Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2) (18 page)

Moving inside, she felt him stumble slightly, his limp obvious now that she was pressed so intimately against him. She reached out, guilt creeping past her defenses. After all, she was the one who had begun this whole escapade. The major should not suffer for her actions.

"You need not protect me, Major," she offered softly. "You are much more injured than I, especially with your hurt leg."

"If ever a woman was in need of a keeper, Sophia, it is you. Good God, when I think of what could have happened!" His voice was haggard, his anger palpable, and when she looked up into his eyes, she could see fear lingering there. Fear, apparently, for her safety.

"Perhaps now you understand why I worry about your leg," she said. She had spoken softly, but she felt the impact of her words for his entire body stiffened. Meeting his startled gaze, she knew without a doubt that he understood her meaning. Some fears lingered despite all reason. She would always worry about his health, just as he would always feel horror when he recalled this afternoon's work.

The thought was oddly warming, as though it bound them together in some way. But she had no time to contemplate it as events once again overtook them. They moved into the baron's main reception room. Gentlemen crowded about them, pushing into the front hallway. The constable drew both her and the major to the center of the room, then glared fiercely at them before stepping back. A small circle of space opened up around them, and Sophia took her first deep breath in twenty minutes. Beside her, the major straightened, but he did not release her.

The baron took great time opening the chamber's windows to their fullest extent. All too soon, each opening became a disconcerting wall of eager faces as people who could not find space in the main room moved around to peer in through the window enclosures. At last, he raised his hand and waited in pompous glory for the citizens of Staffordshire to become silent. It took a long time.

When a modicum of peace reigned, the baron turned to Sophia, addressing her with his booming voice.

"Lady Sophia," he began. "You have caused quite a scene and hundreds of pounds' worth of damage this afternoon. What have you to say for yourself?"

"Merely that cockfighting is an uncivilized and repulsive sport where the ridiculousness of the event is matched only by the stupidity of the birds and their audi—"

"Sophia!" That was the major, releasing her as he pushed forward. "Perhaps you had best let me speak."

"Yes," agreed the baron in stern tones. "Major Wyclyff, are you responsible for this sharp-tongued woman?"

"Certainly not!" Sophia exclaimed. But when she made to move forward, the major cut in front of her, neatly blocking her out of any discussion. She opened her mouth to object, but the major began speaking, his forlorn look aimed at the baron.

"You have hit upon the very problem, sir. The young lady refuses to wed me. If we were married, I might have a bit more say in her choice of entertainment. As it is," he said with a sad shrug, "there is little I can do but follow along and mitigate the disaster."

Sophia was shocked. How could he bare their dispute to the world like this? How humiliating! The crowd roared with laughter, alternately cheering the major and jeering her. And rather than silencing the audience, the baron encouraged them. Obviously relishing the attention, he first smiled at the onlookers, then shook his bald head sadly at the major. "A quandary indeed," he said ponderously.

A quandary? Sophia thought in shock. This... this spectacle was a quandary? She felt her hysteria grow as she looked about. How had she come from a London drawing room to this, being the center of a display that would likely be talked about for generations to come?

Her only hope was that the major would somehow end this situation. She had meant to rely on herself but was frankly at a loss. She turned to him, hoping for a miracle, only to feel her spirits sink.

The major's expression was blank, totally devoid of feeling or expression. It was the exact look she herself had worn when she could stomach no more, when she had despised London so much she'd turned and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

The major looked like that right now. And she could not blame him. Actually, this was exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to prove herself so vulgar that he would immediately get himself off to London to find some young debutante far removed from cockfights and the threat of gaol. Didn't she?

Sophia bit her lip. It was done now. All she could do was pray that this business finished quickly, while she did her best to maintain as much dignity as possible.

The room settled as the baron raised his hand for silence. He appeared about to make some official statement, and Sophia could only breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would be over soon. With luck, next would come judgment, and without nearly the vulgarity she might have expected from a public trial.

"Ahem," began the baron.

But at that moment a burly man suddenly pushed forward, dragging a dead bird into the room. "An' wot about me cock? He cost me three p a day just to feed, an' now he be deader than me Uncle Joe." The rooster landed with a dull splat at the major's feet. In fact, the major had to dance backward a step just to avoid it.

"Yer Uncle Joe woulda fought better!" called someone from the crowd.

The burly man stiffened and began shouting back at the other, his bellows containing words Sophia had never heard before. Rather than puzzle them out, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Please, gentlemen! I will pay whatever restitution is necessary," Sophia called, trying to establish some sort of order. How she would find the money for it, she did not know, but she would manage. Incredibly, the men completely ignored her, more intent on arguing than fixing anything.

Unfortunately, her pronouncement was heeded by everyone else in the room. The excitement was deafening as owner after owner shoved their way forward.

"Me bird was a champion!" cried a woman in a shrill voice as she tossed another dead cock onto the floor.

"An' mine—"

"An' mine—"

Sophia flinched as the bodies of the roosters were piled one by one at the major's feet. He looked like he was dancing a jig as he tried to avoid being spattered by bird after dead bird.

It was at that moment that Sophia began counting the number of dead fowl littering the floor. Goodness, there was no way she could have released so many animals in those few short moments. It took less than a minute for her to realize that some of those birds had been recently killed. Why, one was even a hen!

They were killing new birds just to claim recompense!

"This is outrageous!" she cried, but she was silenced by both a roar from the audience and a wave of the baron's meaty hand.

