James, Earl of Crofton Page 4

  James was not beaten yet. “I will not be insulted if you give me one good reason.”

  “My reputation—or rather lack of one to hold your interest for more than a few hours. As I said, I am not interested in a fleeting liaison, and I fear that is all you can offer. Now, please excuse me, my lord. I must see to my charge.” Adam bowed his head and headed back inside without a further word.

  James seldom received a rebuttal, and those who had refused him were never so polite or reluctant. He would not push. That, he suspected, would only drive Adam farther away, and was the last thing he wanted. Although he could not deny his physical attraction to Adam, there was something else about him that made James want to know more. Adam Dowson intrigued him—the son of a famous general, a onetime tutor-cum-bodyguard to a duke’s son on his Grand Tour, and now this role overseeing Knaiper.

  But Adam was right: he was not looking for permanence. Part of him wanted to enjoy the intimacy that came from knowing someone completely. But he also knew the pain of loving someone and losing them, and he didn’t think he would willing seek that out again.

  Chapter 4

  James was often amazed by his father’s acumen. As a younger man, and with copious optimi and a small loan from the Redbourn fortune, his father had invested in coffee. Over the years, the family had seen the investment grow and grow, so it only seemed fitting that he spend time in as many of the city’s coffee shops as possible. This coffee shop was one of his favourites. Its high ceiling made the smoke more bearable, since James had never developed the smoking habit, having experienced violent nausea after each time of trying. The patrons were a mixed bunch, making the debates and conversation more varied and interesting.

  James picked up a copy of this week’s edition of The London Gazette, idly reading the front page. Some of the ink had smudged and he disliked the way it stained his fingers, but not enough to stop reading. He was close to the end of his coffee and was debating whether to help himself to another from the vat.

  He looked up from his reading to see a familiar face enter the coffee shop: Adam Dowson, without Knaiper. James supposed Knaiper was probably sleeping off his adventures of the night before. When James had left the palace, Knaiper was enthusiastically involved in a drinking game with Charles Sackville, 6th Earl of Dorset, which could not have ended well for either party.

  “Good morning, Mr Dowson,” James said, folding the newspaper and setting it on the table.

  Adam turned and gave a shallow bow. “My lord.”

  “If you are not meeting anyone, you would be more than welcome to join me.”

  Adam hesitated, James suspecting his reticence stemmed from their last conversation on the terrace. “I would not wish to impose.”

  “You are invited, not imposing. But there will be a price.”

  “Will there?” said Adam, and James liked the defiant edge to his voice.

  James proffered his empty coffee cup. “You will need to replenish my beverage.”

  Adam laughed and took the cup. “A pleasure, my lord.”

  James watched Adam walk over to the counter, pay his due, and fetch his own coffee and one for James. From behind, Adam was as pleasant to gaze upon as from the front. Not overly broad, his fitted jacket and close-cut breeches gave him a very nice silhouette. James stopped his line of thought from heading towards his libido as Adam approached.

  “How is our mutual friend this morning?” James asked.

  “His lordship regrettably will not be fit for visitors for some time. His private secretary spent the morning rearranging his appointments to ensure no one will think it necessary to complain to his father.”

  James couldn’t believe Knaiper had need of a secretary. He’d thought about engaging one himself, especially as, these days, his father was spending less and less time in the capital and he conducted much of the estate duty in London on his father’s direction. “For what great engagement does Knaiper need a secretary?”

  “Hardly my place to say.”

  James huffed. “Oh please. You don’t strike me as coy. You, yourself, are a shadow to ensure he behaves, yet you do not act the bodyguard and appear comfortable at court.”

  “True, but my previous position was secretary to the Duke of Avebury’s son. He wanted me close by when he was at court, but I was to be unobtrusive. I’ve been watching the comings and goings of the court for a while now. However, Lord Knaiper’s father made it clear I should not be a mouse in the corner but rather a solid presence, to deter others from trying to lead his son into trouble.”

  James had known Knaiper for many years. He had a temper, although it had improved with age, so he could understand why Knaiper’s father had taken such measures. “I remember Knaiper being a hair’s breadth away from being removed from Trinity College, but I am still not convinced about his need for a secretary.”

  “A matter of illusion, to give the appearance of calming down and respectability.”

  “You were a secretary before. Would you not have preferred that role again?”

  “Oh, I would have missed court far too much. My interest in watching the great and the good will not abate so easily.”

  “Some more than others, I hope.”

  Adam’s gaze darkened and James was convinced Adam had looked him up and down. “There are always outstanding examples. I find them both attractive and intriguing.”

  “Oh, I agree. Some of the most attractive sights are to be found watching the card games or the dancing from the side.” James took a sip of his coffee, deliberately peering over his cup. He enjoyed playing—the thrill of the chase as much fun as the final capture. “Although, I admit, there are some I had not realised were there until recently.”

  “Not a charge that could be levied at you, my lord.”

  “That is true.”

  Adam picked up his coffee. “But as I have said before, I am not a man who is of much interest.”

