Page 75 of A Torn Allegiance
“Thank you. I hope one day she will accept my hand. What I will ask of her is no small thing.” He hoped again, for the hundredth time, that she would love him enough to do such a thing.
Bartholomew adjusted his sleeves. “I have not half the challenge, nor half the offering you have. Hopefully, my own courtship, if I am blessed with such a thing, will be a simple affair.”
Hollings shook his head. “Courtships are rarely simple affairs, where love is involved.”
Bartholomew’s face whitened, and he swallowed twice, but in that moment, Lady Sophie turned a brilliant smile in his direction. He stood taller. “Would you look at that?”
“Perhaps we could go to them?” Hayes indicated the space across the room. “It is but a few steps.”
“Go,” the admiral said. “And, Your Highness, I do need a word when you are not so completely otherwise engaged.”
“Absolutely. I am at your disposal.” The last few words were spoken as he made his way across the room, Bartholomew at his side.
Lady Sophie’s smile was so large and engaging that Bartholomew’s mind may have cleared of all thought, but Hayes had no way of knowing, because he was experiencing just such a joy himself.
At last he stood in front of Elsie and lifted her hand in his. “It seems your father is pleased.”
Her exhale of relief amused him.
“And so, for my first act of official courtship, might I escort you to the lemonade for a drink?”
They were called to dinner in that moment.
“Or might I escort you in to dinner?” He offered his arm, and she took it, grinning at his swift change of courting acts.
Together they followed the duke and his wife into the dining room. Hayes’s brothers seemed pleased with their partners for dinner, and he expected to fully enjoy himself. Which he did. Her hand stayed in his under the table unless absolutely necessary to use. They laughed at everything and nothing. He found, just as he’d suspected, when she was not captivated by the same repeated sub-jects, she was a delightful partner.
Once the last course was eaten and lingered over, the ladies left, and Hayes sat back comfortably in his chair, studying her father. “Your Grace, I understand you are not a stranger to Admiral Hollings’s office, nor the offices of the secretary of war and the Colonies either.”
The duke nodded. “I am engaged in many activities to keep England safe.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Hayes wished the man would elaborate. He felt he could learn much from him in the shortened time they had. But he said no more, and an awkward pause followed.
Admiral Hollings raised his glass. “But more importantly, I hear there are to be phaeton races.”
Everyone turned to Duncan.
“And why would I know so much about them?” Duncan reacted as though offended. After a pause, he grinned. “I do know a bit about them.” He cleared his throat. “For those who might be concerned about the... erm... reckless nature of the sport”—he looked at his father—“the races have been moved to the countryside. We have alerted the neighbors, and we will move forward with the utmost caution where they are concerned.” He turned to Hayes. “I had hoped the races might be a cultural experience for His Highness.”
Duncan’s furtive nod toward his father alerted Hayes that his support might be needed. “I am looking forward to them.” Hayes sat forward. “You, Lord Devon, are said to be the foremost contender.” Though Hayes was not a betting man, he’d noticed in the betting books at White’s that Lord Devon was indeed predicted, by a large margin, to win. “And I, for one, love a good show of competition among countrymen. I should like very much to see it.”
Duncan’s wink rewarded him.
Kristoff called down from the other end of the table. “I wonder if we might enter.”
In a sudden turn to wickedness, Hayes shook his head. “We don’t wish to unseat the predicted winner.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Lord Devon straightened in his seat. “There will be no worry of that, I assure you.”
Marc shook his head. “Kristoff, now is not the time to show off.”
The duke cleared his throat, at last entering the conversation. “I think he should enter. The princes together can fill a phaeton.” He waved his hand in a magnanimous manner, too overly casual to be as uncaring as he seemed. His eyes glinted with the spirit of competition.
Hayes turned to Marc, whose slight nod told him everything he needed to know. “Very well, then. We will step into the competition. When is it to take place?”
“Saturday next. I can offer our stables or an introduction at Tattersalls. I’m certain there will be a phaeton or two available for someone to use,” Duncan said.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Hayes grinned. The prospect gave him something else to focus on and also put him in a situation to closely know more of the men of theton. Before he left England, he hoped to learn more about Everly’s group of traitorous cretins; he hoped to catch them in the act, to reveal their identities and evildoings to theton.
