Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (17 page)

"Sophia!"

The major's bellow once again held the clear note of command, but she ignored it, as usual. She merely continued plodding on toward his curricle. He would join her as soon as he finished dealing with the birds. It was unnecessary, of course. Eventually, the stupid roosters would either be killed or be too exhausted to fight. Then the handlers could pick up their remains. They should all do as the boy had done and simply hide until the mess was finished.

Sadly, there was no reasoning with men.

Chapter 8

Mayhem. Complete and total mayhem.

Anthony shook his head as he held open a cage for a newly captured rooster. All about his feet lay the strewn wreckage of the fight. Feathers floated in the air, carcasses lay abandoned, and angry squawking abused his ears. Though most of the roosters had been captured, a few still fluttered about, looking for something to attack, while safely off to one side, the cock owners loudly bellowed for restitution. Surrounding it all stood the spectators, all laughing so violently they could hardly stand.

Taking in the amused crowd, he felt his lips twitch. The situation certainly sparked one's sense of the ridiculous. But some of the boys sported real wounds, and worst of all, he was haunted by the image of Sophia standing vulnerable and alone in the middle of the battle.

A shudder ran through his body, but he suppressed it. Sophia was safe now, sitting regally in his curricle. His task now was to remedy the situation. Unfortunately, some things remained impossible even for a major of the Hussars.

Looking about, he mentally counted heads in the crowd. Over a hundred at least, with more arriving every second. Without a doubt, this chicken battle would soon entertain listeners throughout England. No one could keep this event quiet.

A surge of real fear clutched at his throat. What would this do to Sophia's reputation? Would she be destroyed? She might not care about that, but he did. And he couldn't help but recognize that she'd put his diplomatic post in jeopardy. He needed a woman of spotless repute, and Sophia no longer fit the bill. But the thought of throwing her over barely entered his mind. He would not give her up. If he lost his appointment, so be it.

Grimly, he focused his mind on the present situation. He could not save her reputation. The damage was already done. But perhaps he could use the situation to force Sophia's acceptance of his suit. Then, assuming he still had his appointment, he could take her to India where all this nonsense would be forgotten.

But how?

He turned, scanning the crowd for the man nominally in charge: the local magistrate. He wasn't hard to find. Baron Riggs stood in the center of a screaming group of cock owners. All were loudly calling for a hearing, and the baron was offering to officiate at the local alehouse. If Anthony didn't intervene soon, Sophia would soon be hauled into a common taproom, spend the afternoon being jeered at, then wind up in gaol.

Anthony set off, jingling his purse as he went, praying the baron was a bribable man. If not, Anthony's plan would create an even bigger problem.

"Baton Riggs!" he called, pitching his voice to carry over the crowd. "I wonder if I might have a word with you?"

The portly man turned, a glower on his ruddy face. "Who are you?"

"Major Anthony Wyclyff of the Eighth Hussars, sir. Could we speak?"

The baron's expression softened slightly, though not nearly enough for Anthony's purposes. "Are you responsible for this disaster?" he demanded.

"Yes, sir, I am." He meant to say more, but his words were cut off by shouts from the crowd.

"No, 'e weren't!"

"It were that girl. That lady!"

"She's over there! Sitting like to tea!"

Anthony raised his hand, doing his best to quiet the crowd. Eventually, the cries settled enough for him to make his plea. "I wish to discuss restitution," he shouted. The pronouncement had its desired effect. The various owners surged forward, only to be forestalled by the baron, a greedy light in his dark eyes.

"Make way, gentlemen. Make way. This man is a Hussar. He could cut you down with one glance. Make way."

Reluctantly, the aggrieved men fell away, allowing the baron to step forward. Anthony met him halfway, and though there was precious little space for privacy, together they managed to create a tiny circle for discussion while the crowd watched with impatience.

"Now, then," boomed the baron, but Anthony cut him off.

"Sir, I am afraid I am guilty of lying to you just now. I was indeed not the one who released the roosters from their cages."

The baron pulled back, ready to begin a loud protest. Clearly the man enjoyed an audience, but Anthony did not allow him to speak. Instead, he pressed a coin into the man's hand.

"Indeed, sir, this debacle was created by a tenderhearted young lady of the ton. Lady Sophia Rathburn, daughter of the late earl of Tallis." He had no compunction disclosing Sophia's name. No less than a dozen people had seen her release the birds. Her name would come up eventually. A moment later, the Baron confirmed Anthony's reasoning.

"Yes, yes. I thought I recognized the accused."

"Then I am sure you understand the need for discretion." He pressed another coin into the man's hand.

"You cannot think I would simply excuse this happenstance," protested the magistrate as he pocketed both coins. "A crime has been committed! The peace disrupted!" His voice was again rising to overly loud proportions.

"Of course, of course," agreed Anthony. "But you cannot simply bring a gently reared lady up on charges. And certainly not in a common taproom." Another coin disappeared into the baron's meaty fist. "Perhaps there is someplace more appropriate? Someplace more befitting her station?"

The baton frowned, confusion clear in his pinched expression. "I suppose my drawing room is rather large..."

"Excellent!" beamed Anthony as he slipped a few more coins into the baron's pocket. "But must you truly bring her up on charges?"

