James, Earl of Crofton Read online

  Upon entering the study, he saw that his dinner was a large piece of game pie and several slices of bread and butter. Mrs Hadam knew his tastes and had judged his needs perfectly. A small glass jug filled with hock stood to the side.

  He removed a stack of papers from the desk drawer, then sat down to enjoy his meal while reading over the details for his meeting. His stomach happy, he wrote out the list of errands for Remembrance.

  A few minutes later, having called for his coach, and looking resplendent in a new wide-brim hat and his favourite cloak, he headed out into the city.

  His business conducted, James instructed his coach to take him to the Theatre Royal. He sent it back to the town house on arrival, since after the play he would attend court and either use Marchent’s coach or hail a hackney carriage. Marchent was waiting for him as he walked through the narrow entrance off Bridge Street. Henry Winters, the Duke of Marchent, might have been one of his oldest and dearest friends, but he outranked James, and James knew not to keep him waiting.

  Having said that, Marchent didn’t appear to have any concerns about James not being there to greet him, not when a beautiful young woman was keeping him company. She wasn’t the same lady James had seen Marchent with before his recent visit to Crofton Hall. She kissed Marchent on his cheek and hurried away. Marchent wasn’t a small man, and seeing him give her a little wave as she departed made James snigger.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I see you are continuing your quest to make sure every lady in the land is suitably cared for.”

  “Ah, Crofton. I heard you were accosted by the Chivalrous Highwayman. Did you finally meet someone who did not fall for your charms?”

  “You are merely jealous that I warranted the attention of the man the whole country is talking about.”

  Marchent slapped him warmly on the back. “I hate to tell you this, my friend, but I believe his interest was for your coin purse.”

  “If that helps you sleep at night, then please continue to think so. But we should hurry, if we are not to miss the start of the play.”

  They joined the other theatregoers heading inside. James wouldn’t have called himself a regular, but he had seen several plays over the last two years, so was no stranger to the layout of the theatre. Marchent insisted they sit in one of the boxes, as would be expected, but James had enjoyed sitting in the stalls from time to time. The luxury of the boxes made him feel somewhat removed from the action, the elegance of the green and gold very fetching but not always conducive for him to fall under the spell of the play. The performance looked to be well-attended, and the narrowness of the aisles in the stalls meant there was much toing and froing. James watched without much interest as the audience settled into their seats while he enjoyed the comfort of the box. He wasn’t happy about their distance from the stage, and for some of the quieter scenes he’d experienced having to strain to hear from the boxes, especially as the stage jutted out into the stalls in the centre.

  “You are moping,” muttered Marchent as they waited for the play to begin.

  “Nonsense. I admit I would not have gone out of my way to see this production, but it is as good a way as any to pass the time. Besides, I am always happy to see a friend. Although, I would ask who that beauty was who you were talking to outside. She must be something special for you to choose Shakespeare over Etherege’s romp.”

  Marchent grinned. “She’s an actress. Very talented on and off the stage. She is inflaming my vigour no doubt.”

  “A potential Lady Marchent?”

  Marchent snorted. “She is no lady.”

  His words were callous, but James also knew that whomever Marchent did end up marrying would be more of a political match. Many of those at court were married, but, like the king, their wedding vows seemed to be more of a suggestion than binding. His own situation might be similar in the future, but unlike Marchent, if for any reason James were not to marry and produce an heir, he had a younger brother who could step into the fray to ensure the continuation of the Redbourn line. Francis was also more pragmatic than James had ever been.

  “Then I daresay she will not be the future duchess.”

  Marchent laughed. “Such a way with words. Perhaps you should try penning your own scripts like Sedley.”

  “Sir Charles’s work would surpass anything I could muster. I know my limits.”

  “You may be one of the few at court who does. Talking of which, have you heard Knaiper has returned from the continent?”

  As far as James was aware his old friend from his time at Cambridge was swanning around Italy, with no plans to return for some time. “Really? I wonder why.”

  “Because his father has ordered him home before he causes another political incident like the time he danced naked at Versailles.” Marchent chuckled. “I hear he will also have a keeper. Someone who is enough of a gentleman to pass muster at court but who is in the employ of the earl to keep his son in line.”

  That would not be an easy task. James had many fond stories, and Knaiper’s involvement in any situation deflected the focus from anyone else. “I do not envy his position. Calling Knaiper unruly is like calling the pope a little pious.”

  “Quite. I have not heard who this miracle worker is, but Knaiper must also have accepted his involvement, since, as fierce as his father is, Knaiper is not one to be cowed. I would half expect him to say title be damned and take up boxing and live off what would be his considerable winnings.”

  James would have liked to continue the conversation, but the beginning of the play brought it to an end. He settled back to enjoy the gentle comedy—a far cry from the last play he had watched, which was still causing scandalous whispers, which he was pretty sure was the playwright’s intent.

