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Young Foyle, however, likely suffering from a hangover and itching for a drink, was in no mood for civilities.

“Where’s my flask, damn you, Cole?” he demanded loudly.

“I’ve a good mind to report you for theft.

That’s a hanging offense, you know. And if they won’t hang you, they’ll strip you of your commission. Then I can order you to be flogged.”

Well, so much for privacy. But William was not discouraged. Enough was enough. Today this man-child would be held accountable. “If we’re talking about theft,” he said, “you’ve robbed me of an apology. I have come to collect it. Then you may have your flask.” He patted his hip.

“Do you hear this?” Foyle turned to his father. “I am to apologize for being robbed. The man steals my silver flask and then demands I apologize! Have you ever heard such a thing?”

Lord Foyle, who had been lounging in his chair, now leaned forward. “What nonsense is this? Do you have my son’s property?”

“Yes,” replied William, “but not his dignity. That he misplaced all by himself.”

“How dare you, sir!” Lord Foyle rose, his face reddening with impressive speed. “Return my son’s flask or there will be a reckoning.”

“That is exactly what I have come for. But the reckoning is his. Unless you support the sort of salacious comments he made about a lady of my acquaintance.”

Lord Foyle froze for a moment. William could not imagine this was the first time his son had been guilty of such behavior, but it was unlikely he had ever been called out on it in public.

Heads had turned toward them thanks to their own noisy arrogance, and Lord Foyle’s response would now have an audience.

Even the Sinclairs, with Miss Lockhart and Dr. Westbridge in tow, had meandered back to see what had captured everyone’s rapt attention.

Lord Foyle, unsurprisingly, tried to deflect the issue. “Richard would never use the foul manner of speech to which you refer. And certainly not in reference to a lady. I think you are confusing the jocularity among soldiers with serious insult. I would have you withdraw your accusation, sir.”

William stood his ground. “Not only did he make explicit insinuations about the lady to me, he imposed himself upon her directly at the Macraes’ ball. In front of several witnesses, I may add.”

“And so you stole his flask to punish this perceived slight? That hardly paints you in a nobler light, Mr.…”

“Lieutenant William Cole, my lord. And I picked up his flask from where he had dropped it outside Shillington’s. I am only too happy to return it. As soon as I have my apology.”

“You say you have witnesses of Richard’s actions.

” The baron folded his arms across his chest, then released one of them again to point an accusing finger at William.

“But who can corroborate your story?” The freed hand now waved in accompaniment to his speech.

“It seems you have made up a lie to blacken his name and now hold his own property as extortion.” Lord Foyle leaned forward, his fingertips supporting his weight on the table still laden with uneaten food.

“I think it far more likely that you seek a better commission and see my son as a rival for it. You would say anything to ruin his reputation. Fie on you, sir!”

William’s jaw tightened. “If you imagine such motive, it is because you have become accustomed to this type of low behavior in your own son and believe it equally reasonable to expect it in others.”

Lord Foyle’s hue deepened to purple, a feat William had not thought possible without the subject suffering an immediate apoplexy.

“Produce your witnesses!” the baron thundered. “Or withdraw your accusation!”

“This is a picnic and not a court of law,” William answered. “I will not harass people who are here with their friends and children, especially if it is to repeat the sort of bile that they heard from your son’s mouth. My lord .”

“But you are happy to malign my son in front of them?”

“I am not. Indeed, I approached him discreetly, but he involved you, and you, my lord, have drawn the crowd.”

A gasp went up from the gathering. No one had ever taken the baron on.

Certainly not as calmly and boldly as William did now.

A warning slipped down his spine like ice.

Had he gone too far? The baron wielded great influence.

Even if William bore no guilt, Lord Foyle could make life very difficult for him.

Especially if the baron’s youngest got away with his actions.

“Lieutenant Foyle has not been maligned, my lord,” said a voice from somewhere behind William. It was soft, almost a whisper. But it carried across the hushed onlookers like a clear note, ringing in the air.

Miss Lockhart approached. Her steps were erratic, as if each one had to be forced from her. But her gaze was unyielding. She came at last to stand beside William. He could feel rather than see the nervous tension radiating from her. And yet she stood, unmoving and resolute.

