“If you do, you’ll likely start something you won’t stop.” Tom’s temper was fearsome, like his father’s, readily roused by injustice. I prayed he would listen to Richard and leave it to the authorities.

We went through the Great Hall on our way back to our horses, and I thought of that dinner when Richard had teased Miss Terry for the first time. A lighter time, it seemed to me now. We bid the Skerrits good day and went out, remounting and riding away.

We rode quickly, for we were late now. Lizzie and I knew the terrain so well we were confident of the speed we had to make, so we exchanged little conversation on the way home. Richard stayed close to me all the way.

Martha and James were sad but not altogether surprised to hear the news. “The village has been on edge today,” Martha told us. “There’s been a lot of activity. We think there’s a big run coming, and it must be fairly soon.”

“Do you think they will try to intimidate you?” Richard asked.

“I don’t think so,” James said. “Our land isn’t as useful to them as Sir George’s, and we seemed to have achieved some sort of truce recently. I’ve sent a note to the Excise at Exeter, but I don’t think anything will come of it.” He sighed resignedly. “The smugglers pay them off, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be in the least surprised,” said Richard dryly. “They’re not particularly well paid, and the smugglers make great profits in the trade, making their silence cheaper to buy. It would probably cost more to use violence against them, and cause more trouble.”

“Exactly,” James agreed heavily.

Lizzie was wide eyed, never having considered the possibility before. “Do you mean that the smugglers pay the authorities?”

“It’s highly likely,” Richard told her. “It’s a sad world, isn’t it?”

I felt guilty that I couldn’t be entirely depressed by this turn of events, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

Chapter Thirteen

Richard remembered his promise to me, about this name that had cropped up: Thompson. He had said he would tell me the following day and accordingly, he asked for the use of the music room for an hour after breakfast. Martha assumed he wished me to play for him again, so she grudgingly gave her permission. I waited for him there.

Richard came in carrying a plain wooden box, about the size of a tea caddy. The maid stood by the door and curtseyed to him. I waved her out and, after casting one doubtful look in his direction, she obeyed and pulled the door closed behind her. I knew she must have received instructions from Martha not to leave us alone together. I must make matters right with my sister-in-law on the maid’s behalf later.

Richard put the box down on the small table by the window, before he came to take me in his arms and kiss me good morning. “One day closer,” I said, when I could.

“So it is.” He seemed so sanguine about it. I still had doubts, not about my feelings for him, but his for me. I still wondered why he should have fallen in love with me, but I could say nothing. It would have been tantamount to asking him for compliments. Perhaps it was that I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

He led me to a chair by the little table, helped me sit and then took a chair and sat down opposite me. He leaned one elbow on the table and gazed at me. I smiled back at him. “Thompson’s,” he said, with a smile.

“Yes, please. I’ve imagined all kinds of things. Are you a gang leader perhaps?”

He laughed, genuine amusement showing through his naturally serene expression. “With a highwayman’s mask and a musket?”

I smiled too, as I had a ridiculous vision of him in all his court finery with a filthy scarf wrapped around his mouth, holding up a carriage on the road to Exeter.

“No, my love,” he said eventually, “nothing so exciting, I fear. But let me tell it in my own way, and you’ll know it all. There is one thing—”

“Yes?” I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

He caught his breath in an audible gasp. “Sometimes… You look so trusting there, sitting with the sun lighting your hair, and that look in your eyes…” He leaned forward, caught my hand in his, and gazed at me until I became embarrassed by what I saw in his face and looked down, blushing.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” he asked, amused.

“I recognised something in your eyes, and when I’ve seen it before.”

He kissed my hand and released it. “Two weeks,” he reminded me softly, and then took a deep breath and reminded us both, “Thompson’s.”

“Thompson’s.”

He took another breath and smiled at me. “When I was eighteen, Gervase left to go abroad, and the Strang family was in turmoil. Preparations were already under way for Gervase and I to go on the Grand Tour when the scandal broke and he left. My father insisted I go on my own. When I lost Gervase, it was like a betrayal, that Gervase had done this without telling me anything. I felt I could trust no one.” Gervase had eloped with a married man. It had taken a great deal of money from his parents and courage from Richard to live the scandal down. To do Gervase justice, I know he wanted to remain in the country and face the critics himself,