Elisabeth Fairchild by Captian Cupid Page A

eggs onto a plate with a rattle of cutlery. “You must have a dreadful head on you this morning, old sod, after last night’s fracas.”
    Val spoke into the tablecloth. “I’ve no memory of it.”
    “At Fiona’s.” Oscar obligingly reminded him.
    Alexander gave hint from his coffee cup.  “It involved Miss Foster.”
    Oscar laughed and waved his fork. “Indeed, it was a frightful fracas at Fiona’s over the fathering of Miss Foster’s Felicity.”
    Val rolled his eyes without lifting his head. “Funny.”
    “It wasn’t,” Alexander contradicted, carrying his coffee to the window. “Rather embarrassing, really.”
    “I embarrass you?” Val sounded wearily miffed.
    “Not me.” Oscar snorted. “I am accustomed to your drunken mean-spiritedness.”
    Val peered at them from beneath the pale, tousled forelock of his hair, the golden boy, used to being excused the morning after.
    Alexander considered his words carefully before he said, “You’re a fine fellow when not in your cups, Val.”
    “And when I am?” Val’s eyes half closed, though whether from the pain in his head, or their confrontation, Alexander could not tell.
    “You ruin what little reputation Miss Foster has left to her,” he said sadly. “Cruelly so.”
    “Touch-me-not? Bah!” Val waved a hand, as if nothing more need be said.
    Alexander stared a moment at the winter-browned garden, the leafless trees. He was not prepared to let the matter drop. “You go too far, old friend. I take no pride in your company when you behave so.”
    Val shrugged and lay his head back down upon the table. “This from gentlemen who are beholden to my hospitality,” he grumbled.
    “True, of course.” Oscar forked down a mouthful, pointing the tines at Alexander. “Rather ill-mannered to confront our host, in his own home.”
    Alexander abandoned his coffee cup, and rose. “Right you are. I overstay my welcome.”
    “Damn right!” Val growled.
    Alexander stood a moment regarding the top of his friend’s head. Dust motes danced golden above the sun touched hair. “Thank you for having me, Val.”
    “And me. Superb fishing,” Oscar said through a mouthful of salmon as he wiped crumbs from his mouth and rose, chair screeching.
    “God! Still there, are you?” Val grumbled into his armpit. “Go on. Get out. I shall be glad to see the backs of you, both of you.”
    Oscar slid an amused look Alexander’s way.
    “For that,” Alexander said gently, “You must lift your head, old friend.”
    “And open the drapes,” Alexander said with a chuckle.
    Val’s hand rose, a white flag, waving them away.

Chapter Twelve

    He packed his things, saddled the gray, and rode with Oscar through the streets of Appleby before the sun was long risen.
    “Heading home, are you?” Oscar asked.
    “No,” Alexander said. “I have yet to go fell walking.”
    Oscar laughed. “With the man eating dog?”
    Alexander nodded. “You know me,” he said. “I love a challenge.”
“Right, you are. Where will you stay?”
    “Local inn,” he said. “Give Val time to cool off and sober up. Perhaps we can patch things up.”
    Oscar raised one brow. “Has he ever been sober? In the time that you have known him?”
    Alexander shrged. “No, but I should hate to end it thus.”
    Oscar plucked at his mustache. “Care to share a room? I’ve a mind to get in a bit more fishing, but will soon drown in River Tick if I must pay full price for accommodations.”
    “I hoped you might stay,” Alexander said.
    “Do you think he might come round? The lad’s prime enough when he is not castaway. “
    Alexander studied the crenellated tower of Caesar’s Tower, pale against the trees. “I hope so.”

    Oscar promised to book them a room at the Black Boy, a back street sort of establishment, nothing to strain their purses, following which he might be found along the river, fishing. They would meet again for supper.
    Alexander nodded, handed over his kit, and with a wave to his