Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [78]
“Your time in the country has emboldened you. It must be all that pistol wielding you are doing.”
Edwards flushed. “Perhaps so, sir.”
“On a different day I might find it amusing. Today I do not. As to your impertinent question, no, I do not ask permission first. But then I have never seduced a woman I was charged with protecting either. It does matter, you know.”
Edwards nodded. “I see, sir. It is a fine line, of course.”
“Not too fine to miss, I hope.”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Good. Then do not cross it while you are here. Other than that, are you comfortable? Do you require the servants to send you anything?”
“I am very comfortable. I am in a chamber full of blue and yellow flowers. It is much like the garden coming indoors. I found it silly and feminine at first, but I have grown somewhat fond of it.”
Castleford knew that chamber too well. He hated it.
He studied Edwards one more time to see if there were any smugness or hiding merriment that indicated he was indeed enjoying this sojourn more than he ought. When he caught up with Daphne, he did not want any guilt about Miss Johnson interfering with his righteous annoyance with her.
He rose to his feet. “I will leave now. Go to the village every day to see if I send any letters.” He paused after a few strides. “When Mrs. Joyes left here, do you know if she took her pistol?”
“I believe Katherine mentioned that she did, sir.”
Castleford was untying his horse when he realized Edwards had called Miss Johnson by her given name again. He looked at the house. No wonder Edwards had grown fond of that flowered chamber.
He shook his head in exasperation. If Daphne Joyes found out about the bliss being enjoyed in that house, Edwards would be lucky to survive with his manhood intact.
Chapter Seventeen
Castleford was almost in Lancashire before he took more than an hour’s rest. He stopped at a staging inn, handed his mount over to the grooms to rub down and feed, then went to find food for himself.
The inn proved crowded. A glance at the women and children identified them as gentry or better. Servants attended them, and the coaches outside were burdened with boxes and portmanteaus. It appeared a scene from a war, when refugees flee the city before the enemy takes it.
With the threatened demonstration tomorrow, that was probably what it was too. Alarmed, the better people, the ones who thought themselves at risk, were streaming away. He suspected that those who stayed had fortified their properties.
While he ate the watery stew at a private table procured by his title, the inn instantly became more crowded yet. Redcoats streamed in the door, looking for spots to sit and calling for beer. The public room could not hold them all, and the proprietor waved them to another chamber in the back.
The officers entered last. Castleford spoke to the inn’s owner and sent an invitation for the officers to join him.
They did so gladly, perhaps grateful that at least the bad stew would not hurt their purses.
Colonel Markins, a man of suitable military bearing and a serious, stony face, accepted the hospitality with reserved politeness. As the ranking officer, he also felt obligated to make conversation that his younger officers seemed too hungry to engage in just yet.
“Are you aiming south with the others, Your Grace?”
“No, north. And you?”
“I’m not to say, but considering it will be no news to yourself—” He leaned across the table confidentially. “We’ve been sent to Manchester. To keep the peace. Requested by the magistrates up there, we were.”
So it had been done. Albrighton’s information that day in Bedford Square had not been corroborated by anyone else, and Castleford had hoped Liverpool and the other ministers had thought better of involving the army.
“I trust you will not parade the colors in front of the speakers,” he said.
“Remains to be seen what will be required.”
“Are you in command?”
“Of these men here, yes. But I’m to heed