"Those who wish restitution shall present themselves forthwith," cried the baron.

"Wot?"

"What he say?"

"Line up and present your claims!" bellowed the baron.

It was as if the Red Sea had parted only to be forcibly pressed into a ragged line aimed at the baron. The entire town scrambled for a position in the raucous assembly. Three fistfights broke out over line disputes, while bird after bird continued to pile at her feet. It looked as if it would take the whole of the dowry she no longer had just to pay for all the claims.

"Just so as we all maintain our dignity," whispered Sophia sardonically to herself, her face burning with mortification.

The baron, at least, appeared equally appalled by the stampede of people. He quickly raised his hand, then waved it at the constable. "Er, present your claims to Virgil." Again the line shifted in a mad scramble toward the dour constable, but this time, they had to stumble through those who had begun to brawl.

Sophia closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight.

"Lady Sophia!" She opened her eyes at the baron's angry tone. "I shall hold you directly responsible for any damage to my house."

"You cannot be serious!"

"I am. As for you, Major Wyclyff, am I to understand that you do not approve of ladies attending cockfights?"

"Approve? Absolutely not." Anthony's response was so crisp that Sophia half expected him to salute. Except this time when she looked closely at his face, she saw the distinct twinkle of amusement. Gone was his blank facade, replaced by a reluctant humor.

He actually found this situation comical?

"If you were to wed the lady," continued the baton in his booming voice, "would you prevent such an event from happening again?"

"Absolutely!" he said, then the major turned and grinned at Sophia. "And most definitely."

Sophia felt her jaw go slack, finally undemanding the baron's direction of thought. Was he thinking of forcing them to marry as part of her punishment? Was she to be married as a public service? "I protest!" she cried. "I will marry no man, and certainly not one who thinks he shall have the least success in preventing me from going wherever I see fit."

At this pronouncement, the crowd exploded into a frenzy of catcalls and jeers. She was nearly bowled over from its sheer volume.

The baron merely shook his head, as if she were a lunatic. "She is quite shrewish," he said to the major. "Do you truly wish to have her?"

Anthony turned, leisurely inspecting her from the top of her tangled hair to the bottom of her mud-stained hem, much to the delight of the crowd. Sophia stiffened in outrage, but there was little she could do while the major was providing such wonderful entertainment for the locals.

"This is horrible of you," she hissed at him.

He merely grinned, then spoke to the baron and the eager crowd. "It is quite a quandary," he said, his eyes twinkling with deviltry. "Perhaps we should be thrown in gaol for the night. That might teach her a lesson. Let me see if I still wish her afterwards."

Immediately the room echoed with cheers, liberally peppered with crass remarks. But it was the major's bawdy wink that was the final straw for Sophia. She stepped forward, outrage making her hands clench in front of her. "Do not be ridiculous! What of my reputation? I shall be completely ruined." What was he thinking, sending her to a common prison? Ladies were not treated this way! And why was the baron looking pleased by the suggestion?

Anthony lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I thought you cared nothing for your reputation, my dear. That is, after all, why we attended the fight in the first place."

"But... but I shall be spending the night—"

"In gaol, my dear," boomed the baron. "Lady Sophia, I hereby find you guilty of... of disrupting the peace and a very fine afternoon of sport."

"Sport!" she exclaimed. "Where is the sport in watching dumb animals murder each other?"

The baron continued as if she had not spoken. "As for you, Major Wyclyff, you shall accompany her. Appear before me in the morning to tell me of your decision."

"But you cannot do this," sputtered Sophia.

Unfortunately, no one paid her the slightest heed and, from the unholy glee on Anthony's face, she knew she would get no help from him.

"Come along, my dear," boomed the baron as he came up beside her. "It is this way."

"But—"

"Silence, or I shall make it two nights."

Sophia had no choice but to quiet. The baron placed a hand on her arm and neatly helped her step over the dead birds still on the floor. The major was left to follow at his leisure. The crowd shifted before them, and their ribald comments made her face burn. Soon, Sophia found herself in front of a heavy wood door, which the constable took great ceremony to pull open.

"Here?" she asked.

"Of course!" responded the baron congenially. "This is our gaol!" Then he leaned forward, dropping his voice to an undertone. "It is the only lockable room in the house."

"But... but it is a wine cellar!"

"Naturally. I am quite sure you will be comfortable there," he said with a broad wink. Then he turned to the major. "There is a priest's hole just off the main chamber down there, and I trust I shall not have to lock the both of you in so that you don't drink all of my wine?"

If possible, Anthony's grin grew even wider. "Absolutely. Of course," he added with a wink to the crowd, "cockfighting is very thirsty work. I am sure the lady will wish a drop or two. She has been known to imbibe on other occasions."

Sophia gasped at his crude reference to her earlier attempt to disgust him with inebriation. "How dare you!" she cried. "You know quite well—"

"Yes, yes, my dear," he interrupted. "I am sure you need not elaborate."

"Of all the vulgar..." It was at that precise moment that Sophia spotted her rescue. There, trapped between the butcher and the baron's poor confused-looking wife, stood Percy, clearly torn between amusement and horror. If the major would do nothing to help her, then surely she could convince her friend's betrothed to assist her.

Pushing away from the baron, she stepped toward him. "Percy!" she cried. "Help me! Do something!"

The boy started, obviously surprised to suddenly become the focus of the crowd's attention. To add to his shock, he was roughly pushed forward by the butcher, then jostled about until he stood directly in front of the baron.