The general had an exceptional combination of hardness and approachability, giving one the impression of trustworthiness. And mayhap he was trustworthy, but Slade didn’t know enough of the man to make the determination yet.
Slade stepped back, folded his hands at his back and squared his shoulders to face his superior.
He hiked a brow at the other man. “Is there a problem, sir?”
General Seymour stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind him.
Seymour’s eyes narrowed. “Are you meeting with General Bolingbroke again today?”
“Not today. But I will be soon.”
The general grimaced. “I don’t make it a habit of interfering with the personal lives of my officers, Colonel, but you ought to know you will make a number of enemies in this garrison if you continue to keep company with Bolingbroke.”
Interest sparked inside Slade’s gut. Did Seymour not get along with Bolingbroke?
Slade banked the information away.
“Why, may I ask, sir?”
His superior’s mouth twisted, as if he’d tasted rancid milk. “Bolingbroke has a less-than-savory reputation after unjustly transporting several of our men to the colonies, among other things. And one becomes tainted by association.”
What was the army doing about said less-than-savory reputation? And what did he mean byamong other things?
“Are you alluding to questionable actions by Bolingbroke?” Slade asked.
The other man nodded with a scowl. “I am.”
The curt nod suggested he wasn’t prepared to discuss it further. But Slade pushed the issue.
“I take it, sir, disciplinary action against Bolingbroke would be difficult?”
The general fixed his gaze on Slade. “Yes, it would be. Without evidence and testimony, impossible.”
A smile tugged on Slade’s lips, not unlike the one a cat would have upon locating the hiding place of a rat. “I am obliged to you for letting me know, sir.”
Slade then inquired about the procedure for the sale of a colonel’s commission. Despite the general’s clear surprise, the other man provided the necessary information, after which Slade departed his quarters, and left the garrison on horseback.
Two hours later Slade loosely held Destroyer’s reins as he strolled beside the beast. The horse let out a disgruntled neigh.
He patted the animal’s shoulder in a soothing manner. “You’d rather be racing across open fields instead of walking through a herd of chattering attendees at the St. Michael’s Church fête, wouldn’t you?”
Destroyer gave a light toss of his head in the affirmative.
The smell of roasted meat from the food vendors mingled with the scent of fresh hay and the stench from the paddocks of ponies, pigs, and goats. The church’s organ played, its notes escaping the open stained-glass windows and filling the grounds with one of Isaac Watts’ popular hymns. It reminded him of visiting Raghnall’s church during his childhood and finding a measure of peace. And acceptance. Something he’d never had at home after his mother’s death.
How was he to find Fifi in this discordant gathering? Several minutes later, he spotted a trio on the other side, stopping to admire the horses for sale. A young couple with a pleasant countenance, dressed in Sunday best clothes. The lanky young man looked very much like a valet he’d seen at Bolingbroke’s. But Slade was more interested in the lass standing beside the couple. Fifi.
CHAPTER 11
Fifi wore a nondescript olive gown starting at her graceful neck and flowing down the curves of her elfin figure to trim ankles fitted with dark chocolate leather boots. His eyes rose the length of her, lingering a second too long on her curvaceous chest before he yanked his gaze to further take in her attire, annoyed with himself. It kept slipping his mind this was Fifi, Egan’s little sister. And calling Egan’s protectiveness over Fifi extreme was akin to describing a gargantuan monolith as a pebble. Why was he not surprised Fifi’s ensemble seemed to blend in with the background? She’d picked up a knack for dreary and drab colors. Why was that?
Slade leisurely strolled towards the trio, pulling the reins of a reluctant Destroyer. As he approached, Fifi’s gaze shifted towards him. The slopes of her shoulders perked up and she eyed him with surprise and an intensity that made his skin tighten. Was she wondering what he was doing here? The truth was, he wanted to see her for her birthday. Perhaps selfishly, he longed for the familiarity of a bonny face from home. Or perhaps it was simply her friendly company he longed for. Someone he’d loved being with, when he was younger, when life was simpler, and he hadn’t yet been poisoned by Old Testament revenge andretribution. One thing was certain—he needed a new memory for the thirty-first, besides it being Sylvia’s birthday.
“Slade?” she said, her countenance brightening.
“I’ve never attended a church fête before. I wanted to join you,” he said, in answer to her questioning tone.
Fifi made a cordial introduction to her companions, Reddington, an upstairs maid, and Montgomery, a valet, who worked at the manor.
