A Country Affair (8 page)

"I daresay Lucas was not himself when he undertook the job," she said to Romeo, with only a slight emphasis for Richard's sake. "He's been telling me for some time that he's not up to such strenuous work."

Richard's good humor returned in the face of her teasing, but Romeo's next words erased it again.

"Better let me see to such things."

Selina stiffened.

Her reaction, however, was not nearly as great as Richard's. He felt his spine go rigid, like a hot blade of steel that has suddenly been plunged into cold water. This Romeo fellow certainly knew how to get under a man's skin. But his irritating qualities could not be put down to vanity, as one might have expected from such a lout, for the clod seemed unaware of his own attractions.

Richard itched to give him a setdown, but Selina was handling the situation in her own practiced way. "You are kind, Romeo, but we can manage quite well on our own, thank you." She cut a sideways glance Richard's way, then said, quite unnecessarily he thought, "But we shall be sure to call upon you whenever our troubles warrant your help."

Romeo seemed to be satisfied, although it was clear he was not ready to be dismissed. His gaze lingered on Selina's face—shyly and respectfully—long after she thanked him for riding over and bade him good day. After a firm repetition of her good-bye, he finally pointed his horse's nose in the opposite direction and plodded off.

Richard felt a strange tension in his shoulders, as if he had readied for a challenge. Which was ludicrous, he thought. Breathing deeply, he eased the muscles in his neck.

Augustus, whom neither one had seen since Nero's temper tantrum, came running up the drive. In his hand he waved a folded sheet of paper.

If Richard had known that the boy had planned to go into the village, he would have lent him his horse. He was on the point of saying so, when Augustus called out, "It's from the Garter King of Arms!"

His news smacked Richard soundly in the face. He had been sure the Garter would have notified the Payleys of his refusal of their claim long before his arrival. Otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be caught in such an awkward position. He was the last person who should be present when Selina read the Garter's letter.

But there was nothing he could do to avoid it. Selina sprang for the missive and tore the seal before Richard could excuse himself.

The change in her expression—from boundless hope, which made her eyes sparkle, to bottomless despair, which made her suddenly go pale—nearly tore his heart. In no little measure, he felt to blame for her sadness, even though his responsibility was nil. He wished he did not so keenly care now about her well-being. Or Augustus's, for the boy seemed to take the letter's contents as hard as his sister.

"Distressing news?" Richard could not prevent himself from begging the opportunity to console them.

"Yes . . . I'm afraid so." Selina's eyes met his. A thought, like a brief plea for sympathy, seemed to move behind them as she said, "We've been denied the use of our ancestor's coat of arms."

"On what grounds?" Richard asked, feeling the veriest weasel for pretending, but, at last, on the verge of discovering what he had come to find out. And it was possible that he could do so now without divulging his real identity.

The more he thought about it, the more he was coming to believe that things would be better left that way. He had far rather part from these people a stranger in harmony than let his duplicity add to their misery. He meant them no harm. In fact, he was prepared to buy tens—hundreds—a thousand trees if it would help.

Selina's chin was already on the way up when she answered, "On the grounds that our proof of kinship is not substantial enough."

"Did you think it was?" He had pushed for too much. Selina was obviously beginning to regret her openness.

"Of course," she said with a toss of her proud head. "I am quite certain of where I stand." But her eyes avoided his as she said, in a lower voice, "If you will excuse me, I think I should prepare something for dinner—that is, if you would be willing to postpone our business until later?"

Richard hurriedly assured her that he would be willing to wait, knowing she meant to hide her distress, though he wondered how much longer he should stay at The Grange. His feelings for the Payleys were growing far too complex. The quick embrace that Selina gave her brother in passing revealed too much for Richard's heart to take lightly. The bond of love between them. Their joint disappointment. Though it did not reveal the reason for their dismay.

Intending to be of help to one of them, since he could not be to the other, Richard offered the boy his assistance in pruning the trees. Augustus accepted it with good grace, showing once again how well he had been raised. The proof of breeding, Richard knew, was not in one's family tree so much as in the gentility one displayed. And these Payleys had gentility in abundance—frustrated gentility, trodden down—but gentility nonetheless.

