We were out of the city now, on the country road, so he forestalled any more of my halting speech by taking me in his arms and trying to convince me I was worthy of him.

Chapter Seventeen

Gervase stood in the hall, about to take his leave to stay in his parents’ house in Exeter. “Are you sure you won’t come?” he asked Richard.

Richard smiled and glanced at me. “In a few days. I want to make sure young Skerrit is out of any danger.”

He addressed Martha, who stood behind us. “If it’s no trouble? If you’re overwhelmed with preparations, I can always go today.”

“Not at all,” Martha replied, thin lipped. She would never turn anyone from her door, however inconvenient she found it.

I kissed Gervase on the cheek and he smiled, returned the salute, and went out to his waiting chaise.

“The mantua-maker is waiting,” Martha reminded me.

After a rueful look at Richard that made him laugh, I followed her upstairs. My trousseau took up more and more of my time—I had never owned so many garments in my life before. The seamstress came every day, and the mantua-maker was here for a final visit to ensure my wedding gown was exactly as it should be.

When I was back to myself, dressed in a simple gown, ordinary again, my attendants left me and I went downstairs to see if I could find Richard.

He was in the small drawing room, talking to Tom, who looked tired, drawn-faced and white. I didn’t think he’d had much sleep recently.

Richard seemed calm, reasonable, but he wouldn’t relent. “I have apartments in several cities abroad that you are welcome to make use of, but I don’t think it will come to that,” I heard him say when I entered. Looking round to see who it was, he smiled in greeting, but continued to talk to Tom. “You must have some relatives you can pay a diplomatic visit to.”

“I don’t see why I should leave the high ground to them,” Tom said, his mouth set in a mulish line. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Richard glanced with me, his expression serious and concerned. “Tom, you sought this man out, you attacked him in front of witnesses. And if a man is stabbed in this country, the man who stabbed him is automatically convicted of murder, whatever the circumstances. Accidental or not, you are to blame. You’re in grave danger.” I caught my hand to my chest. I had no idea that was the case.

Tom stared at Richard, amazed. “There was no murder.”

“There is strong evidence you’re right, not least because he fell on his own knife, but you may find the procedure of proving that difficult,” Richard pursued. He tried hard to get Tom to see sense, but I didn’t know if it was for Tom’s sake or for mine. Any matter that concerned Tom would also reflect on me. I decided I didn’t care. If he managed to persuade Tom to discretion, then I’d be much happier to leave my old friend while I left with Richard for my bride-trip. Norrice Terry was a magistrate—he could help in this.

“I won’t go,” said Tom mulishly, reverting to the language of childhood, and the sulky expression to match it. I’d have laughed had the situation not been so serious.

To my surprise, Richard shrugged. “I’ve done my best.”

“Can’t you send word to the Cawntons again?” I crossed the room to his side. Tom glanced up, frowning, but he didn’t say anything.

“No, not this time,” Richard told me. “If I interfere again they might think I’m taking it personally, that I want to take a hand in it, and then matters might escalate far more than they need. No, discretion is the better answer.”

“Do you know these men?” Tom walked across the room to face Richard.

He shook his head. “No, of course not, but if you can remember it, I was involved in a small incident myself when I first arrived. They sent word to me they would leave me alone, but it was nothing like as serious as your misadventure.”

Tom accepted his explanation, but didn’t look pleased. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I propose to see this thing out. I bid you good day.” With that formal salutation, he left the room.

I glanced back at Richard and he grimaced, shaking his head in defeat, so I hurried after Tom. “Let me walk with you.” I might persuade him where others could not.

Tom waited while I fetched a cloak and hat, and, his mood restored somewhat, we set out arm in arm for Peacock’s.

Tom breathed the air in deeply. “There’s nothing like Devonshire air.” He showed all the signs of relief that he’d got through a difficult interview.

“Spoken like a true squire,” I teased.

“Well, and isn’t that what I am? And proud of it. No, these scoundrels won’t see me off my own land.”

“Richard only suggested a discreet withdrawal for a small time.” Once he regained his temper, always volatile but usually overcome by his good sense, he would come around, I was sure.

Walking through one of our orchards, I reached up to drag the branch of a nearby tree, and let it thrash up again to disturb its neighbours, a trick I’d been particularly fond of when we were children.

Tom smiled at the memory I brought back for him, but he wasn’t distracted. “If I left, it would seem like a victory for them. My father feels the same way,