  “That I do not believe. You have travelled widely and spent time in the company of many different people. All these things shape a man.” Adam was shaped very nicely, but James kept that comment to himself.

  “Then think how terribly dull I would have been without my experiences. My interests lie in reading and debate, not dancing or drinking. The whims of court are interesting to me as an observer, not as a participant.”

  “You sound as if you might be one of those Fellows from the Royal Society—constant research.”

  Adam scoffed. “Yet it is you who was educated at Cambridge.”

  James warmed inwardly to the fact that Adam must have taken some pains to get the measure of him. “My father has no concern for my actions at court, but if I had not attended Trinity at Cambridge, like him, his father, and his father before him, I would not be so easily forgiven. I know it is not necessarily the case for many in my position to indulge in a university education, but after returning from the continent and all the upheaval, I found the time there very… restorative.”

  “I can understand that. It does seem fitting that the great halls would echo under the heels of Redbourns.”

  “And still they do—my brother is there now.”

  Adam frowned. “He is not a regular at court? I can’t bring to mind a younger Redbourn.”

  “No. He has not developed the taste. I believe he would be more interested in cultivating better ties between the Redbourns and the Winters, if the way he looks at the Duke of Marchent’s little sister is anything to go by.”

  “And she is not at court?”

  “Of course not! Her brother is acutely aware of the debauchery of court and has forbidden Emily from attending. Well, until she is at least twenty, which is a couple of years away.”

  “Then how has your brother happened upon his angel?”

  “I have known Marchent longer than I care to remember. Our families have been linked in one way or another back to before Queen Elizabeth bestowed on the Redbourns the earldom.”

  They’d played together as young children. H
e remembered visits to Marchent’s home, and, looking back, it must have been because of the upcoming war. Once he’d been sent to continent he hadn’t seen Marchent for years, but back in England, it was as if they had never been apart. “I think there are some families that just seem to collide.”

  “Do you think His Grace would welcome a marriage?”

  “There is no shortage of eligible men. Marchent is not sentimental enough to allow a marriage to the Redbourns—no matter how great our friendship—if there is someone who would make for a better political alliance.”

  Adam shrugged. “There seems little room for love in such arrangements.”

  “Love is not part of it at all. I could only imagine such a freedom, to be with the person you love, with no intervention from the court, the law or your family. That is true freedom. Money will not buy you that.”

  “But it can be fought for. Otherwise, what is the point of living if you live in misery? It is worse for women, as they have no say in their marriage, but even men can become trapped in a marriage where they can barely tolerate their spouse. How is that any way to live?”

  James had never seen Adam so animated. In all their brief meetings he had been careful and reserved. “You are very impassioned on the subject.”

  “I am not a noble, but my father’s reputation has led some to believe I should be the marrying kind, and that I would wish to ensnare a titled lady to elevate my status.”

  “But that is a natural conclusion,” James said, more intrigued by Adam with every passing sentence. “Most men in your position would be trying to do that.”

  “They are not me. Let me not be coy. I would be happy with the money, but I have no care about rank and title.”

  “That is almost puritan of you.”

  Adam laughed. “I don’t think so. I have no issue with others holding titles. I just do not wish to be shackled with one myself. The money would be enough for me.”

  “Surely you realise that some think a rich man with no title is a lesser being than a poor lord?”

  “I am not an idiot,” Adam said with a rueful smile. “I understand the reality—but I do not have to like it. I consider myself lucky that the plague of 1665 saved me from the fate of being married to a woman whose father was the devil and who had inherited all his worst traits.”

  “The plague saved you? That is a cold way of looking upon the blight that took so many.” James’s own grandfather one of them. The first of two deaths that year which had left him raw and licking wounds he did not know how to heal.

  Adam did not look contrite. “I lost many close to me also, but if I can take one redeeming thing from such a tragedy, then I will. I would not be sitting here now if I were married. Most likely I would have killed my father-in-law after repeated provocation, as he was the type of man to push all to their limits of endurance and then laugh at their entreaties to stop.”

  “You seem to have weathered the storm of losing your matrimonial position to a wealthy heiress.”

  “It was after that I took up the position of secretary to the Viscount of Avebury. You will not be surprised that even my father’s reputation could not make up for turning my back on a marriage.”

  James still had many questions. The more he learned, the more he had. No job as a secretary or a keeper to Knaiper could provide Adam with a salary that would allow him to afford the clothing he wore. General Dowson had not been known for his wealth, although he had not died a pauper, or at least James had not heard of it. “But you said yourself you would like the money. Being a secretary would not afford you such a high level of comfort.”

  “I have no reason to complain. My connections with the merry members of King Charles’s court mean I have been able to put my knowledge to good use.”

  James and his family were one of many at court who would have business interests beyond what a country estate could provide. Adam could easily have overheard men talking of their investments and was bright enough to follow suit. “You have been able to invest wisely, then?”

  “Amongst other things.” Adam finished his coffee. “Talking of which, I fear I must depart. It has been a pleasure, my lord.”