He begged Augustus to tutor him in the way of pruning cherry trees, giving his future plans of an immense planting as reason. The two fetched tools from a drafty outbuilding, which could have stood a new roof, then set to their task. They worked side by side for many minutes, Augustus showing him just where to clip each trunk in the hope of saving the seedlings. The boy's manner of instruction was polite. Far too polite, as Richard found when Augustus's use of his false name flailed him again and again, reminding him of his own high-handed arrogance, his unwarranted temper on receiving the Garter's letter, and his continuing duplicity.

"Listen here, young Squire," Richard finally said in exasperation. "It seems to me that two gentlemen working side by side as equals should address each other with a little less formality. Why do you not call me Richard instead."

"As you wish." Augustus grinned and tossed the hair back out of his eyes. Being referred to as a gentleman and treated as such had obviously pleased him. "But if Selina rakes me over the coals for being too familiar, I hope you will be around to protest."

"You have my word." Richard paused, then added casually, "The same should go for her, however. If we three were not partners this morning when chasing down your pig, I do not know what we were."

"Perhaps, more a matador with his banderilleros?"

At the learned response, Richard raised his head in surprise. "Where did you hear of such things as bull fights?"

"I've been reading a good deal." Augustus shrugged, but Richard could see he was grossly understating the case. "I'm being tutored, you know, by the vicar."

"No, I did not know," Richard replied. "To what end?"

To his dismay, chagrin swept Augustus's face.

Thinking that his question might have suggested a lack of faith in the boy's abilities, Richard amended it hastily. "I am sure your ambitions are well-deserved. I only inquire as to their nature."

The boy's eyes did not clear. A troubled frown settled on his face, as he bent over a nibbled tree with his pair of lopping shears.

"I was hoping to go to Eton," he said, "but I doubt I shall now."

"And why is that?"

The boy shrugged as if there were something he did not mean to divulge. Or, perhaps, he simply did not wish to confess that they lacked the money to pay for a boy's stay at Eton.

Unless. . . Richard thought he might have tumbled to the truth . . . unless they found a patron. A wealthy kinsman perhaps. A Trevelyan.

Was that the reason they had applied for his name? So Selina might approach him in Augustus's behalf?

Seeking to discover their secret, sure it had something to do with their claim to his name, Richard asked, "Have you a sponsor?"

Augustus shook his head. "No, I had been hoping to go as a King's Scholar."

"A—" Richard caught himself before he could blurt out his shock. A King's Scholar, for heaven's sake! His stomach nearly revolted at the thought.

Conditions for the Scholars were notorious. As pensioners, they received no breakfast or tea. Their only meal consisted of mutton and mashed potatoes, the potatoes dug in the season when they were too small to mash. The boys were so starved, in fact, they were known to prey upon each other, so that a small boy might subsist on bread and gravy alone.

The rats in the crumbling building where they lived fared much better. In the infamous Long Chamber where the boys slept—without care or supervision—rats ran rampant. It was said that the boys spent the better part of their nights hunting the creatures and skinning them for sport. Their other amusements—gambling and fighting amongst themselves and drinking whatever was smuggled in—were hardly more suited to gentlemen's sons. Nevertheless, that is what they did and where they learned the rudiments of a certain life. Some of London's most confirmed gamblers and heaviest drinkers had started out as King's Scholars.

Richard could not imagine how Augustus would survive in such a setting. Even though it might be the only way the boy could hope to get to Cambridge—Scholars were almost guaranteed a King's College Fellowship—he thought he must try to discourage him.

Richard had laid down his shears, unable to work with these disturbing thoughts in mind. On top of these, he had begun to feel the result of yesterday's work. Every muscle in his back and shoulders ached. He urged the boy to take a rest by leaning against the fence. Then, when by its sway, it became apparent that this was not a good idea, they sat on the frozen grass instead.

The cold seeped up through Richard's thighs. But this was as nothing compared to the chill in his heart at the thought of such a gentle boy being thrust into a situation hardly better than a beasts' den.

