Free Betrayed by Arnette Lamb

Mayor Fordyce with our talk of kings and chancery. I think he prefers the subject of collecting taxes.”
    Not since leaving her family had Sarah enjoyed a livelier discussion. But she’d come here to further a cause, not to involve herself in a lengthy exchange of ideas with Michael Elliot. The other man was her foremost quarry for now. “My apologies, Mayor Fordyce.”
    The innkeeper returned with the wine. Michael took the flagon and refilled the mayor’s glass himself.
    Fordyce said, “Lady Sarah, didn’t you know that Elliot’s resigned from the Complement? They saluted him till moonset, or so the innkeeper said.”
    He didn’t look the worse for a long night of merrymaking.
    â€œThat’s why they came here—to escort him home,” the mayor added.
    She didn’t for a moment believe retirement was Michael’s sole mission. Her dowry was what he wanted. How far would he go to get it? “Truly?” she asked. “Is that why you’ve returned to Edinburgh at this particular time?”
    â€œYes, well . . .” With his thumb and forefinger on the stem, he twirled his glass. “I’ve done my duty to king and country.” Turning to Sarah, he added, “No matter on which continent his majesty’s interests lie.”
    â€œCleverly phrased,” she murmured.
    â€œHow delightful that you think so.”
    She was tempted to rest her hand on his sleeve. Lady Winfield had touched DuMonde just so, and with great success, for the Frenchman appeared completelyat her disposal. If Sarah could disarm Michael Elliot, she stood a better chance at winning over the mayor and the owner of the customs house. She had made progress, for they were conversing easily.
    The servants cleared the dishes and returned with a plate of figs, cherries, and oranges. DuMonde and Lady Winfield quit the inn. From the adoring gaze in the woman’s eyes, Sarah knew where they would go.
    â€œDo you care for fruit?” Michael asked.
    She’d eaten more tonight than was proper for a lady in public, but the conversation had stimulated her appetite. She chose a plump fig and cut it into quarters while she prepared her first verbal attack. Both accomplished, she put down her knife and looked at Michael, who popped a cherry into his mouth.
    â€œAre you aware, Michael, of our mayor’s concern for the growing number of children who are abandoned on the streets of Edinburgh?”
    Around a mouthful of orange, the mayor said, “Any above one is a sorry number.”
    Michael didn’t spare a glance at Fordyce. “An honorable concern.”
    As the object of his curious gaze, Sarah felt the weight of her responsibility grow, but she would win this fight. “Most of the poor souls are under the age of ten. The church never provides more than twenty-five pairs of shoes in a given year.”
    The unsuspecting mayor plucked an orange seed from his mouth. “There are other organizations to help. The Ladies’ Benevolent Society collects what they can.”
    She knew the moment Michael sensed she was up to something other than idle chat, for his now-probinggaze darted from her to Fordyce. Suddenly doubtful, she placed her hand on his arm. “Our good mayor’s efforts are gallant, but unfortunately they fall short of the mark.”
    Fordyce grasped her purpose, too, and his expression turned cool. The issue of turning the customs house into an orphanage was a sore matter with the mayor.
    Suddenly defensive, he said, “I am a compassionate man.”
    She charged ahead. “An understatement. Your charity knows no bounds.”
    With finality, he said, “I beg to differ, my lady.” He dipped his hands into the water bowl and reached for a napkin. “Complaints from the window tax alone kept me busy the whole of yesterday. I’ll be a year straightening it all out. Yes, it is a priority.”
    So what? her conscience