The magistrate glanced meaningfully at the crowd around them, the first sign of true reluctance on his face. "I cannot see how to avoid it," he answered in an undertone.

"Nor I," agreed Anthony truthfully.

"However," the baron continued, his hand meaningfully open, "We both know she won't spend time in gaol."

Anthony kept his hold on his purse tight. "On the contrary, I would like her to."

"What?" gasped the man, his thick jowls quivering in outrage. "I cannot gaol the daughter of an earl!"

Anthony took a deep breath. Indeed, what he was about to do went against the grain in so many ways. But he had little choice. The sooner Sophia wed him, the better for everyone involved—most especially her. Indeed, this was the only way to save her reputation.

"Well," Anthony said slowly as he eyed the magistrate. "Do not gaol her, exactly. But perhaps you could detain her for the night. At your manor?"

The man gaped at him, his eyes bulging in shock. "But why, man?"

"Because I have taken responsibility for this event. I, of course, would have to be detained with her."

It took less than a moment for the man to grasp what Anthony wanted. "But you would ruin her!"

Anthony grinned. "Not if she married me in the morning." He dropped his entire purse into the magistrate's hand. "Certainly you understand that some courtships require more drastic methods than others."

The baron stared down at his palm, and for a moment, Anthony despaired that he had overplayed his hand. Glossing over a few dead chickens was one thing. Anthony was asking the man to help him ruin the daughter of an earl.

The magistrate looked up, his expression subdued. "I suppose you wish it to be as public as possible then."

Doubt once again surged through Anthony. Could he subject Sophia to such humiliation? One glance at the angry crowd dissolved his guilt. Sophia would suffer no matter what he did. The matter was already public, her name already bandied about. Neither he nor the baron could change that.

"Public trial or not," he finally said, "the damage is already done."

The older man did not seem to hear, his thoughts centered on the hearing's outcome. "I cannot sentence her to a bedroom," he said. "That would seem too much like a garden party." Then he smiled, and Anthony's purse disappeared into his now-heavy pocket. "But I have a priest's hole in the wine cellar
      
"

Anthony nodded. "Then I shall leave it in your most capable hands."

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" the major demanded. "Sophia, do you know what could have happened? Lord, do you even know what will happen now?"

Sophia did not answer. Indeed, her entire body seemed encased in ice, so much so that she could barely think, much less respond. Besides, she was too weary with the whole situation to argue. Unfortunately, their difficulties had only just begun.

They were currently lumped into the back of a wagon being unceremoniously escorted to the residence of the local justice of the peace, otherwise known as Baron Riggs, who had been present at the fight. Sitting across from her in the conveyance was the local constable, a dour old man with a face wrinkled into a perpetual frown. Behind them followed everyone who attended the cockfight. Rich and poor alike, all trooping to the baron's residence for her trial.

Not a one of them, from the baron down to the poor boy she had rescued, cared that she had been acting on humanitarian instincts. To a man, they were annoyed that she had ruined their sport. Everyone, that is, except Percy. Strangely enough, Lydia's fiance had come to the country for sport—and had won a bundle betting on Sophia emerging alive and unscathed from the fight.

"I knew you could do it, Sophia," he prattled as he walked beside the wagon. "Not a one of them knew you had so much bottom! Can't say as I did, either, except that I couldn't bet against you. Not with yourself and Lydia being so close."

"Glad I could be of service," she responded dryly.

"Sophia!" snapped the major, and her attention returned to him. Naturally, Percy took that opportunity to drift away, abandoning her to the major's tirade. "They are taking you to trial. This will be gossip fodder for the entire country by nightfall."

She shrugged, feeling her mind and body slow, turning sluggish. She recognized the feeling—the chill that distanced her from everyone around her. Indeed, it was this very demeanor that had earned her the appellation "the Ice Queen."

Odd how she had not felt so cold since the major's return to her life.

"Sophia?"

She blinked, startled by his worried question. "I beg your pardon?"

"You
are
hurt! Where? Is it your head?"

"Apart from one peck, none of the birds paid the least attention to me. I am completely whole." Which was more than she could say for the major. His shin was in tatters, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth flesh beneath. He had cuts along both his arms and a rather ugly gash along his cheek. For a moment, concern overrode her annoyance. "How is your leg? Does it pain you? I could..." She was imagining rubbing it as she had in the hospital, but her voice trailed away at his glare. Apparently the major did not want her touching him, and Sophia relapsed into a stoic silence.

Thankfully, the entourage soon reached the baron's house. The baron dismounted first, puffing up his chest with importance as he preceded everyone into his hallway. Cockfights were apparently quite a passion for the man, and he had acted quite indignant while supervising her arrest.

The constable climbed down next, all the while keeping a gimlet eye upon both herself and the major. Other men gathered around them, literally surrounding the wagon in case she or Anthony chose to make a run for it. Which was a ridiculous notion. With all the bodies squeezing forward to gawk at her, Sophia barely had room to breathe, much less attempt an escape.

She merely stood and allowed the constable to assist her to the ground. The major followed directly after, stepping to a spot behind her right shoulder, as if trying to shield her in some way. As they began to move toward the baron's entryway, she felt him wrap his arm around her, pulling her into his protective embrace. Any other time, she would have resisted his solid support. As it was, she had no energy to fight, her mind and body too frozen to do more than shrink into his side.