Page 15 of A Sporting Affair (The Corinthians #1)

Rain delayed Rupert Headley’s arrival by a day and a half. Saturday afternoon, the carriage pulled in front of the dower house to receive a warm welcome from the Fitz-Stephens family, all gathered at the front door.

Rafe had the honor of opening the carriage door. Headley stepped out first, and then handed down his sister, who, thankfully, had left her dog at home, as had Headley. Two manservants began unloading enough luggage for a month’s stay, at least.

Nodding to the trunks, which were more than Rafe’s entire family had needed for the move to the dower house, Rafe quirked a brow.

Headley leaned in to say, “They’re all Diana’s.”

“Ah. Thought as much.” He watched as Diana simpered from the attention of his family. “I hope you didn’t think the welcoming committee was for you.”

“I knew better.”

The two gentlemen stood aside as the Fitz-Stephenses clamored over Diana, who they had not seen in several years, not since her debut ball. Now, she was a grown woman, her majority fast approaching. That fact had Rafe almost laughing aloud—in his eyes, she had always been, still was, and always would be Headley’s baby sister. Try as he might to see her as a grown woman, to see her as his family now saw her… no, indeed. All he saw was the petulant girl, still in the schoolroom, sweet one minute and tattle-telling the next if not allowed to join her brother and his friend in their fun.

Mother, at last, noticed Headley standing by the carriage. “Rupert, darling, come and kiss me. I can’t apologize enough about the room. You’ll be disappointed not to have your usual suite. We’ve put you in Giles’s room, not that Giles knows he has a room since he’s not here to use it. It must do for now.”

Diana was non-stop excitement as everyone headed inside. “I’ve heard there’s archery. I simply must compete. They won’t mind if I don’t live here, will they? Think we can fool them? Pretend I’m a cousin who has been living here all along, only am so terribly shy I’ve never left the house? Which room will be my room? It’s a pity we can’t stay at the Priory, but I do understand. Don’t think I don’t understand. I understand perfectly.” She rambled on, including her despair about leaving her puppy behind at her brother’s insistence.

The family was enamored, as they always had been. They hung on her every word as they guided her through the entrance hall and into the drawing room.

Headley and Rafe lingered in the entrance hall. “A welcome reprieve,” said Headley. “Only Diana can turn an hour carriage drive into five hours, or so it felt to me.”

“You’re in good company now. My mother will keep her occupied. Mark my words.”

They stepped into the drawing room to join the others at the same moment Rafe’s father said to Diana, “You’re about her same age, if I’m not mistaken. I think the two of you will get along famously. We’ll have to arrange a call.”

“When will we find the time?” Mother asked through gritted teeth.

Taking a seat, Headley accepted the teacup from Gran, then turned to Diana. “With whom will you be getting along famously?”

Diana pinched her brother’s arm. “Rafe’s betrothed, of course.”

Headley choked on his tea.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Diana rebuked. “Naughty of you! I can’t wait to meet her. We’ll be the best of friends.”

Setting his teacup and saucer aside, Headley exchanged glances with Rafe, who could do little more than shrug sheepishly. “Di,” Headley enquired, “is she, by chance, the eldest of the Slade sisters?”

“You’re a tease, Rupert! He would never marry a younger sister, would he?” Diana dissolved into laughter, which proved contagious, for however sore of a subject the betrothal was with the family, everyone joined her in laughing, even Otis and Noel.

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Headley’s questioning brow.

If he thought he would have a chance to explain, offer a reasonable excuse why he had not said something sooner, Rafe was mistaken. After they polished the tea, everyone dispersed to allow Diana and Headley a chance to see their rooms and settle in for the week’s stay. Rafe attempted to divert Headley towards the alcove below the stairs.

Rather than be led, Headley paused long enough to say in a low voice, “Love at first sight, old boy? I suspected as much when you tried to put me off the scent. And before you deny it or muster some unlikely excuse, know I’m onto you—only the deepest infatuation would induce you to matrimony.”

All Rafe was allowed was a second sheepish shrug before Headley was off to explore his accommodations.

Rafe was acutely aware of Headley’s side-long glances to Miss Genevieve Slade during church service on Sunday. Introductions had been made before entering the church, but they had been brief and formal, except where Diana was concerned, who slipped her hand in the crook of Genevieve’s elbow and declared they were instant friends.

Fortunately, Rafe’s family was too well mannered to have said ought between Headley’s arrival and now about the betrothal being anything except the normal outcome between two friendly families with similarly aged children. Keeping a secret from Headley was not his intention, but nothing good came from bandying talk of compromises and forced betrothals. If Headley wished to think it true love, so be it. Rafe would worry later about what to do when the betrothal ended, specifically since it would end with Mr. Thorpe stealing the bride.

After church, they lingered briefly in the churchyard. Rafe stood beside Genevieve, playing the besotted betrothed, although her attention was on whatever Diana was saying.

Mr. Slade asked, looking between Rafe and his father, “Tea? Dinner? Supper? With what can I tempt you? We’re hoping to become better acquainted with your guests.”