"Do you know much about Eton?" he finally asked.

Augustus flushed and looked sideways at him, searchingly. "If you mean, do I know about a Scholar's life, the answer is yes, sir."

"And yet you would go?"

"I have no choice. That is the only way we can pay for my instruction. You might not realize it, but we sometimes have trouble making ends meet. That was why we were so uncommonly glad—"

Augustus broke off, and Richard was charmed by the mixture of maturity and naiveté in his words.

"—why you were so uncommonly glad I came to buy your trees?" When Augustus blushed and nodded, Richard said, "You must not worry about being frank. I had perceived your sister's eagerness and understood it. It is quite reasonable."

A cloud descended on Augustus's face again. "Sir, you must promise me not to tell my sister about the Collegers' life. She doesn't know—She would not wish me to go if she ever knew—"

"You may count upon me," Richard assured him, relieved to hear that Selina had not set out to subject her brother to such misery knowingly. That question had lingered at the back of his mind and had disturbed him.

"And you, how did you find out?"

"My father was a Scholar," Augustus said.

Richard frowned. "Would he have wished you to endure what he did?"

Augustus hedged. "He would have wanted me to heed my sister's counsel."

"Even if she was ill-informed?"

The boy smiled at being caught in a diversion. "Perhaps not. But—" his tone turned serious—"I do wish to attend University. The vicar says I am quick enough, and this would be the only way."

Quicker than four-fifths of the boys there, Richard could warrant, and more responsible than the lot. "And, yet, only a few moments ago, you expressed doubts of ever being accepted."

A mask shuttered Augustus's face.

"Has it something to do with the letter you received today?" Richard paused. When Augustus did not reply, he added, "Forgive me for prying. I only wish to know if I might be of service to you in this matter."

At his offer of friendship, Augustus turned quite red in the face. "Thank you, sir. You are most generous. And you must not think I am not mindful of the help you've already given us. We will hate to see you go. But the questions you ask touch on subjects we do not commonly discuss."

"I see. And you do not think me a worthy recipient of your confidence?" Richard knew he should be ashamed for using such underhanded tactics, but he seemed so close to discovering the source of their worries. It still was possible he could help.

Augustus stumbled over his words, trying to repair Richard's mistaken impression. "No, not at all! It's not that! It's—Oh, well, I guess I might tell you some of it at any rate. My sister's already blurted out that much.

"The letter we received today—" he said, "Do you recall?"

Richard nodded.

"It was a reply to a request my sister had made." Augustus looked towards the house to make certain they were not being overheard. "Selina, you see, had written to the Garter to ask that we be allowed to use our ancestor's name. The name is Trevelyan. The same as the Earl of Linton, you know."

"Yes, I have heard the name." Richard suppressed a wry tone. "And are you related to the Earl of Linton?"

"Yes, we are. And my sister has proof, though—"

"It would appear not proof enough?"

Augustus nodded. His dark brow, which promised a darkening of his hair, was furrowed in a grown man's concern. But Augustus was much too young for this sort of worry.

"But why—" This did not explain anything, Richard thought. "Why will the Garter's refusal prevent your going to Eton as a King's Scholar? Your vicar could speak for you. You seem the perfect candidate, in fact." The whole purpose of these scholarships was to help the deserving impoverished.

Augustus hung his head.

"I'm sorry. You must pardon me if I've overstepped the bounds." Though, Richard thought, he had done that often of late.

Instead of accepting his apology, Augustus started speaking, hesitantly. "There was a scandal—involving my father at Cambridge. He lost his fellowship. It was known at Eton."

He looked up, a deep-seated discomfort spreading outwardly from his eyes. "That is why we must change our name before I apply to Eton."

"I see."

Although Richard did not know the details, he could see that the boy's case was hopeless as long as his father's name had been besmirched. The sins of the father were always visited on the son, no less in the halls of Eton and Cambridge, than in social settings. It would be thought the boy might have the same proclivities as his father, if not worse, whatever those might be. And they must have been bad enough if he had been sent down. Not only sent down, but dispossessed of his fellowship.