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A pardon Sir? ’Till I am conscious of an offence. I will not wrong my innocence to begge one.

Horace Langworthy had last seen such a collection of conscious, guilty faces when a bottle of Captain Blackwood’s finest wine went missing, and Beeton assembled the crew for questioning. And as with the incident on the Penelope , the trespass appeared to have been a group affair.

They have all been talking of either me or Rearden or both, he thought. And I don’t suppose I’m too conceited of an ass to guess it was more likely to be of me .

Alone of those gathered, Mrs. Markham Dere held her head high, making her curtsey with perfect ease. Mrs. Sebastian, on the other hand, was crimson as a poppy, her movements jerky, and he felt his mettle rise. Had she been the chief perpetrator?

“You are welcome at Perryfield,” said Mrs. Dere before the baron could open his mouth. “And Dr. Rearden, I believe you have not yet met the Barstows?”

The introduction of the new curate provided a welcome distraction from whatever came before, and the Barstow ladies seized upon it, smiling and making little courteous comments while Langworthy held back, keeping mum while continuing his observations.

When the baron and his niece by marriage had called at the rectory the previous day, five minutes sufficed to make all plain.

Whatever pre-eminence his title, sex, and age should grant Lord Ranulph Dere proved but a hollow crown, for the orb and scepter were gripped by Mrs. Dere.

Nevertheless, with a military man’s understanding of rank, Langworthy guessed the best way to flatter the woman was to respect her uncle.

For the moment, however, he was more interested in determining how the Barstows related to their benefactors.

Would they fawn and cringe, or would they struggle to hide resentment of their dependence?

They were not so easy to read. Both Mrs. Gordon Barstow and Mrs. Sebastian Barstow had recovered from their embarrassment and wore expressions of studied calm.

Younger Miss Barstow was more straightforward, keeping her bright gaze trained on their hostess—alert, without being obsequious.

“—Our thanks for sending your coach, my lord,” Rearden was saying. “Langworthy and I, being hale and hearty, were quite prepared to walk, but our cozy ride was a treat.”

“A nuisance for your coachmen, though,” put in Langworthy, “making two trips.”

“With your leave, sirs, now that you are all acquainted, in the future we may fetch and deliver you all in a blow.”

Of course this was agreed to, and the company took their seats, arraying themselves at appropriate distances from Mrs. Markham Dere like planets about the sun.

She in turn shone the beams of her attention first on the new curate, questioning him about his connection to their rector Mr. Terry.

Being already deeply familiar with Rearden’s story, having shared the coach with him from London, Langworthy sat impassively through the clergyman’s talk of his university days with Terry and the fellowship and sinecures which followed.

It was astonishing, really, the inequalities of the universe.

Here sat Rearden, single, with no one to support but himself, and yet he had four discrete sources of income, by Langworthy’s count.

Rearden’s acceptance of his friend’s temporary curacy was a favor done for Terry, and not the other way ’round.

Yet the blessed parson shared the drawing room with the penniless Barstow women, who had five mouths to feed and not a whole income among them!

If they had any sense, they’d try to catch him.

The mother ought, for Rearden doesn’t need children at his age, and he’d likely be frightened of the younger ones.

A slow grin tugged at one corner of his mouth .

Though it’s Mrs. Sebastian who has the most to gain by it.

I ought to make the suggestion to her. It’s my duty, after all, to see to her welfare.

“—Was it not, Mr. Langworthy?” Mrs. Dere’s voice penetrated his musings.

Having no idea what she had just said, he bowed his head in agreement and murmured, “Indeed.”

“And how do you find your charges?” she asked, nodding toward Mrs. Sebastian, who was seated beside her mother-in-law. “They lack for nothing, I think you must agree.”

Picking up the thread, the expected response would have been some comment about how the Barstows were living in clover thanks to the baron, but Langworthy still had hold of his own thread, and he said instead, “Yes, madam, Mrs. Sebastian and her son have a comfortable roof over their heads and lack for no material thing, but I daresay my comrade Barstow would have liked Bash to have a father.”

A tiny gasp escaped Mrs. Sebastian as every eye flew to her, but they were all too polite to stare and just as quickly looked away, to be relieved the next instant by the entrance of Wood announcing dinner.

A bustle followed, Lord Dere offering his arm to his niece and Rearden to Mrs. Barstow.

When Langworthy realized he must escort Mrs. Sebastian, he almost laughed.

