All I Ever Needed (24 page)

In spite of his own experience, Eastlyn thought, it was exactly what he had done to Sophie. Was she telling him that she knew that, or speaking only in the most general terms? "When I was at Hambrick," Eastlyn said quietly, "they called me Butter-rump." Beside him, he felt Sophie's surprise as a palpable thing. This time when she turned her eyes in his direction, she kept them there. East continued to face front and stare out over the glassy pond, a slight, self-mocking smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I was considerably... um, round, shall we say, in my first year at Hambrick. Butter-rump was not such a bad moniker as these things go. I did have a fondness for butter rum cakes, so it was appropriate on that count as well. In retrospect, it was clever of the Bishops to actually nail the thing so cleanly, though I suspect it was more accidental than well considered."

Sophie recalled what he'd told her about all his fights at Hambrick and understood now that he had given her partial truths at best. She swung her legs more slowly in the water as she considered how often he must have struck out against the pointed teasing of the other boys. What was it he had said about the Society?
A way to organize cruelty
? That was the gist of it, if not the exact phrasing.

Eastlyn rested his elbows on his knees and lightly tapped his steepled fingers together. "You must not make too much of it, Sophie. Your sympathy would be misplaced. I gave as good as I got, usually much better. I fought when I heard the name and sometimes when I only thought I did. And I was selfish as well. I regularly received treats from my mother that I didn't share with anyone. I stayed in my room and ate every crumb and then flattened the face of the next boy that called me Butter-rump."

"It is difficult to know who delivered the sweeter comeuppance."

He glanced at her, his look letting her know what he thought of her humor. "You can give me more sympathy than that," he said dryly.

"I am sorry." Sophie untied her bonnet and set it aside in the grass. She leaned back, bracing herself on her arms. "What about Lord Northam and the others? How did they become your friends?"

"It was West's doing, actually. Being a bastard, he had his own battles to fight and something to prove as well. Because of my reputation for fighting, he challenged me one day, right in the upstairs corridor of Danfield House, and hadn't the good sense to back down. There was quite a tussle in the hall, and it brought the other boys running. Northam and Southerton were the only ones foolish enough to throw themselves into the fray. We all fought then, rolling on the floor as one, trading blows at such close range the damage was not so great that we required more than a score of stitches between us. West had a black eye, I think. North managed to protect his nose this time, though he had a badly staved thumb. South nursed a lump at the back of his head for several days."

"You?"

"A cut lip and a bruise on my chin. After we left the infirmary I invited them to my room for cakes."

Sophie laughed, delighted. "Did you really?"

He nodded. "I was certain we'd be put out of school for the fight, so it only seemed fitting that I shared my last good meal with them. Becoming fast friends was surprisingly simple after that."

"So none of you were expelled?"

"No, though after the caning from the headmaster we all came to wish that it had been otherwise. North's grandfather attended Hambrick, so there was virtually no possibility of him being removed. South's parents had influence of a political nature. My mother opened her purse strings yet again on my behalf, and Marchman they kept on as an example of sorts, proof that a bastard was no better than he ought to be. West's situation at Hambrick was more difficult after that, not less, and there was no objection from his father. His grace barely acknowledged his existence."

"Then he needed you."

East said nothing for a moment. "It was more the other way," he said quietly. "We might have simply flailed around like so many fish out of water if not for West. I always think he would have survived in any circumstances, while we required more in the way of purpose."

"Sworn enemies of the Society of Bishops?"

"Precisely."

Sophie lifted her face to the sun and let it bathe her complexion. She closed her eyes and raised her feet so that just the tips of her toes were above the water. "After so many years as their opponents," she said lightly, "it must have been a disappointment to surrender that calling."

"Why do you assume we have put it behind us?" Eastlyn asked.

She roused herself enough to open one eye and regard him with patent skepticism. "You are no longer schoolboys."

"True. But there is still a Society of Bishops."

"At Hambrick."

"It merely begins there."

She looked at him with both eyes wide open now. "What are you saying?"

"Only that it exists outside of the school's cobbled courtyard." He shrugged as if it were of no import. "I thought you might have known that, Sophie. At one time Tremont was their archbishop."

Chapter 7

"Tremont?" Sophie asked. "In the Society? Are you certain?"

"Quite." Eastlyn plucked a blade of grass and rolled it lightly between his fingers. "It is not an impossible thing to discover if one knows where to look." And the colonel, Eastlyn learned long ago, had resources to look anywhere he liked. It was not entirely surprising that Tremont was a member of the Society, but the fact that he had risen to the highest rank within the Bishops was certainly of import.

"I did not know he went to Hambrick. My father was at Harrow. I suppose I always thought Tremont attended there, too." Sophie reached over and took the blade of grass from between Eastlyn's hands just as he meant to make a whistle out of it. She tossed it into the water. "I require your full attention," she said in quelling accents.

Eastlyn very nearly saluted her, so definite was her order. He squashed the impulse when he saw how completely in earnest she was. This intelligence that Tremont was a member of the Bishops had struck a chord with her, and Eastlyn wanted to know more about that. He regarded her, waiting.

"What does it mean to be archbishop?" Sophie asked.