With a quick glance to his mother and grandmother, Rafe said, “I believe my family is otherwise engaged, Mr. Slade, but I would be honored to call this afternoon with Mr. Headley and Miss Headley. We’re for The Dragon’s Breath at present.”

“Splendid! We’ll look forward to this afternoon, then.” Mr. Slade turned to gather his wife and daughters.

The looks of relief on the faces of Rafe’s family were comical. All except his father, that was, who looked disappointed not to be included. Rafe would make it up to him later with more cases to study.

A short time later, Rafe and Headley sat in the tap room.

“I admire your fortitude,” Headley said. “No fawning, no drooling, not a single simper. I had expected you to ply her fan in lovesick obedience.”

“So besotted you thought I would lose my head? Never! She may have stolen my heart but not my sense.” Rafe affected a self-conscious laugh, thinking he would not have been half bad in the theatre.

“She was composed, as well. Only stole a few glances. The essence of propriety. I admit, I’m disappointed. I was certain I would catch the two of you behind the church, stealing kisses rather than glances.”

“And give you ammunition for jests? I’m cleverer than you take me.” Rafe joked but could not soon lose the thought of kissing her behind the church, or anywhere, really. In the forest by the tower seemed appropriate. Or in the monastic corridor. Or…

A hand waved before his face. Rafe blinked.

“Besotted indeed.” Headley laughed. “I retract my compliment about your fortitude. One mention of her, and you’re already woolgathering. Would you like my handkerchief to wipe the drool?”

Rafe har-hared before drowning the thoughts of kissing Genevieve with a gulp or five of his beverage. As he set the glass on the table, his lips parted to discuss the first event of the competition tomorrow morning, a disagreement between a patron and the publican caught his attention.

The publican, Mr. Snawdune, had crossed his arms and was looking down his nose at the patron, who stood just out of Rafe’s view. “‘Tis Sunday, innit. No traveling on Sunday. Not ‘round here. Besides, the frolic is tomorrow, innit. No rooms available. Full up from here to Hartminster.”

“I can only apologize,” said the man. “My travel hasn’t been smooth. I had hoped to rely on the mail, but everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. I’ve arrived far later than planned, and I haven’t a place to stay. I beg of you—”

Mr. Snawdune snorted. “You’re going ter beg me? That’s rich. As I said, full up from here to Hartminster, Mr. Thorpe. ‘Tis a fine walk from here to there so best start troddin’.”

Mr. Thorpe ?

Rafe rose from his chair, holding a staying hand before Headley could question Rafe’s motives.

The Mr. Thorpe?

Curiosity beat a tattoo in his chest. He could hardly believe his luck to be in The Dragon’s Breath at the moment the Mr. Thorpe arrived. It could be none other than him .

As he approached, his smile broadened.

In one fell swoop, Rafe clapped a hand on Mr. Thorpe’s shoulder and said to the back of the man’s head, all while Mr. Snawdune observed with furrowed brows, “ Alan Thorpe? Is that you? I almost didn’t recognize you after all these years.”

Mr. Thorpe turned around to face Rafe with a look of sheer bafflement.

Rafe took the man’s measure in a single glance. Soft was the first word that came to mind. Not necessarily a milksop, at least not that he could ascertain from his quick perusal, but certainly soft . A gentle face that looked far younger than the man’s age, a slight stature, perhaps a head shorter than Rafe, slim but not necessarily weak, modestly attired, but that could be excused by travel. And this was the love of Genevieve’s life? Rafe tried to reserve judgment. For now.

Mr. Thorpe opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter something ridiculous like asking who Rafe was, Rafe wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulders and drew him against his side.

“Mr. Snawdune. What a great pleasure it is that you are here to witness this reunion. I’ve not seen Mr. Alan Thorpe since… Oxford. Yes, those were the days, were they not, Alan ?”

The ice on Mr. Snawdune’s brows thawed, and his furrow softened. “Why didn’t ye’ say you was a friend of Mr. Fitz-Stephens?” The question chided more than enquired. Eyes on Rafe, he began to ask something, but hesitated, thought for a moment, and then tapped the side of his nose. “You’d be offering him a room, Mr. Fitz-Stephens, if it weren’t for… the situation , am I right?”

“‘Pon rep, you’ve the right of it.” Rafe coughed a laugh. “The situation is tricky. The dower house is full, and, well, you know how things are with the Priory.”

Mr. Snawdune nodded. “Would ye’ look here, Mr. Thorpe! A room just come available. An’t the best, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“That is too kind,” Rafe said. “I’ll take care of everything,” he added with a knowing nod. “You’re competing in the frolic, after all, aren’t you, Alan?”

Mr. Thorpe mouthed like a fish out of water but said nothing.

Mr. Snawdune said, “Upstairs. Third door to the left. We’ll have it ready shortly.”