  The performance was good but not great, and was made considerably better by Marchent’s servant arriving with jugs of wine and some sweet pastries from his kitchen. Marchent was not one to keep quiet, and his loud whispers earned him a number of hard stares from other theatregoers, all of which he ignored. The only time he was truly silent was when his new lady was on stage, which, given she had a small part, was not very often. As Adriano delivered the final line, Marchent let out a loud belch that, due to the small size of the theatre and the design of the building, meant the Duke of Marchent’s burp was the final commentary on the play. James was still laughing as they left the theatre, the wine giving him a pleasant feeling of freedom.

  “We need to take the exit to Drury Lane,” Marchent said, grabbing James by the arm and steering him in the opposite direction of where he was going. “My coach should be waiting.”

  “I thought we might get a hackney.”

  “You won’t get me in one of those death traps. One wrong move and it will be skidding across the road on its side.”

  James wasn’t going to argue. He could see why a man of Marchent’s build might not want to clamber into a flimsy hackney carriage. Waiting for them as they entered Drury Lane was Marchent’s stunning coach and six.

  “Is that new? Or have you just added the coat of arms to doors?”

  “Of course it’s new. I’ve been the duke for nearly a year. It’s about time I treated myself.”

  Marchent could hardly have been described as frugal, and James estimated the coach had cost in excess of hundred pounds. “Well, it is very nice.”

  “Nice?” Marchent scowled. “Nice is what you call little girls and a pleasant walk in the sunshine.”

  “Magnificent?” James said, trying not to laugh. “A masterpiece?”

  “Better. If you wish me to take you to the palace, you should show some respect.” If Marchent hadn’t nudged him playfully, James might have thought he was being serious.

  James climbed aboard, following Marchent. The inside was as impressive as the exterior, with padded benches and a design almost as sumptuous as Marchent’s townhouse. It couldn’t magically remove all the carts and wagons, but at least they passed the time in comfort.

  They arrived at Whitehall, M
archent having spent most of the journey dividing his conversation between the actress and an excellent business deal he had heard of from one of his ships returning from the Indian Ocean. The Redbourns were a wealthy family, but Marchent could probably prop up the country if the king were to call for a loan.

  James alighted from the coach once it halted at the palace. A servant scurried to open the door and presented Marchent with a message, which he read before grinning wolfishly. “I will see you later, Crofton. I must ready myself for the arrival of a young lady.”

  James slapped Marchent on the back as he departed. James rubbed his hands together. He was in the mood for a few hands of cards, several glasses of wine and maybe even a dance or two.

  “Crofton!” called a familiar voice.

  James pivoted to see the very man he had been discussing with Marchent heading towards him. “Knaiper! I heard you were once more blighting these shoresI had thought you must have got lost, stumbled the wrong way out of Italy and ended up a Swiss Alp.”

  “Had to come home at some point. Didn’t want you fellows getting bored.” He gathered James into a brief yet a bone-crushing hug.

  “Who could be bored at the court of King Charles II?” James said, once he could breathe again.

  “I think you will find I add intrigue and excitement wherever I go.”

  Knaiper had the build of an ox, with flaming red hair and an attitude to match. However, he had the propensity to talk up his talents.

  “If you say so, my friend.”

  “It is a good job I have Mr Dowson, here, to help keep me in control. Or that is what my father hopes.”

  Only then did James notice the man standing behind Knaiper.

  The gentleman bowed. “Adam Dowson, at your service, my lord.”

  Adam had to be the mysterious keeper Marchent had mentioned. On first sight he was somewhat unremarkable, maybe slightly taller than James, although similar in build. But there was something about his cool blue eyes that made James take a longer look. He was attractive, but not overly so, and judging by the way the skin crinkled around his eyes as he smiled, he might have been a few years the other side of thirty. His skin was pale, so he was not one to spend time outside. That would not change, as Knaiper was not one for outdoor pursuits if he could help it, and if Adam was meant to be keeping Knaiper in line he would have to grow accustomed to coffee shops and card dens, if he wasn’t already. But for his position he was well dressed. He’d spent a great deal on his clothes and wig, perhaps as much as some of the nobles at court.

  The flare of a memory, running around an apple orchard perhaps, made James realise he recognised Adam from somewhere.

  “Have we met before? In France, perhaps?” James was sure of it.

  “It is quite possible, my lord. I travelled extensively when I worked for the Duke of Avebury. Or, should I say, his son, Richard Hartly.”

  James remembered now; he’d always had a talent for faces. A hot summer when his father and mother had gone off to the court of King Louis, he’d been left in the charge of his grandfather when the son of an English noble, and his so-called tutor, had visited. They had been in their early twenties and James had only been thirteen, but they had played tag and given him cider to drink, while telling tales of their adventures and their plans to head to Italy.

  “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I was but a callow youth, and I think you were not long into your travels for the Grand Tour.”

  Knaiper snorted. “I’ve being trying to forget you for years, Crofton. Now, come on, stop your idle chatter. I remember the last time we were together you won a substantial amount of money from me, and I would like to win it back.”

  “You can try, but I doubt your luck.”

  Knaiper swung his arms around James’s shoulders. Not expecting it, James almost buckled under the weight. He recovered quickly and snorted with amusement, leading Knaiper off to where one of the many card games were in full swing. Adam followed at a discreet distance.

