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squire, of course, had no way of knowing they were in mixed company.
Drat the innkeeper
, Rafferty thought. How long did the man need to prepare two private rooms?
    “There’s nothing to match the comforts of one’s home, no matter what they say,” the squire was rambling on again. “It makes you wonder why anyone would give it up. Why, there were two scapegraces spent the night in th’ same taproom as Cornish and me, looking for a pair of runaways. Can you credit that? Footpads and missing persons!”
    There was a subtle change in the room, as if a sudden noise had captured everyone’s attention.
    Gilbey shifted on the sofa, presumably to make himself more comfortable. “Were these Somerset people?” he asked with studied casualness. He was fidgeting with the edge of his waistcoat.
    “Not at all, not by those accents,” the squire answered.
    “I meant, the missing persons—the ones they were seeking.”
    “I believe they were said to be Devonish. Ain’t that right, Cornish?” Hammerton turned to his friend for confirmation.
    “I believe the story was, a young lass and her brother from the South Hams had run away from their guardian.”
    “That was it—that was it!” The squire took over the narrative again. “And he a viscount! Imagine!”
    “The guardian?” Brinton interposed.
    “No, no, my lord. The lad. Such foolishness! Consider the trouble they might run against. Why, if a young gentleman like Mr. Kendall here can be accosted by footpads, just think what might befall two such young runaways!”
    His ruminations were interrupted by a loud fit of coughing as Gilbey choked on his cider. Brinton knew then if he glanced at the girl she would be sitting as silent and pale as a ghost. He carefully kept his eyes on the squire.
    “Think, indeed,” he said encouragingly. “And why do you suppose a young viscount and his sister would show such poor judgment as to flee from their guardian?”
    “Now that I couldn’t rightly say,” Hammerton replied, disappointingly. “These fellows had followed the trail to Exeter and then to Taunton, but lost track of them there. They were going to check all the northbound coaches this morning.” He sniffed in disdain. “Imagine a viscount on the common stage!”
    “Horrendous,” agreed Brinton wryly. “Did you happen to learn who these people were?”
    “They were little more than ruffians, I’d say,” the squire replied honestly.
    “I mean, the young runaways and their guardian.” Brinton was finding his patience difficult to maintain. He caught a despairing glance from Gilbey.
    “The Viscount Cranford, I believe,” said Mr. Cornish, who had already proven he was a better listener than the squire. “The guardian was Baron Pembermore.”
    “You’re certain of this?” Brinton’s tone was laced with disbelief.
    “Indeed,” answered Cornish. “But it seems to me there was also some mention of the Earl of Grassington. I didn’t catch the connection.”
    The Earl of Brinton set his cider down very carefully on the pedestal table beside him. He felt as though he had suddenly fallen over the edge of a very tall cliff.
     

Chapter Five
    Rafferty knew his ears could not have deceived him. What sort of bumble-bath had he stumbled into? The Earl of Grassington was his elderly uncle, who should have been too preoccupied with marriage plans to get embroiled in any other folly. Cranford lands adjoined his uncle’s in Devon, so there was a connection to the viscount, but could the lad truly be Cranford? Of all the titles in England the boy might have held, that one was almost too coincidental to be believed.
    He had thought the viscount to be an older man. He tried to remember if he had ever met his uncle’s neighbor. Could the lad have just recently come into the title? Had there ever been mention of a sister? The young earl rose and crossed to stand before the fire, staring into the snapping flames. He did not want the others to see his face, for he feared