"He is their appointed leader. It is not a position necessarily given to one of the oldest boys. Barlough was the archbishop for most of the years I was at Hambrick." He saw Sophie stiffen. "Do you know him?"

"Barlough. Yes, I am acquainted with his lordship."

He waited to see if she would explain the nature of this acquaintance, but she offered nothing further. "Once elected," he went on, "the archbishop stays at the head of the Society until he leaves school. A new boy is then elected from among the Society members. The exiting archbishop will enjoy certain privileges for the remainder of his life because he once held that position. It is one much to be desired among the members."

"What sort of privileges?"

"Well, when he goes to university there will almost certainly be students there who were Bishops at Hambrick. They will help him achieve honors and distinguish himself to the dons. Afterward there will be assistance with entree into the same society the rest of us occupy, assuming such assistance is required. A good marriage can be helpfully arranged, for instance, or gaming debts made to disappear. Political influence is part and parcel of the arrangement. That is but a short list of the kind of things the Bishops will do for one of their own, and most especially for a former archbishop."

Sophie raised her feet out of the water and drew up her legs until her knees were close to her chest. She clasped her arms around them, hugging them to her. She felt cold in a way that could not be explained by the lowering sun or the light breeze that rippled the lake water and made the grass bow in successive waves. "These things," she asked, not looking at Eastlyn now. "Are they done in secret?"

"I suppose that depends on the nature of what is being done," he said. "At Hambrick much of the Society's business is conducted in secret, but then they usually acted in a way that brought attention to themselves. I do not think I knew every member of the Bishops while I was at Hambrick, but by the time I left I had ferreted most of them out. The Bishops have been around almost as long as there has been a Hambrick Hall, Sophie, but they are still only boys there. It is after they leave that their influence can be more widely felt. The older members shepherd the young ones so that discretion is the rule, not the exception, and while they are known to each other, their existence beyond their membership is not commonly understood."

East found it was not so easy to determine the bent of Sophie's thoughts. That she was troubled was clear. What the source of it might be was not there for him to grasp. "It is curious that it never came to your attention that Tremont attended Hambrick."

"I don't know why you think that," Sophie said. "You have cousins, I collect. Can you tell me where they went to school?"

"My cousins are all female," he said. "But I take your point. Do you know where Dunsmore attended?"

"He did not leave Nashwicke. That is where Tremont had his living. He was the vicar there and had a comfortable arrangement under the patronage of Lord Glen Eden. Harold was tutored with his lordship's son for a time, I believe; later the task was taken up by his mother and father."

"You have never mentioned Tremont's wife before."

"She died some six years past, not long after Harold married. She was vastly different from her husband and her son, and I had great affection for her, though it was not often that our paths crossed. She was kept busy with the duties of her station as the wife of a clergyman." Sophie blew upward as a strand of hair was twisted free of its mooring pins and fell across her forehead. When the light breeze lifted it a second time, the curling end came to rest at the bridge of her nose. Her eyes crossed.

Chuckling, Eastlyn leaned over and brushed back the curl, though he was not the least offended by its waywardness as Sophie had been. Her hair was like liquid beneath his fingertips, as smooth and as thick as its wild honey color suggested. His smile faded. He wished that she might have kept her eyes comically crossed rather than look at him as she did now, with that mixture of uncertainty and near panic. Eastlyn let his hand fall away while Sophie quickly refastened her hair with the pins. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"No." She wondered if she had given herself away by telling him the truth, and she waited with a breath trapped in her throat for his reply.

"It seems sometimes as if you are."

Sophie said nothing, but she finished drawing that breath and let it out slowly. It was just as well that he was suspicious of her reply. She was uncomfortable with the notion that the person she was afraid of was herself and had not meant for him to discover it.

Eastlyn studied her expression a moment longer. It was fixed now, in that mask of perfect serenity she used to hide herself away in plain sight. Sophie's public face was very much a private one, he thought. It was as maddening to him as it was intriguing.

Sophie pressed her chin to her knees for a moment, thoughtful again. "What is it that you have come to discuss with my cousin? And, pray, do not merely say again that it is a matter of politics as if I could not understand. It is patronizing."

"You are right," he said easily enough. "My sister has said the same. Also my mother. My female cousins—all four of them. Even North's bride has taken me to task. I do not mean to give offense."

"I know. It is the stupefying arrogance of your gender." She smiled politely. "But I do not mean to give offense."

Eastlyn had a mind to check himself for wounds. Rather than give her opportunity to sling another arrow at him, he set the parameters by which he could answer her question. "I should like to have your word, Sophie, that what I mean to tell you is not to be shared. If Tremont reveals it to you, you may act on it in any manner you wish, but if I am your only source it must remain between us. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

He nodded once. "It is not generally known that the East India Company is looking to make a settlement—"

"In Singapore," she said.

"At the risk of patronizing you again, how did you know?"

"It is simple, really. Tremont often practices the speeches he means to give. He is always looking for the right inflection to affect or the pause that will enhance the gravity of his words. You have heard him speak. Can you not imagine how those stentorian tones carry past the library doors? I suspect most of the servants at Tremont Park have heard snippets of his discourse in the act of carrying out their duties. I mention this most especially lest you come to think I have shared your information with them."