Page 14 of The Trials of Alaric
Uh oh.Alaric supposed it was inevitable that news had reached London. It was too much to hope the toffee-nosed prawn hadn’t also heard of the former scandal. The one from before Brazil.
Did Beverley just remember the gossip this morning? Possibly. But certainly, he had waited for the largest possible audience.
“Funny. He left London in disgrace after a fight with his brother at his brother’s wedding. You are that Alaric Redhaven, or you not?” He raised his voice to be heard around the table.
“I am,” Alaric replied. He met Lady Beatrice’s eyes with a rueful smile. “One does wonder at my father, does one not? Thinking I was cut out to be a diplomat?”
“You must have had a reason for fighting your brother,” Lady Beatrice said. It was not quite a question, but one was implied.
Alaric said, his voice quiet and his answer for her alone. “It was more that he fought me, but yes, there was a reason. I am afraid I cannot share it, however. It is not my story alone, you see.” Tarquin had punched Alaric in the nose. For an insult to Tarquin’s wife, he had said. Alaric assumed Eloise had denied she had been the one to jilt Alaric. And the fight at the wedding was nothing to the explosion the following morning, when Tarquin involved their father. Truly, Alaric could not altogether blame his twin. Falling in love did terrible things to a man’s judgement. Another reason for him to eschew the emotion altogether.
“I daresay,” sneered Beverley, who had leaned closer to hear Alaric’s reply. “How convenient that honor prevents you from telling us the reason for such dishonorable behavior.” The rest of the company had hushed to hear the scurrilous hound. “Isuppose the same excuse applies to your ejection from Brazil. It was over a woman, I heard.”
My, my.How stories grow in the telling. Though technically, the rumor was correct. “There was a woman,” Alaric conceded. “But not in the way you imply.” He made an instant decision to be open about the whole debacle. Undoubtedly, rumor had painted his actions every shade of black, whereas the truth was farcical rather than villainous.
He addressed his next remark to Lady Beatrice, though in a loud enough voice for everyone to hear. “There was a slave. Though she was heavily pregnant, she was serving drinks after dinner at the home of one of the aristocrats of the Portuguese court in exile. I was present, as were other members of my embassy. She slipped in a pool of wine and fell, splashing the wine she was carrying on a young Portuguese gentleman. He kicked her where she lay. In the stomach. When he went to do it again, I punched him.”
“Good for you,” said Lady Beatrice. “And the ambassador sent you home for that?”
Alaric shook his head. “Sir Edward, the British envoy, sent me away from the party for that. He said I should have left it to the Portuguese to deal with the matter. In his opinion, her status as a slave made my reaction unworthy of an international incident.”
“A fine tale,” Beverley said, in a voice that implied he believed none of it. “And I suppose you will tell us you were not thrown out of Brazil at all? Or perhaps you went down to the marketplace and freed all the slaves waiting for auction?”
“Nothing so grand,” Alaric conceded, grinning at Beverley as if the man had made an amusing joke. Bullies found such a response very confusing, he had found. He glanced around the table. Everyone was waiting for him to speak. “Iwasthrown out of the diplomatic mission and sent home from Brazil,” headmitted. “Sir Edward said my inability to smile at a villain or a knave for England meant I was not cut out to be a diplomat, and I believe he was absolutely right. To be fair to Sir Edward, the final straw was by no means the first time I had shown my incompetence in diplomacy.”
“What was this final straw?” The question came from Lady Joan Collister, Lord Claddach’s sister.
“It was at another reception, my lady,” Alaric explained, speaking over Beverley’s claim that no one was interested. A clear bouncer since the room was silent while Alaric spoke and indeed Lady Joan was leaning forward with an intensely rapt expression on her face. As were the rest, he noticed.
“A few days after the incident with the slave, at a different reception. Dom Duarte, the slave kicker, made aspersions. I ignored him, as I had been instructed to do. He then pretended to trip, so that his wine splashed all over me.”
He met Lady Beatrice’s eyes and chuckled, hoping she would see how funny it was. “I probably should not have picked up a nearby bucket of icy water—we had drunk the wine that was in it. And, I definitely should have checked that nobody else was within range when I threw it.”
He spread his hands and shrugged. “Duarte ducked. The Bishop of Rio de Janeiro did not. The bishop was not pleased, and neither was the king. And so, Sir Edward sent me home and told me to find another profession.”
There was, of course, a great deal more to the story. But some of it needed to be kept secret and none was for public consumption. Perhaps, too, Alaric had done the wrong thing. Or several wrong things. Sir Edward had certainly thought so. But, he reminded himself, Alaric was not one to accept cruelty to anyone, and especially not to someone of lower status by someone of a higher status—in society’s eyes. He found such a tendency appalling and was content in the knowledge that hewas the better man—at least in character—than the man he’d punched or even, the bishop. If that meant he’d failed at his task, so be it. Hang anyone who cherished status over sympathy. He had no use for them.
“A member of a diplomatic mission cannot go around disobeying the laws of his host country, Redhaven,” Sir Edward had said, “however appalling those laws might be. Sometimes, it is our duty to tolerate, or at least ignore, an injustice for the sake of king and country. You are an honest man, my boy, and that is to your credit. It makes you a bad diplomat. A pity, for your habit of making friends wherever you go would be useful, if you could just learn not to make just as many enemies.”
Alaric did not set out to make friends any more than he tried to make enemies. “I just try to be honest, sir,” he had told Sir Edward.
The envoy had nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. Just remember, though, that honesty, when carried to extremes, is a kind of arrogance.” Alaric had thought a lot about those words during the long journey back to England and had still not come to any conclusion. Sir Edward had a point, but was Alaric’s honesty of that type? He didn’t think so, and he didn’t want to be in a profession where he would feel disgust at himself.
For now, Beverley’s plan to ambush Alaric had backfired. That was obvious from the approving looks Alaric was receiving. It was obvious to Beverley, too, for he was scowling. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, his uncle said to him, “You came in with your mother, I believe, Beverley. It is the custom on Claddach to sit with the lady you escort into the dining room. That was still the practice in London last time I was there, I believe?”
I should watch my back, Alaric thought, as Beverley made his grudging way around the table but not before he shot Alaric a look that boded nothing good. Predictably. But then, Beverleyhad been disposed against Alaric from the first, so nothing had changed.
Miss Radcliffe asked a question about Brazil, and for the remainder of the meal, Alaric’s part of the table engaged in a lively discussion, starting with the places he had been and the things he had noticed, and moving from there to the travels of others.
When the meal was over, Alaric asked Lady Beatrice if she would excuse him, as he planned to walk in the garden before the archery, though in truth, he was on a hunt for sundials. Lady Beatrice declared herself ready for such a walk, and what could Alaric do, other than express his delight in her company?
By the time they were strolling out through the garden door, he had decided to show her the clue and tell her what he was looking for. He was sure she could be trusted, and if she couldn’t? Then she was not the wife for him.
“I would like to see as many sundials as I can before two o’clock, my lady,” he said.
She looked puzzled, but she pointed to a diagonal path that led from the little courtyard outside the door. “This way, then.”
Alaric obediently set off down the path with Lady Beatrice on his arm. He said, “I have my treasure hunt clue, and I have an idea of what it might mean.” He took the clue from his pocket and handed it to Lady Beatrice.