  “Lanteroo? Maw? Ombre?” asked James, as he scanned the tables in play.

  Two men who were a little worse for wear were vacating a table. “Whatever they were playing,” said Knaiper, gently pushing James in that direction.

  “Lanteroo it is.”

  James took a seat next to a pretty woman who gave him an appraising look, and he had no doubt, if he were interested, his winnings wouldn’t necessarily have to be paid in coin.

  “Will you join us, Mr Dowson?” asked the pretty woman.

  James was surprised she knew his name.

  Adam bowed slightly. “Not today, Lady Elena. I fear I must refrain for the safety of my purse.”

  “It is a pity—my mother says your father was a master at the game. I have heard that General Dowson’s son has inherited his ability.”

  “I am sure my father would have been happy to hear his reputation is still warranted.”

  James kicked himself for not making the connection. Dowson was not an overly common name, and his position with Knaiper meant he would need to be able to handle himself in a fight. Geoffrey Dowson, Adam’s father, was one of the soldiers his grandfather used to tell him stories about. It made perfect sense why Adam had been associated with the Duke of Avebury. His father’s actions during the war were legendary on both sides, and those actions had made it necessary for both men and their families to flee overseas when the Parliamentarians took power. Avebury also owed his life to Geoffrey Dowson.

  Knaiper knocked on the table as he waited to receive his cards. “Less jaw-flapping. The good Mr Dowson has said he does not wish to play, so let the rest of us continue.”

  James snorted. “Why are you in such a rush to lose your money, Knaiper?”

  Lady Elena chuckled behind her fan, her eyes wide and inviting. For a second he thought he saw a flash of annoyance flicker across Adam’s face, but it was gone so quickly James thought he might have imagined it. Adam stepped back from the table, joining a small group of onlookers who had gathered.

  Glass of claret in hand, James concentrated on his cards and didn’t leave the game for several hands. He lost and won tricks, his coin purse at first lightening, but now he was on a winning streak, and Knaiper was huffing next to him in frustration.

  “I should have known better than to play with you, Crofton. You have the Devil’s own luck.”

  He looked up to chide Knaiper and saw Adam watching him. Their eyes met, but Adam dropped his gaze. A flash of desire curled through James. He’d not engaged his passions of late, and it was even longer since he’d been with a man. A desire to peel away Adam’s layers hit James harder than he was expecting. A sharp kick to his ankle restored his attention.

  “Are you playing or not?” asked Knaiper gruffly.

  Finding he had lost interest in the game, James was more intrigued in watching Adam retreat. He wasn’t about to let him go without trying to get him to disappear into a private room to explore his wicked ideas further. “I will sit this out. Give you the chance to win for once.”

  Knaiper growled, threw his cards onto the table, stood and led James away from the table by his arm. “A moment of your valuable time, if you would not mind, my lord.”

  James frowned but let Knaiper guide him to a quiet corner. “You are not subtle, Crofton.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You know what I mean. I have brokered an uneasy truce with my father that involves Mr Dowson accompanying me at court. If you do anything to make him regret his decision to take up this employment, I will not be happy.”

  “I would do nothing that was not invited,” James spat in response. “I do not force my attention on the unwilling.”

  “Good.”

  Knaiper strode back to the card game. James hesitated for a moment on whether he should continue with his intention to seek out the intriguing Adam Dowson, but the temptation was too great. He headed out of the room. His luck from the cards clearly followed him, as he found Adam standing in the corner of the terra
ce, on his own, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

  “The grounds are particularly pleasant this summer,” James said, as he came to stand next to Adam.

  Adam didn’t flinch. In fact, he made no outward sign that he was surprised to see James there. “The palace has some of the finest gardens in Europe. But I would expect no less from His Majesty.”

  “There are many excellent features. Maybe you are not aware of them. I could be your guide.” It was an obvious invitation to partake of some fun under the cover of the shady bay trees.

  “I can enjoy the view as well from here.”

  James frowned. He was sure he’d seen interest in Adam’s gaze and had not expected Adam to turn him down. “While the views are indeed fine, I could not help but notice you watching me inside.”

  “Did you, my lord?”

  “There is no need to be coy. I welcomed your gaze.” James took a step closer. “You are invited to do so again.”

  “I admit you paint a very pretty visage. However, I can enjoy without touching.”

  So there was a spark of attraction, James just needed to find a way to ignite it into a roaring fire. “But you do not have to.”

  James couldn’t read Adam’s expression, but it had been a long time since someone had captured his attention in such a way.

  Adam began to reach out, but then withdrew his hand. “I am too old for mere dalliances, my lord.”

  “You do not look too old to me.” James smiled. “I have heard some of the new ideas from the Royal Society which suggest exercise may be good for one’s health.”

  Adam chuckled. “I doubt the exercise you describe would be suggested by any medical man. Next, you will suggest I take the waters in the hope I remove my clothes.”

  “Would that be such a terrible thing?”

  “I am truly flattered. Please do not take my refusal as an insult to your honour, but I must, most regrettably, decline.”