
“No, no, Giles, finish your meal.” Cato waved him back. “I’ve some preparations to make. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Giles sat down again but it was clear to his breakfast companions that he was itching to leave and only his lord’s instructions kept him at the table.
“Deviled mushrooms, Giles?” Portia inquired, passing him a bowl. They had the most enticing aroma.
His hand reached for the spoon, hovered over it, then he said, “No, I thankee, Lady Rothbury. If ye’ll excuse me, Lady Granville.” He set down his knife, offered them his jerky little bow, and hastened from the room, his relief to be moving after his lord very obvious.
“Ah, Giles,” Portia said, remembering how he’d come to find her in Scotland after her father’s death. How his bluff manner to the scrawny barmaid she had then been had convinced her of the sincerity of her uncle’s offer of protection. “I wouldn’t be here without him.”
“I can’t imagine Cato without Giles; he’s somehow joined to him,” Phoebe said. “It annoys me sometimes that Cato always asks Giles’s opinion first on military matters, but I feel better when he has Giles riding beside him… I remember when the king escaped from the siege of Oxford and…” She stopped, following Portia’s gaze. Olivia, her expression as distanced as if she were deep in some unconstruable text, was repeatedly spreading butter on a piece of wheaten bread. The butter was now so thick it made a mountain.
“Olivia?”
“Mmm?” Olivia looked up, smoothing her butter mountain with the flat of her knife.
“We seem to have lost you, duckie.” Portia reached for the ale pitcher to refill her tankard.
“I have a chess game to play,” Olivia said. “With my father away, now seems the opportune moment.”
“You’re going to find the pirate,” Phoebe declared.
“Yes. I’ve promised him a return match.” Olivia smiled and took up her tankard. “Phoebe, don’t worry. If my father’s not here, you don’t have to concern yourself.”
“Of course I do!” Phoebe declared. “This man is… is…”
“An outlaw,” Portia said gently.
Phoebe said nothing. It wasn’t the man’s activities that troubled her so much as the knowledge that there could be no future for Olivia in such a relationship. Phoebe could see only hurt ahead. She gave Portia a slight shrug and saw from the swift flash in Portia’s eyes that she understood.
Portia said, “So, why d’you want to go and play chess with this pirate, duckie?”
“Because I owe him a game,” Olivia said. “And I can play it safely, because my father is away.”
“You really think you can play it safely?” Portia leaned her elbows on the table and looked closely at Olivia, her meaning clear.
Olivia met her gaze. “I think I have to decide that for myself.”
There was a short silence that Olivia broke. “You both decided it for yourselves.”
“I think the third member of our little circle has found her wings,” Portia observed. “Come, Phoebe, don’t look so glum.”
“It worries me,” Phoebe said simply.
Olivia pushed back her chair. “I don’t mean to worry you.” She stood with her hand on the back of her chair, and some of her confidence had evaporated. “But I don’t want to go without some… some understanding.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Phoebe reached into her pocket and laid a ring of braided hair, faded now, upon the table.
Portia slipped fingers inside her shirt and brought out her own. She laid it beside the other.
Olivia took her own from her pocket. She placed it on the table. “Thank you,” she said.
Nothing else was said as they each took back their rings. Olivia tucked hers back into her pocket. She gave them both a half smile and left the room.
“You have to let go of Olivia,” Portia said as Phoebe looked down at her own ring that she now held on the palm of her hand. “She has to make her own decisions.”
“I know. But she’s always been the little one. The one we have to protect, take care of.”
“I think she can do that for herself now.” Portia slipped her own ring inside her shirt.
“But she’s Cato’s daughter. I feel responsible.”