  Adam bowed low and then was gone, leaving James more confused about the man than ever before.

  Chapter 5

  James watched with amusement as Knaiper huffed and puffed as he ran from one side of the tennis court to the other. The colour in his cheeks and the amount of sweating could not have been healthy. Somehow, Knaiper managed to win the game and smacked his opponent so warmly on the back he sent him stumbling forwards. But to be fair to Knaiper, he was not malicious. If he had been a younger man, most of his exploits would have been forgiven as youthful exuberance and a quick temper. The last few months he’d been significantly calmer, and now, as the late summer was beginning to give way to autumn, James could see a definite improvement. How much of that was Adam’s influence he couldn’t say, but James knew he had come to enjoy the quiet snatches of conversation he and Adam shared. He wouldn’t go so far as to say Adam had actively sought him out, but their paths crossed frequently.

  James startled as the focus of his thoughts came to stand next to him. “You must have cat paws!”

  Adam lifted his left foot and pretended to inspect it. “Apparently not, my lord. And neither could that be said for Lord Knaiper.”

  James watched Knaiper down a quart of ale in one go. “I was wondering if I should send for a physician from the Royal College, in case there is an issue.”

  “I doubt you would need to look too far; there must be three or four of them here already.” Adam nodded to two men engaged in a serious discussion. “But I believe it would be unnecessary. The exercise will do his lordship well. Use up some of the boundless energy he has.”

  “Is keeping my friend in line a bigger challenge than you imagined?”

  Adam took a moment to answer. James wondered if it was because he didn’t know how much he could say. “It is a challenge I have relished—he has a very infectious personality.”

  “How very charming of you to say it in such a pleasant way. As if you have not had to stop numerous fights.”

  “Only one fight—and he was provoked.” Adam thought for a moment. “Maybe two, and the second was entirely his fault.”

  “I am surprised you have time to spend talking to me.” James saw another man had come forwards to challenge Knaiper and the game was about to resume. “You do not fancy trying to best him on a court?”

  “I know my abilities, my lord. You may fare better than me.”

  Maybe James was imagining things, or reading more into it than he should, but he thought he saw Adam give him an appraising look. “That, I doubt.”

  “Actually, Lord Knaiper is travelling back to Kent at first light, and I have been told to remain here.”

  “Really? I would have thought you were to stick to him at all costs.”

  “I protested, of course, but his lordship’s father insists he returns at regular intervals, and his lordship bade me to stay in London.”

  James was surprised at that revelation. If he’d had such a man in his service he would want him by his side when he travelled, and, truth be told, also when he wasn’t travelling. “He does not want your protection? My own experience is that the roads are not safe places—highwaymen, bandits and thieves are ready to strike.”

  “His coach is already well protected, with a number of armed servants aboard. I daresay I would not add much to that, but I believe it may be more to do with the fact that I might be an inconvenience to other passengers with whom Lord Knaiper may prefer to travel.”

  Adam smirked momentarily, and James knew what he was insinuating. A new spin on an old trick Knaiper had employed when he was younger. Knaiper had two or three favourite young ladies from a nearby brothel. He could easily enjoy their company on the journey to his father’s estate, ensure they were adequately lodged, and then collect them on the return journey. “I suppose a man must get his entertainmen
t in many places.”

  “Each to their own. I intend to get mine at St Bartholomew’s fair.”

  The fair had opened a few days earlier, but with distractions of court and business matters, James had yet to attend. This offered him an excellent opportunity. James wondered if he’d heard a hint of invitation in Adam’s words. “Would you object if I were to accompany you? I had only vague plans to wander in the direction of Smithfields, but fairs of its ilk are frequently more enjoyable with a companion to discuss the sights.”

  “I think that is a most excellent idea, my lord.”

  James was pleased to hear no hesitation in Adam’s response. “Then I will expect you at two. Tomorrow by the priory gate?”

  “I look forward to it.” A bellow came from the tennis court. Knaiper roaring in frustration at his damned racquet. “I think I may need to gently intervene. Until tomorrow.”

  James knew he shouldn’t make too much out it, but he couldn’t help but walk with a slight spring in his step as he headed back into the banqueting hall.

  The grey clouds loomed ominously low. James had already been caught in a downpour that morning and had been forced to change clothes, due to the sorry state of his no-longer-white stockings and drenched breeches. He hoped the rain would hold off for a few hours so he could enjoy the fair and Adam’s company. It had been a long time since he’d hankered after a specific individual, not since David’s passing had he been so willing to engage and make time for someone more than once. He shook off the malaise that often accompanied thoughts of a long-dead dream and a future that was no longer possible.

  He was early. Not a usual occurrence, but his anticipation for the afternoon ahead had left him pacing the town house. He’d taken his own coach and had it drop him at the gates of the priory, which had been a testament to his patience, seeing as Smithfield was flooded with people attending the fair. The throng had meant he’d sent his coach away, hoping he would be able to get a hackney carriage once he was ready to leave.