Fury and activity burnt away some of his pain, and he began to think ashe retraced his steps to the house. Elizabeth Armitage was notunintelligent, and he had no evidence she was crazed with lust. He’d metwomen like that and Beth showed none of their concupiscence. She couldprobably control herself, and he would make sure she did. It offended himto think she was impure, but he could make sure it was no worse thanthat.
Seeking some kind of solace, he wandered towards the stables, hisboyhood haunt. Every second he could steal away from his tutor had beenspent here or out riding. It was dark and quiet, but the familiar pungentsmell of horse and hay was there, and soft rustlings as the beasts movedin their sleep. He wandered around for a while.
He was about to leave when he heard a faint whistling. He followed thesound to a dark corner where a figure sat on a bale of hay, staring at themoon and whistling out of tune.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in a quiet voice.
The figure started and turned. The marquess recognized the boy he hadfound in London. Sparrow.
“Nothin‘, milord.”
The boy was scared, and that seemed ridiculous. What was there betweenthem except good luck? They were both misbegotten brats. He’d seen the boyonly once after that night, given him his guinea in shillings, andarranged for him to become a stable boy.
Now he went and sat beside the lad on the bale. “Don’t be afraid. Ifyou want to spend your sleep time staring at the moon, it’s no skin off myback. If I know Jarvis, he’ll take it out of yours if you’re slow in yourwork tomorrow.”
“That he will, milord, but I don’t need a lot of sleep mostly, and Ilike to look at the night and listen. It’s different from Lunnon.”
“I suppose it is. Do you like it here, then?”
“Yus, I does.”
The marquess leaned back and looked at the night sky, too. “Those threestars over there,” he said to the boy, “the ones in a straight line.That’s Orion.”
“That’s what?”
“Orion. It’s a name given to those particular stars. He was a mightyGreek hunter, but he chose the wrong prey and went after the Pleiades, soArtemis killed him and now he’s three stars.”
“Lord love us,” murmured the boy. “Furriners are a funny lot and nomistake.”
The marquess realized his musings were being taken seriously but onlylaughed. “Let that be a lesson to you. Sparrow, not to cross Greek women.If you can avoid Greeks altogether, it would be as well.”
He was on Sparra’s ground here, though, and the boy caught thereference to card sharps and other thieves. “That’s what me old friendMicky Rafferty used to say. ‘Just learn to know a Greek when you see one.’You’d have liked Micky,” he said wistfully. “He were transported forslumming.” Suddenly he recollected who he was talking to. “Beggin‘ yourpardon, milord.”
“Oh, don’t start that again, Sparrow,” said the marquess wearily. “Youknow, I really can’t keep calling you that. Don’t you have a realname?”
“It is me real moniker.”
“Well, what was your mother called?”
“Babs, milord.”
The marquess looked at the boy. Even in the past few weeks his face hadfilled out, and in his sturdy clothes he looked quite promising. Hedeserved a better name than Sparrow.
“I know,” he said. “We’ll change the bird. How would you like to becalled Robin?”
“Dunno. I’m used to Sparra.”
“But it’s not a name for a young man who’s going up in the world, isit? Robin Babson. How’s that?”
The boy’s eyes seemed to shine like the stars in Orion. “Robin Babson?That’d be me?”
“If you want.”
“Yus,” said the boy fiercely.
“Good.” The marquess rose and yawned. “If you like the country you canstay here.”
“Forever?”
