“You do yourself a disservice, Doctor,” replied William, obliged to return the compliment. “If the afternoon was pleasant, your own company was surely more than adequate.”
“One can only hope,” Dr. Westbridge said solemnly, casting a glance at Miss Lockhart. She, in turn, lowered her gaze to the ground.
So, thought William,thereissomething there. Perhaps I have missed my chance, after all.
Should he bow out graciously and leave them to further their acquaintance? Or was there still a chance to win Miss Lockhart’s favor?
She did not offer him any encouragement to stay. Her eyes avoided him. Her lips were thin with tension. No, he should not stay.
She needed time to process all that had been said. It was the least he could do. And if, in that period of grace, she grew closer to the doctor, then that was how the fates had willed it. At least Arthur Westbridge would not, on some battlefield far from home, make her a widow.
William stood slowly and offered his vacated spot to the doctor. “I have taken up enough of Miss Lockhart’s time. Perhaps you would keep her company? Or, better yet, the two of you might want to join the Sinclairs by the stream. I noticed a flurry of tadpoles there earlier.”
Miss Lockhart stood at once, her hands busily straightening her hem. “That is an excellent suggestion, Mr. Cole,” she remarked, her eyes swiveling from her dress directly to him. With her usual warmth, as if the terrible conversation about Lady Howell had not occurred minutes earlier, she said, “Thank you.” And then, “It is kind of you to think of others in this way.”
William’s heart skipped several beats. On any other day, he would have appreciated her sentiment. But today, his soul burdened with regret and grief, her words meant so much more. Indeed, what he truly heard Miss Lockhart say was,“I forgive you.”
He swallowed down the lump in his throat. They may yet be friends. Was there… Might they… Dare he hope for more?
No, not right now. Above all, he must be patient. He had come within an inch of losing her completely. One step at a time.
“It is my pleasure,” he replied. “Perhaps I shall see you at the games later?”
There was the small smile again. “I am sure you shall.”
Then she was gone. In the company of Dr. Westbridge. Who was as dependable as a rock. Well, good for him. As for William, he was not ready to be counted out just yet.
He felt the hard presence of the flask at his hip. There was something else he had to do while he waited to see Miss Lockhart again. He had spotted Richard Foyle earlier, much to his surprise. A picnic was not the sort of party the man usually attended, such an event being far too domestic for his usual taste. It did mean, however, that Lieutenant Foyle was remarkably sober and likely in the company of his father, all of which made it the perfect opportunity to return his silver flask. And get the apology the fiend owed him.
It didn’t take long to find him. Baron Foyle, his father, had brought two footmen with him. Between them, they had laid out chairs and a table with a spread of food that would never have fit into a humble basket. Baroness Foyle was being spared the bright sun by her lady’s maid, who endured the heat to hold a parasol over her mistress’s head. William thought they had rather missed the point of a community picnic.
They seemed to have gone out of their way to segregate themselves from the rest of the citizens of Munro, while insisting on being among them. People like the Penroses, who thought themselves too fine for such homely festivities, had not bothered to come. Others, who valued their privacy, like the viscount and viscountess, held their picnics with select friends on their own estate. But the Foyles, it seemed, needed to establishtheir superiority through vulgar display. No wonder the young lieutenant had so little good sense.
Lieutenant Foyle was the youngest of three sons. There were no sisters whose presence might remind Richard how one should behave around a lady. Each of the Foyle siblings had inherited a decreasing sense of what it was to be a gentleman, with Richard seeming to have mere dregs in supply. While the Foyle heir maintained a measure of honor, the youngest son had been spoiled and allowed to act on every impulse. His parents had protected him from all harm, including that which he created himself. Too late, they had seen the error of their ways, doting on the baby of the family. A military career had been seen as the only recourse to teach him discipline. As such, it had been an abject failure.
None of this was going to stop William from demanding what was due him. Especially when it concerned Miss Lockhart.
Still, he did not want to create a scene. So, William walked quietly up to Richard Foyle and said in a muted voice, “I would speak with you privately, sir.”
Young Foyle, however, likely suffering from a hangover and itching for a drink, was in no mood for civilities. “Where’s my flask, damn you, Cole?” he demanded loudly. “I’ve a good mind to report you for theft. That’s a hanging offense, you know. And if they won’t hang you, they’ll strip you of your commission. Then I can order you to be flogged.”
Well, so much for privacy. But William was not discouraged. Enough was enough. Today this man-child would be held accountable. “If we’re talking about theft,” he said, “you’ve robbed me of an apology. I have come to collect it. Then you may have your flask.” He patted his hip.
“Do you hear this?” Foyle turned to his father. “I am to apologize for being robbed. The man steals my silver flask and then demandsIapologize! Have you ever heard such a thing?”
Lord Foyle, who had been lounging in his chair, now leaned forward. “What nonsense is this? Do you have my son’s property?”
“Yes,” replied William, “but not his dignity. That he misplaced all by himself.”
“How dare you, sir!” Lord Foyle rose, his face reddening with impressive speed. “Return my son’s flask or there will be a reckoning.”
“That is exactly what I have come for. But the reckoning is his. Unless you support the sort of salacious comments he made about a lady of my acquaintance.”
Lord Foyle froze for a moment. William could not imagine this was the first time his son had been guilty of such behavior, but it was unlikely he had ever been called out on it in public. Heads had turned toward them thanks to their own noisy arrogance, and Lord Foyle’s response would now have an audience. Even the Sinclairs, with Miss Lockhart and Dr. Westbridge in tow, had meandered back to see what had captured everyone’s rapt attention.
Lord Foyle, unsurprisingly, tried to deflect the issue. “Richard would never use the foul manner of speech to which you refer. And certainly not in reference to a lady. I think you are confusing the jocularity among soldiers with serious insult. I would have you withdraw your accusation, sir.”
William stood his ground. “Not only did he make explicit insinuations about the lady to me, he imposed himself upon her directly at the Macraes’ ball. In front of several witnesses, I may add.”
