The journey north had been a time-consuming inconvenience. However, since the men on trial lived on his lands, he’d been required to attend the proceedings. He certainly had not expected to be harangued by some bluestocking who was certainly more sexually appealing than she ought to be.
What?
The whole affair was ridiculous. As if a few weavers represented a threat to the Prince Regent. The pathetic buggers wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near him. “Tempest in a teacup,” he muttered over his shoulder to the faithful Frederick.
He had to admit, though, the harridan in the witness box was right in one sense. The sentences were harsh and would result in starvation for families deprived of a breadwinner. He’d be blamed, if the rude scowls on the faces of men consoling weeping women were anything to go by. It wouldn’t hurt to visit the cottages of the condemned men. The working class were always appreciative of a few coins tossed their way.
Exiting a courtroom full of angry men and women took a while. He was glad he’d brought Frederick along. The footman’s broad shoulders and surly temperament soon cleared a path.
Reaching the outdoors, he inhaled the crisp April air, glad to be free of the upsetting place.
He was surprised to see a sleek coach waiting alongside his hackney, a somewhat familiar coat of arms emblazoned on the door. Two women stood beside the second conveyance, deep in conversation. A dark-haired woman had her back to him. The second was an attractive blonde with the face of an angel.
He hesitated when Frederick held open the door of his cab. He’d always been partial to blondes. Perhaps if…
He regretted the impulse to dally when the brunette turned and saw him.
Bollocks! The bluestocking!
His instinct was to bolt when she hurried toward him like an avenging angel, but he stood his ground. A Halliwell worth his salt didn’t retreat in the face of a tongue-lashing from a female.
*
“Halliwell,” Susan declared,somewhat surprised the tall rogue hadn’t retreated when he espied her. She itched to wipe the smug superiority off his handsome features. She fisted her hands, disgusted she’d even noticed he was quite good looking. “Lady Susan Crompton,” she informed him, determined not to dip the slightest curtsey or offer her hand.
“Ah,” the cad replied with a similar lack of courtesy, “now I recognize the crest on your carriage. I admit I didn’t pay attention to your name when you were called to testify.”
Momentarily thrown off balance by a cavalier answer she ought to have expected, she fought to organize her thoughts. How to explain her former sister-in-law was now married to the current Earl of Farnworth? “I live in the dower house on the Farnworth estate,” she said, flummoxed because this information was the last thing she should have divulged. “My late brother was the previous Earl of Farnworth.”
“Matthew Crompton,” Halliwell supplied. “He and I were at Eton together. My condolences. Perhaps you’ll introduce me to your blonde companion.”
Never at a loss for words, Susan hesitated. Polite conversation wasn’t what she’d been aiming for. The lecherous glint in his eyes when he uttered the wordblondewas disturbing in so many ways. What color were those intriguing eyes anyway?
Drat!
“Lady Emma Crompton Smith is Matthew’s widow. She is the wife of the current earl.”
She was appalled when Halliwell shrugged, disappointment etched on his chiseled features. His reputation as a rake seemed well-founded.
“The retired soldier, if I remember correctly,” he said with a hint of disdain. “I’ve chatted with him when our paths have crossed in the Lords. Fine chap.”
Here was her opening. “Then you are aware some peers are concerned for the welfare of the common man and woman.”
Halliwell frowned. “Your point, I presume, is that I do not take care of my tenants.”
Had he not been listening in court?
Susan had a reputation as a woman who spoke her mind, but she’d never actually confronted a powerful male face-to-face. She filled her lungs to bolster her courage. “Can you deny it?”
He barely glanced at the timepiece he took out of his waistcoat pocket with beautifully manicured, elegant fingers. “Much as I would love to stay and chat, I have a prior appointment. Good day to you, Lady Susan. Hopefully, our paths won’t cross again.”
Not only had he dismissed her out of hand, he then had the audacity to wink. “My regards to Lady Emma,” he quipped as he boarded his hackney.
*
Feeling more atease once the hack had maneuvered through the angry crowd milling about outside the court, Griff stretched out his legs as far as the cramped cab would allow.
The day hadn’t turned out as he’d expected. He’d sent instructions to his estate manager to do what he could to get the charges against his tenants dropped, or at least mitigated. He might have known William Fothersgill would prove ineffectual. The fellow spent too much time wenching and drinking. Not that there was anything wrong with a man enjoying himself, so long as he didn’t neglect his duties.