words with him about. He'd lost to a horse trader, and agreed to pay part of his debt by delivering a horse to the next village.
The horse trader had then cried thief, and the local magistrate, Sir Hadley Commons - no great friend to the Uftons - was planning to hear the case within the hour.
As Sir George mopped his head, and drank his brandy, Rothgar considered the extraordinary situation. He was certain the young man was innocent, so this must be mischief. With what purpose? He couldn't imagine Sir George having cunning enemies...
But he had.
The Uftons had been in London recently, had been presented by him. That made a connection...
D'Eon again. It had to be. Another attempt to draw him away from court. Another intolerable use of his innocent connections.
But this time, he thought with sudden interest, he was on the spot and might be able to catch D'Eon's minion with red hands. It would be very useful to have someone in the enemy camp.
He rose. "I will go with you, Sir George, and help you sort this out. It cannot hold water."
Sir George stood and wrung his hand, tears glimmering in his eyes. "Thank you, thank you, my lord. Thank heaven you were here today!"
"A blessing, indeed," said Rothgar, guiding the anxious man out to the horses.
His horse and his two mounted grooms stood ready to take him on the first stage back to London. He hesitated for a moment. This mission killed all chance of that, unless he wanted to ride across Hownslow in the dark, which would be folly.
Return to London today had been folly anyway, and if matters were as he suspected, he could best serve Lady Arradale here.
They entered Dingham against a stream of people, carts, and animals. Market day was winding down and people were heading home.
The small town still bustled, however, for a fair number of people were topping off the day in the inns and taverns. Market day always ended that way, and with the magistrates tidying up the day's misbehavior at the Anchor.
After leaving their horses with the grooms, they entered the inn past a woman receiving a summary whipping for thievery, watched by a cheering crowd. A glum-looking man stood under guard nearby, waiting his turn. Sir Hadley liked to keep the peace very firmly.
People made way immediately for the Marquess of Rothgar, and a whisper ran around the crowded room. Sir Hadley looked up sharply from where he sat in the middle of his bench of magistrates and frowned. But then he ignored them and went on with the questioning of an elderly man. The three magistrates conferred, then Commons pounded his gavel. "Guilty of giving short measure. Fine of three shillings or twenty lashes."
Grumbling, the old man pulled some coins out of a purse, paid his fine, and hurried away.
George Ufton was called next. "You will see, Sir George," said Sir Hadley, "that I held back your son's case until your return, as requested."
Though it was not said pleasantly, Sir George nodded. "Obliged, Commons."
The magistrate inclined his head to Rothgar. "My lord marquess. You have an interest in this case?"
"I always have an interest in justice, Sir Hadley. Proceed."
Rothgar knew ways to take command of a place, and he used them now, though he stayed to one side of the room, observing. The accuser, the horse trader, was the most likely villain, but D'Eon was subtle, and whoever had set this up must have been lingering in the area waiting for a chance. It could be a local man. Whoever it was, he would have him soon.
For my lady, he thought, wryly amused at his inability to keep his mind from drifting to her. This was the evening of her first day at court. He wondered how she was surviving, and whether the king had questioned her yet...
He realized that young George had been brought out, and shook his head. You will be no use to your lady, he told his foolish half, if you cannot observe, plan, and be logical.
The young man looked rumpled and frightened, though he was making an admirable attempt to be dignified. His hair ribbon had gone so his hair tangled loose, and somewhere he'd fought, for his nose had been bloodied and his lip split. When he saw his father a touching mix of shame and relief shone in him.
Seventeen, and despite his predicament, a son to be proud of.
Sons. Sons like the drummer boy, with Diana's clear eyes and stubborn