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“It’s not true!” His legs were shaking. With a curse Alec gave up and collapsed, sliding down the wall to his knees. The makeshift crutch clattered to the ground. “Bloody Christ, James. How could you?” He pressed one hand to his side, and felt the familiar warmth of blood seeping through his shirt.

Peterbury squatted beside him. “It’s not true? You didn’t correspond with the French and reveal how many men Wellington had and where they were camped?”

“Never!” He was losing his voice. He coughed, and his whole body seemed to spasm. Warm blood welled beneath his fingers and needles of pain jabbed at his side. He’d forgotten how sharp that pain was, how it stole his breath away and made sweat roll down his neck.

“Never?” Peterbury grabbed the front of his woolen jacket and hauled him upright with a firm shake. Alec hadn’t even felt himself slip to the side. “Do you swear?”

“On my father’s honor,” he said, before coughing again. Now there appeared to be three of Peterbury, all staring at him with thunderous scowls. “If you—you, of all people—don’t believe me, just walk away.”

For a moment it seemed Peterbury would take him up on that. Alec closed his eyes; his brain felt slow, as if it had been muffled in that one word, treason. He would rather die here in an alley than be condemned for that.

But then he felt an arm around his back. “I can’t let you die,” his friend muttered. “But you mustn’t stay here.” He shoved the crutch back into Alec’s hand, and began trying to push him onto his feet. “Come. We’ll puzzle it out somehow.”

Chapter Twenty-One

1820

Penford

* * *

That week, John Hayes's mother and sister came to visit. They were to stay a few days, then John would go home with them. Cressida watched Mr. Hayes welcome his family to Penford, and remembered that only a few weeks ago he had been the master, and expected to be here permanently. Julia had told her John’s branch of the Hayes family had a much more modest home near Tring. Mrs. Hayes and her daughter Emily, a lively young girl of about sixteen years, were pleasant and friendly, much like Mr. Hayes himself. One would never suspect from his open, amiable countenance that he had suddenly lost a large and prosperous estate to a cousin who was not as dead as everyone thought.

As for that man. . . He was gone from the house before breakfast every day; estate concerns, his mother explained to her and Callie—as though she needed to excuse him. He was only at dinner once, and from a snatch of overheard conversation between servants, Cressida deduced that he was rarely expected at any meal. When she had accepted Julia’s invitation to stay at Penford, she had hoped she wouldn’t see him much—but she’d hardly seen him since that day in the library, and began to fear the kiss was what had driven him away.

Mrs. Hayes arranged a dinner to welcome her guests, and since there were now so many ladies in the house, she invited a few gentlemen from the area to balance the table. Even Tom was persuaded to join the party.

Callie was ready first, wearing her rose silk gown again, while Cressida couldn't decide how to fix her hair. "I declare, you normally don't have this much care for your toilette," said her sister with a smile.

Cressida blushed. "Go on down. I’ll just be another moment." Her sister laughed and left. Callie spent much of her time tending to Granny, who still clung to her bed. Cressida wanted to help, but her presence only made Granny fretful. Twice she’d scolded Cressida again for moving them out of Brighampton without her father's consent, and finally the sisters agreed that Callie would see to Granny for now, and Cressida would find them a new place to live. That hadn't been going smoothly, as there were plenty of people in reduced circumstances looking for places, and rents had crept alarmingly high. They would almost surely have to take Callie's money out of the funds, no matter how much Tom argued against it.

And in between worrying about money and places to live, she was left to wonder about Alec. He had held her and kissed her as if he wanted her desperately, but then he all but disappeared. Did he regret it? Or was he avoiding her because of something else?

She scowled at her reflection. As if he had nothing else to worry about in his life but her feelings. She pinched a wisp of hair from her temple and wound it around one finger, wishing her hair would shine and curl like Callie's instead of needing tight braids and pins to stay put. The wisp of hair uncurled from her finger to hang limply beside her cheek, and she gave up and went downstairs.

It was a fine dinner. Callie was seated next to a Mr. Bantry, and he appeared quite taken with her. Cressida was between Tom and Sir Matthew Leslie, an old friend of the family. Sir Matthew was charming and talkative, unlike Tom, who grew quieter as the evening went on. Alec was nowhere to be seen, and after a brief hesitation, John stepped into the role of the host. There was an odd glance between him and his mother, but Alec's mother just smiled graciously and thanked John.

After dinner they retired to the large drawing room, where Emily Hayes played the pianoforte before card tables were set up. Cressida watched her sister agree to partner Mr. Bantry. Callie's eyes shone as he escorted her to the table and seated her, then fetched her a glass of sherry. Callie, she realized, looked happy with a man for the first time in years. Since her dreadful marriage, Callie had shied away from men. Tom was the only one she was at ease with. It broke Cressida’s heart to think of her generous, kindhearted sister spending the rest of her life alone. But as Callie grew more confident and easy, gentlemen noticed her. Mr. Bantry, for certain, seemed enchanted. Granny would be so pleased.

She turned and caught sight of Tom, standing just inside the door. He had excused himself after dinner, and she hadn't seen him come back. He was so quiet and somber, and wore an odd expression as he gazed across the room. Cressida started to rise, thinking he must be looking for her, when she realized where his eyes were fixed.

On Callie, laughing at something Mr. Bantry said.

Cressida sucked in her breath. Suddenly she knew why Tom had sold his consuls to buy the fabric for the dresses she and Callie wore tonight. Tom was in love with her sister. And Callie, to judge from her pleasure at Mr. Bantry’s attentions, either had no idea or didn’t return the feeling.

Tom caught her staring. His face changed and he slipped out of the room. Cressida murmured an excuse to Julia, seated beside her, and hurried after him.

"Tom!"

He stopped, squared his shoulders, and turned. "Aye?"

“I wanted to thank you again,” she told him. "For the silk."

He gave an embarrassed grin. “It was my pleasure, Cressida. And you look so lovely, too.”

“Thanks to you.” She couldn’t stop stroking the soft fabric that flowed over her body like a cool, bright stream of water. “Such a wonderful choice of colors! Callie’s dress is perfect for her.”

His face softened. “Aye,” he murmured.