“And so you stole his flask to punish this perceived slight? That hardly paints you in a nobler light, Mr.…”
“Lieutenant William Cole, my lord. And I picked up his flask from where he had dropped it outside Shillington’s. I am only too happy to return it. As soon as I have my apology.”
“You say you have witnesses of Richard’s actions.” The baron folded his arms across his chest, then released one of them again to point an accusing finger at William. “But who can corroborateyourstory?” The freed hand now waved in accompaniment to his speech. “It seems you have made up a lie to blacken his name and now hold his own property as extortion.” Lord Foyle leaned forward, his fingertips supporting his weight on the table still laden with uneaten food. “I think it far more likely that you seek a better commission and see my son as a rival for it. You would say anything to ruin his reputation. Fie on you, sir!”
William’s jaw tightened. “If you imagine such motive, it is because you have become accustomed to this type of low behavior in your own son and believe it equally reasonable to expect it in others.”
Lord Foyle’s hue deepened to purple, a feat William had not thought possible without the subject suffering an immediate apoplexy.
“Produce your witnesses!” the baron thundered. “Or withdraw your accusation!”
“This is a picnic and not a court of law,” William answered. “I will not harass people who are here with their friends and children, especially if it is to repeat the sort of bile that they heard from your son’s mouth.My lord.”
“But you are happy to malign my son in front of them?”
“I am not. Indeed, I approached him discreetly, but he involved you, and you, my lord, have drawn the crowd.”
A gasp went up from the gathering. No one had ever taken the baron on. Certainly not as calmly and boldly as William did now. A warning slipped down his spine like ice. Had he gone too far? The baron wielded great influence. Even if William bore no guilt, Lord Foyle could make life very difficult for him. Especially if the baron’s youngest got away with his actions.
“Lieutenant Foyle has not been maligned, my lord,” said a voice from somewhere behind William. It was soft, almost a whisper. But it carried across the hushed onlookers like a clear note, ringing in the air.
Miss Lockhart approached. Her steps were erratic, as if each one had to be forced from her. But her gaze was unyielding. She came at last to stand beside William. He could feel rather than see the nervous tension radiating from her. And yet she stood, unmoving and resolute.
“Who are you, madam?” the baron demanded, though William could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“I am Verity Lockhart, daughter of the vicar of Fernbridge, sister to Mrs. Daniel Sinclair of Munro, and unhappy recipient of Lieutenant Foyle’s inappropriate attentions.”
Her voice carried the slightest of tremors, but William only heard the sound of enormous courage.
Lord Foyle visibly deflated. He looked to his son as if seeing him properly for the first time. Then he turned to his wife, who was sizing Miss Lockhart up with her eyes. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head to her husband. His indignation subsided further. In fact, it was as if he aged before them.
But Richard Foyle, being of unsound judgement, grew even more brash. “I do not recall meeting with… Miss Lockhart, is it? Besides, a vicar’s daughter would never draw my attention. I have my position to think of.”
“I only wish my father’s occupation might truly have spared me your impropriety at the Macraes’ ball, Lieutenant Foyle,” said Miss Lockhart. “Though I am not surprised you do not recall the meeting, as you were squarely three sheets to the wind.”
“But youdidrecall the meeting, didn’t you, Foyle?” William added. “You had plenty to say on the matter at Shillington’s. You might have been blind drunk then too, but your memorywas not ailing. Only your sense of decency. Now, since the lady in question has been brave enough to speak up, your apology should be directed to her.”
“Ahem,” began Lord Foyle, “I think we can all agree there has been…”
The sound of hoofbeats caused the heads of the fascinated audience to turn en masse. A uniformed officer was riding directly toward them, slowing as he approached. He halted at the edge of the crowd but did not dismount. William recognized him at once. It was the meticulous figure of Captain Larson.
“I am sorry to interrupt such a happy occasion,” said the captain, his horse prancing beneath him before it settled. “Wellington has called up his men to Brussels. Our regiment must report at once. We ship out tomorrow.”
There was a moment of absolute silence. Then the picnickers erupted with dismay. There were wails from mothers and young wives, tears from new sweethearts.
Only Lieutenant Foyle saw an opportunity to his advantage. “Father,” he said, his back tall and straight, his chin proud. “I must leave to defend our nation against the French. Mother, take this kiss upon your cheek, for it may be my last.”
At William’s shoulder, Miss Lockhart’s trembling now became visible. She—who, but a half hour ago, had doubted his character—had upheld his honor before all, a feat made more remarkable by the fact that she did not like to draw attention to herself. Yet she had sacrificed for William, declared herself a true friend. And Foyle still tried to evade his responsibility, even now. William clenched his teeth. Before they left these shores, Miss Lockhart would have justice.
William stepped forward and placed the silver hip flask upon the amply catered table. “Miss Lockhart awaits her apology, sir.”
“What?” Foyle laughed. “Even now, you continue with your false accusations? You are fortunate that we leave for Brussels, else I would have you before a magistrate for theft!”
“Lieutenant!” shouted Captain Larson. “You will withdraw your statement at once! This is a fellow officer. You will be fighting side by side. It is madness to bring trouble to a war that will have plenty of its own.”
“But he stole my flask!”
“He did no such thing. You left it on the steps outside Shillington’s. I was there when Lieutenant Cole found it. He had hoped to return it to you when you were… more reasonable.”