“Who are you, madam?” the baron demanded, though William could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“I am Verity Lockhart, daughter of the vicar of Fernbridge, sister to Mrs. Daniel Sinclair of Munro, and unhappy recipient of Lieutenant Foyle’s inappropriate attentions.”

Her voice carried the slightest of tremors, but William only heard the sound of enormous courage.

Lord Foyle visibly deflated. He looked to his son as if seeing him properly for the first time.

Then he turned to his wife, who was sizing Miss Lockhart up with her eyes.

She gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head to her husband.

His indignation subsided further. In fact, it was as if he aged before them.

But Richard Foyle, being of unsound judgement, grew even more brash. “I do not recall meeting with… Miss Lockhart, is it? Besides, a vicar’s daughter would never draw my attention. I have my position to think of.”

“I only wish my father’s occupation might truly have spared me your impropriety at the Macraes’ ball, Lieutenant Foyle,” said Miss Lockhart. “Though I am not surprised you do not recall the meeting, as you were squarely three sheets to the wind.”

“But you did recall the meeting, didn’t you, Foyle?

” William added. “You had plenty to say on the matter at Shillington’s.

You might have been blind drunk then too, but your memory was not ailing.

Only your sense of decency. Now, since the lady in question has been brave enough to speak up, your apology should be directed to her. ”

“Ahem,” began Lord Foyle, “I think we can all agree there has been…”

The sound of hoofbeats caused the heads of the fascinated audience to turn en masse.

A uniformed officer was riding directly toward them, slowing as he approached.

He halted at the edge of the crowd but did not dismount.

William recognized him at once. It was the meticulous figure of Captain Larson.

“I am sorry to interrupt such a happy occasion,” said the captain, his horse prancing beneath him before it settled. “Wellington has called up his men to Brussels. Our regiment must report at once. We ship out tomorrow.”

There was a moment of absolute silence. Then the picnickers erupted with dismay. There were wails from mothers and young wives, tears from new sweethearts.

Only Lieutenant Foyle saw an opportunity to his advantage. “Father,” he said, his back tall and straight, his chin proud. “I must leave to defend our nation against the French. Mother, take this kiss upon your cheek, for it may be my last.”

At William’s shoulder, Miss Lockhart’s trembling now became visible.

She—who, but a half hour ago, had doubted his character—had upheld his honor before all, a feat made more remarkable by the fact that she did not like to draw attention to herself.

Yet she had sacrificed for William, declared herself a true friend.

And Foyle still tried to evade his responsibility, even now.

William clenched his teeth. Before they left these shores, Miss Lockhart would have justice.

William stepped forward and placed the silver hip flask upon the amply catered table. “Miss Lockhart awaits her apology, sir.”

“What?” Foyle laughed. “Even now, you continue with your false accusations? You are fortunate that we leave for Brussels, else I would have you before a magistrate for theft!”

“Lieutenant!” shouted Captain Larson. “You will withdraw your statement at once! This is a fellow officer. You will be fighting side by side. It is madness to bring trouble to a war that will have plenty of its own.”

“But he stole my flask!”

“He did no such thing. You left it on the steps outside Shillington’s. I was there when Lieutenant Cole found it. He had hoped to return it to you when you were… more reasonable.”

Lord Foyle took his son firmly by the shoulder. “That is settled, then. No harm done. Now apologize to Miss Lockhart. Even if you remember nothing, she does, and the insult must be undone.”

“But she’s lying!” Richard Foyle almost wailed.

“She is not,” Captain Larson interjected. “I was a witness to that also, and all the sorrier for it. In fact, I can name several others who were forced to endure your treatment of Miss Lockhart. You disgraced the uniform and your family name, sir.”

Lord Foyle squeezed his son’s arm more tightly, his voice pure iron. “Apologize. Now.”

The reckless foal hesitated. No doubt he was unused to being held to account. Then, all at once, he relented, his entire body taking on the shape of a chastised schoolboy.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Like a man,” his father demanded.

Richard Foyle took a breath and rolled his eyes. But he obeyed. “I am very sorry, Miss Lockhart, for offending you.”

Squeeze.

“It won’t happen again.”

Lord Foyle removed his hand from his son’s arm. “I too, apologize, Miss Lockhart. Our son should have known better. I assure you, this will be the last of such behavior.”