Free A Country Affair by Patricia Wynn Page A

polite. Far too polite, as Richard found when Augustus's use of his false name flailed him again and again, reminding him of his own high-handed arrogance, his unwarranted temper on receiving the Garter's letter, and his continuing duplicity.
    "Listen here, young Squire," Richard finally said in exasperation. "It seems to me that two gentlemen working side by side as equals should address each other with a little less formality. Why do you not call me Richard instead."
    "As you wish." Augustus grinned and tossed the hair back out of his eyes. Being referred to as a gentleman and treated as such had obviously pleased him. "But if Selina rakes me over the coals for being too familiar, I hope you will be around to protest."
    "You have my word." Richard paused, then added casually, "The same should go for her, however. If we three were not partners this morning when chasing down your pig, I do not know what we were."
    "Perhaps, more a matador with his banderilleros?"
    At the learned response, Richard raised his head in surprise. "Where did you hear of such things as bull fights?"
    "I've been reading a good deal." Augustus shrugged, but Richard could see he was grossly understating the case. "I'm being tutored, you know, by the vicar."
    "No, I did not know," Richard replied. "To what end?"
    To his dismay, chagrin swept Augustus's face.
    Thinking that his question might have suggested a lack of faith in the boy's abilities, Richard amended it hastily. "I am sure your ambitions are well-deserved. I only inquire as to their nature."
    The boy's eyes did not clear. A troubled frown settled on his face, as he bent over a nibbled tree with his pair of lopping shears.
    "I was hoping to go to Eton," he said, "but I doubt I shall now."
    "And why is that?"
    The boy shrugged as if there were something he did not mean to divulge. Or, perhaps, he simply did not wish to confess that they lacked the money to pay for a boy's stay at Eton.
    Unless. . . Richard thought he might have tumbled to the truth . . . unless they found a patron. A wealthy kinsman perhaps. A Trevelyan.
    Was that the reason they had applied for his name? So Selina might approach him in Augustus's behalf?
    Seeking to discover their secret, sure it had something to do with their claim to his name, Richard asked, "Have you a sponsor?"
    Augustus shook his head. "No, I had been hoping to go as a King's Scholar."
    "A—" Richard caught himself before he could blurt out his shock. A King's Scholar, for heaven's sake! His stomach nearly revolted at the thought.
    Conditions for the Scholars were notorious. As pensioners, they received no breakfast or tea. Their only meal consisted of mutton and mashed potatoes, the potatoes dug in the season when they were too small to mash. The boys were so starved, in fact, they were known to prey upon each other, so that a small boy might subsist on bread and gravy alone.
    The rats in the crumbling building where they lived fared much better. In the infamous Long Chamber where the boys slept—without care or supervision—rats ran rampant. It was said that the boys spent the better part of their nights hunting the creatures and skinning them for sport. Their other amusements—gambling and fighting amongst themselves and drinking whatever was smuggled in—were hardly more suited to gentlemen's sons. Nevertheless, that is what they did and where they learned the rudiments of a certain life. Some of London's most confirmed gamblers and heaviest drinkers had started out as King's Scholars.
    Richard could not imagine how Augustus would survive in such a setting. Even though it might be the only way the boy could hope to get to Cambridge—Scholars were almost guaranteed a King's College Fellowship—he thought he must try to discourage him.
    Richard had laid down his shears, unable to work with these disturbing thoughts in mind. On top of these, he had begun to feel the result of yesterday's work. Every muscle in his back and shoulders ached. He urged