Her hand did not so much rest on his proffered arm as hover above it, and her features might have been carved from marble, if not for the rush of blood beneath her skin.

“I didn’t mean me as a father , it goes without saying,” he muttered, scarcely moving his lips. “As I said, I will not trouble you with that business again.”

She said nothing. He might have been the wainscoting, for all the notice she paid him.

At the table Mrs. Dere had placed Langworthy on her left and Mrs. Sebastian on his other side, and it was soon apparent their hostess’s mind turned still on her guest’s last remark.

“Mr. Langworthy,” she began, once the soup had been served, “you must indulge me, for I confess I know little of the navy or navy life.”

“Madam.”

“Such fellow feeling among comrades!”

“Long hours—even years—of duties shared, I suppose.”

“Not to mention dangers,” put in Mrs. Barstow, leaning forward from the other end.

“Indeed,” agreed Mrs. Dere. “All such things. They must often lead to promises of such sort. ‘You look out for mine, and I will look out for yours.’”

“Perhaps. It did for Barstow and me.”

She gave an unreadable hmm . “But when you struck this bargain, he had a wife and child and you, I believe, were not yet a family man…?”

“Nor still am not, as far as I know.”

This brought a chuckle from Frances, which she quickly smothered when she saw Mrs. Dere’s eyebrow lift.

Softly, Langworthy told himself. Clearly he was on trial here, and though he did not give a fig for the worthy lady’s opinion, there was no sense in making an enemy of her with questionable jokes.

Doing so, in fact, would make life harder for both Rearden and the Barstows, besides complicating his own situation.

Therefore, when his soup was removed and fish placed before him, he said, “You are right to find the obligation placed on me curious, Mrs. Dere. Having only one living uncle and one married cousin, and no wife or children myself, the burden placed upon Barstow would have been lighter, had our situations been reversed. But beyond our comradeship, I owed him a greater debt to begin with.” Once more he told the story of Sebastian fishing him out of the sea and threw in Sebastian accompanying him to the hospital in Palermo for good measure.

“He was a noble and generous fellow, you see, so to strive to repay him is as much as I can do.”

“Quite so.” She lifted two fingers from the cloth, and the footman hurried forward to move the sauceboat down the table.

“And now that you will be staying in Iffley a little longer,” Mrs. Barstow spoke up again, “we Barstows certainly hope to see much of you. We must apologize in advance, Mr. Langworthy, for the claims we will make on your time. In addition to wanting to hear you speak of Sebastian, my Gordy tells me you have offered to teach the boys some mathematics, as it relates to celestial navigation.”

“Oh! Oh!” burst out Peter. Forgetting himself to the point that he fidgeted in his chair, he threw his mother a pleading look.

“The Tommies showed far more eagerness for Langworthy’s subject than for Latin and geography,” said Rearden with a smile. “He will be a boon to me, for as long as I can persuade him to stay.”

“And how long will that be, Mr. Langworthy?” persisted Mrs. Dere, one stern glance at her son serving to quiet him.

“It depends,” he answered lightly.

“On…?

Langworthy sensed rather than saw Mrs. Sebastian stiffening beside him. Biting back a grin he said, “On France, I suppose. On when hostilities between our nations resume.”

“You believe they will resume, then?” asked the baron.

Langworthy turned to regard him. “Sir, I am not certain they ever entirely ceased. I do believe open war will break out again at some point, however, and possibly soon.”

“Are you frightened?” breathed Peter, this time earning a throat clearing from his mother.

“Quaking in my boots,” he returned, unable to prevent the quip. “But a navy man ashore is not exempt from fears of other kinds, Peter.”

“Really? What kinds, sir?”

“Oh…fears of general unemployment, shiftlessness, vagrancy… dread poverty and such like.”

The boy’s eyes widened, but his mother’s contrarily narrowed, and Langworthy pressed back a grimace.

Softly, you idiot! If there is a humorous bone in her body, she has not discovered it.

And yet what had he done except give voice to the fears expressed in every newspaper, with so many discharged soldiers and sailors now wandering the country in search of employment?

After a mere few days’ acquaintance Rearden had taken Langworthy’s measure, and his whiskers were already quivering as he chuckled silently.

“Well, my good young man, until you may earn your bread again in harm’s way, I will do what I can to keep you employed, shift-ful, housed, and, if not rich, at least not poor. ”