Rafe shook the publican’s hand and, arm still draped over Mr. Thorpe’s shoulders, steered him towards the table where Headley waited patiently, one brow arched in amused curiosity. A private word with the new guest of Grant Lindis was of the utmost importance, but it would have to wait.

Nudging Mr. Thorpe into a chair at the table, Rafe nodded to one of the barmaids to bring another round, namely one for the newcomer.

“Headley, allow me to introduce a good friend of Miss Slade’s, Mr. Thorpe. This, my good man, is Mr. Headley, and I,” he began, then paused to share in a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, although Mr. Thorpe was too perplexed to share anything, “am Mr. Fitz-Stephens, Miss Slade’s betrothed. I’m positive she’s written to you about me.”

He was not positive about any such thing. Rafe had no way of knowing what Genevieve had written.

To his relief, understanding flickered across Mr. Thorpe’s face as he shook first Headley’s hand and then Rafe’s. “She sent you here to welcome me? How thoughtful. But then, she could not possibly know I would arrive today. I am grateful, nonetheless.”

Headley looked from Mr. Thorpe to Rafe, the curious brow still arched. “Fitz-Stephens, tell me you’re not planning a wedding by license, Mr. Thorpe and I invited to serve as witnesses. Besotted though you may be, I should hope I deserve enough courtesy to be forewarned. Then, you’ve been full of surprises since I stepped out of the carriage.”

“Nothing of the sort!” Rafe answered briskly before Mr. Thorpe could answer for him. “Our good friend here has arrived to, uh, join us in the competition. Miss Slade would not take no for an answer. Isn’t that right, Mr. Thorpe?”

“The—the competition ?” repeated Mr. Thorpe with a slight stammer and audible gulp.

“If I recall correctly,” Rafe said, “Miss Slade mentioned your interest in the relay swim on Wednesday. Yes? I’m positive that was it.” Slapping his thigh, he continued, “Headley and I are calling on the Slades in a few. You must join us. Miss Slade will want to know you’ve arrived.”

The naysayer in him warned this could turn out poorly since Mr. and Mrs. Slade had expressed opposition to Mr. Thorpe, but with Headley and his sister present, they would surely be decorous. In fact, their presence may be the saving grace needed.

Headley asked, “If this is the plan, shall I collect Diana and meet you at the Priory?”

Nodding, Rafe said, “I’ll show Thorpe to his room first. Half an hour?”

All agreed, Mr. Thorpe looked quite bowled over by Rafe and Headley’s aggressive decision making on his behalf.

Once Headley departed, Rafe did as promised and escorted the gentleman to the room upstairs. The Dragon’s Breath was a tavern, not a coaching inn, but it was a large enough tavern to have assembly rooms on the second floor and a handful of guest quarters on the first floor above the tap room, reserved almost exclusively for the annual Fracas Frolic. What Mr. Snawdune did with the rooms for the rest of the year was anyone’s guess.

The room was ready for Mr. Thorpe, including the trunk he had brought and a washbasin with fresh water in the pitcher.

When the door closed behind Rafe, Thorpe said, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Fitz-Stephens. Without your intervention, I would have faced a week sleeping in a barn, I fear.”

“It’s the least I could do for Miss Slade’s intended.” Bold words, but Rafe believed in a direct approach and wanted the man to know all was understood, no misconceptions, no enmity.

Thorpe spun around and stuttered, “In-in-intended? Whatever do you mean? Are you not her betrothed?”

“No need to dissemble with pretense in private. Miss Slade has explained everything to me regarding the affection between the two of you. I promise I will not stand in the way. This betrothal is a matter of convenience until the two of you can be reunited.”

One hand against the wall, as though he may faint, and one hand over his heart, Thorpe said, “There’s—there’s been a misunderstanding. There’s no aff-affection between Miss Slade and myself.”

Rafe cocked his head. What the devil was this man saying? “If there’s no affection, then… why have you come to Grant Lindis?”

“Miss Slade bade me come to her aid with a… a… difficult situation.”

“Speak plainly, please. I’ve held nothing back, nor should you.”

Thorpe swallowed. “An… undesirable arrangement.” He flushed red when he said this, the word undesirable little more than a whisper. “She’s a friend. Nothing more. After she spent so much time offering companionship to my grandmother, I promised my eternal devotion… as a friend. Should she need aught, she need only write. I’m a man of my word, Mr. Fitz-Stephens.”

Rafe frowned. A friend ? A friend with a needy grandmother? How was Rafe supposed to convince the Slades that Thorpe was the better match if Thorpe himself denied being a match at all? Thorpe was supposed to be their salvation.

“Having met you,” Thorpe continued, “I don’t understand what’s undesirable. Women are peculiar. Is this not… desirable for you?” He continued to blush every time he said de sirable .

Rafe did not answer. Instead, he slipped a hand into his pocket to reach for his little box. Flicking open the lid, he pinched an herb inside. “Mint?” he offered Thorpe.

Well, there was nothing for it. Rafe would have to convince Thorpe to fall in love with Genevieve. That was the only answer. That was the only way out.