Page 2 of A Sporting Affair (The Corinthians #1)

A few da ys prior

London

His voice, assured and confident, thundered in the cramped quarters. “May it please your honor, I appear for the Crown. My learned friend appears for the defendant.” A careless hand swept the air from beneath the voluminous sleeve of his banyan. “The Crown will prove beyond any reasonable doubt the defendant in the dock is guilty.” With a glance at his notes, he prepared for the examination in chief of the first witness for the prosecution.

The case was straight-forward. Why had he not challenged himself, chosen a case that required more skill, especially during re-examination? Sifting through his papers, he tossed aside that case and grabbed another. Yes, this would do.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Mr. Pendergast, during your testimony, you told the court you were walking along High Street, your destination Mr. Waters’ house. Is this correct?” He paused to savor his wine. “For clarification, this was before you witnessed the crime, correct?” Another sip. “I request exhibit three be brought forward.”

He eyed his glass. Empty.

Cursing under his breath, he traded his papers for the bottle. Also empty. He gave it a wistful swish. Definitely empty. With a shake of his head to dispel drowsiness, he turned in search of another bottle. The cabinet held only disappointment. Grumbling, he glanced down. If he were to retrieve a bottle from downstairs, he would need to exchange his slippers for shoes. His fingers reached up to comb through his hair, catching the night cap instead. Ah, happy tidings he had not ventured out of his apartments in his cap. He would never have heard the end of it.

Blinking, he eyed the mantel clock. The numbers blurred.

Whatever the time, Mr. Rafe Fitz-Stephens decided it was too late for another bottle, and he was too beyond his faculties to practice another case. Tomorrow would arrive far earlier than he wanted, and so long a journey would require ample sleep. Narrowing his gaze at the stack of notes on his desk, he sighed. There would be little time to study once he reached home. His family would demand his attention. The village competition would devour more than a week of his stay. His friends needed attending to, as well. No time for studies.

What if he received his Call to the Bar while he was away?

Reconsidering, he shuffled the papers into a tidy enough stack. He might find a minute or two to study if he applied himself. Best bring these along. There were at least three cases he had hoped to question his father about, although his father only ever presided over civil cases, never criminal. Nevertheless, he would value his father’s insight from a magistrate’s perspective.

Tucking the material in his bag, he trundled to his bed.

In a few days, he would be enjoying the comfort of his old bed. The quarters at Gray’s Inn of the Inns of Court were not uncomfortable but…. Shrugging off his banyan, he tipped onto the lumpy bedding. What he would not give for a feathered mattress.

Rafe had not lied to his family. Not exactly. Not unless one considered an omission of a change of plans a lie. He could make a case for it in court, if he were prosecuting, but then, he could also make a convincing defense for himself if needed.

Shifting in his saddle after several days on the road, Rafe formulated his defense. “I call the defendant, Rafe Fitz-Stephens, to the stand.” His voice rose above the growling of his stomach.

There was a tavern some short distance ahead. His horse was as eager as he for food and rest. He patted Alfgar’s neck, receiving a snort for the effort.

His parents had anticipated his arrival for a month. Rafe had never missed the annual Fracas Frolic, a week-long racing competition between his village of Grant Lindis against the nearby village of Eurwendin. But without a nod from the barristers he dined with at Gray’s Inn in London, he did not dare leave. His summons was imminent, and he worried an untimely holiday would sabotage his progress. At length, he had written to his parents with his apologies. This year, he had explained to them, he would not be returning home for the competition.

But then, everything changed. He did receive a nod. Although he had grabbed paper and quill, ready to share the news with his family, he thought this too good an opportunity—he could surprise them with his arrival. It did not leave much time to prepare for the competition, but surprising his family would be worth the trip. His mother’s expression, alone, would be worth it.

After a week on the road, and the passing of familiar landscape as he journeyed from London to Devonshire, he would soon appear on their doorstep, the learned son returned. Unencumbered by trunks, he carried only what his saddlebags could hold, enough for the requisite overnight stops along the way. All he needed awaited him in his old abode. He hoped he had not outgrown his waistcoats—the most important element of his barrister training, after all, was dining. So many dinners. And among the best he had ever tasted, although he would only confess that to the family cook under duress, perhaps not even then.

His stomach grumbled again.

On second thought, why stop at the tavern?

He was ahead in time, by all accounts, and at this rate, even with a stop at the tavern, he would arrive home far too early to be assured anyone would be there. His timing should be later, more towards dusk, when he knew with certainty his parents and brothers would all be home, likely gathered around the card table.

If he continued past the tavern without stopping, he could reach Axminster in a couple of hours, and then, instead, take his rest at Rupert Headley’s home in Glanvale. There, he could enjoy a good meal and conversation, never a more perfect way to pass the time.

As though Rafe had spoken his thoughts aloud, his horse snorted in protest.

“Am I to understand, Alfie,” he asked his horse, “you would prefer we stop at the tavern and in Glanvale? I’m uncertain we have time for both.” After a nicker in response, Rafe said, “You’re correct, I suppose. We should catch them at supper, or better still, tea after supper. They’ll be in the drawing room, then, the perfect place for a surprise appearance by yours truly. Right. We’ll make both stops. A bite at the tavern, and then on to Headley’s!”

Alfgar had the right of it, as horses usually did. There was ample time. With a house full of boys, save for Rafe’s mother, evenings extended well into the night. Today would be no exception. Yes, there was ample time for both. In case he was mistaken, he picked up the pace to reach the tavern sooner.