“Simon? Oh, yes, he was here,” Stephen, Reverend Matthews, said, shading his eyes as he looked at them from under the brim of his wide hat, his arms draped over the fence. He was in his beloved garden. The silly straw hat only enhanced his boyish charm, as did his freckled face and ruddy cheeks. “As a matter fact, he left something behind and I’m not sure what to do with it.” He motioned them over to the gate.

“We’ve missed him, then?” Christy asked, dejected. It was probably her fault, mostly. She didn’t ride very well and so they had taken the stage. Robert didn’t care for horses, either, but he could ride if he had to.

“I’m afraid so,” Stephen said. “Just, actually. He left not two hours ago.” He opened the gate and they entered. “Why are you looking for Simon?” he asked curiously. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Christy said. “We love him very much and he’s run away again, so this time we are chasing him down so he realizes how much we love him.” She looked over at Robert to see how he reacted to her matter of fact pronouncement, and her inclusion of him in it. He looked surprising unconcerned.

“Oh, really? That’s splendid. I daresay it’s about time someone did. Poor chap’s been wandering about in limbo for years, eaten up by guilt with no direction and nothing to live for. I was quite worried, I don’t mind telling you.”

“How was he when you saw him yesterday?” Robert asked, his brow furrowed in concern. Christy took his hand.

“Drunk,” Stephen said. “With him.”

They’d been walking toward a little lean-to sort of garden shed and Stephen pointed underneath it. Lying there wearing nothing but his boots, a burlap sack tossed over him all that was left of his privacy, was Hastings. He was sound asleep and snoring loudly. Christy covered her mouth with her hands to hide her laughter. Robert just sighed.

“Have you any idea who he is?” Stephen asked. “All I was told was that he was Hasten, the Killer of Men and Ladies’ Virtue.”

“That would be Hastings, not Hasten,” Robert said. “He’s one of Sir Barnabas James’s men at the Home Office. Simon and I recently worked an important mission with him. What did Simon say when he left?”

“Not much.” Stephen fanned himself with his hat. “He just asked me to take care of his friend here, who needed to learn there was more than killing. I assumed he was being facetious about ladies’ virtues and whatnot, but now I think he meant it literally.”

“He meant it literally,” Robert told him. “Where are Hastings’s clothes?”

“I do believe Simon took them,” Stephen said. “To force him to stay, or ask for help. Who knows what was in Simon’s head? I think he was still half drunk. I asked him where he was going and he said home. I thought he meant London, but he didn’t go in that direction.”

“No, he meant Suffolk,” Robert told him. “Have we missed the last stage?”

“Not to worry,” Stephen said. “Stay for nuncheon and I’ll send a note to Ashton Park. I’m sure Freddy has a carriage he can spare.”

“I still don’t understand why he’s naked,” Anne, Duchess of Ashley, said as she sat with the others in the shade of a nearby tree having lemonade and cucumber sandwiches. “That burlap must itch rather fiercely.”

“I daresay you are correct, my dear,” her husband Freddy, the Duke of Ashley, said, sipping his lemonade and peering at Hastings. “He certainly is well-formed.”

“If you like that sort of thing,” their lover, Brett Haversham, said from where he leaned against the tree.

“We like that sort of thing,” the duke said, grinning at Mr. Haversham, who was quite well-formed himself, even though he was older than the duke.

“I think Simon is trying to teach Hastings a lesson,” Christy said. “He has a hard time trusting people, you see.”

“Ah,” Freddy said. “Then leaving him naked and at Stephen’s mercy makes complete sense.”

“It did to Simon, apparently,” Stephen said, reaching for another sandwich. “My clothes won’t fit him. I’m not tall enough. You’ll have to send something over, Freddy.”

“I’m too thin,” Freddy said.

“I shall find something,” Anne said. “But there’s no rush, is there?” She smiled and took a sip of her lemonade.

“So you’re going after Simon are you?” Freddy asked.

“Yes,” Robert said. Freddy waited for more, but Robert just ate his sandwich.

“You were always parsimonious with your words, if I remember correctly,” Freddy said drily. “Christy, my dear? Have you anything to add?”

“No,” she said. “We are going after Simon. And we are ever so grateful for the loan of your carriage, Your Grace. We would have to wait a whole day for the next stage otherwise, and Simon is travelling quickly.”

“Why is he running?” Brett asked with a frown.

“Why do men always run?” Robert asked. “Because he fears the future, he runs to the past to escape the present.”

“Oh, well said,” Freddy complimented him. “Well said.” He looked pointedly at Brett.

Hastings suddenly sat up and looked around. He jumped to his feet and then froze. The duchess covered her eyes with her hand, but Christy could clearly see that she had her fingers splayed and could easily see Hastings in all his glory.

“Where am I?” he asked. He was out of breath and obviously upset. “Manderley?” he said when he saw Robert, his face furrowed with confusion.

“Cover yourself,” Robert told him. He pointed. “The burlap sack.” Hastings reached down and grabbed the sack, and tried to wrap it around his waist. “Apparently you got drunk with Simon yesterday and ended up here, where you passed out in Stephen’s garden.”

“Your servant, sir.” Stephen waved. “Stephen, Reverend Matthews. I’m an old friend of Simon’s.”

“What the bloody hell?” Hastings asked. He ran one hand through his hair and over his face. “Why am I naked in a field?”

“Garden,” Christy corrected. Hastings glared at her.

“We have no idea,” Freddy said. “I am Freddy Thorne.” He left off his title. He liked to do that when he met people for the first time. “This is my wife, Anne.” He twisted in his seat and pointed to Brett. “And that’s Brett Haversham. You’re in Ashton on the Green.”

“Surrey?” Hastings asked in disgust. “I’m in bloody Surrey? Christ. I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“Language, Hastings,” Christy chided him.

“I’m in my altogether, ma’am,” he said tightly. “I think I’ve got provocation.”

Robert stood and held his hand out to Christy. “We are going to be on our way, if you don’t mind,” he said. Christy silently agreed and took his hand. The duchess nodded and smiled and sipped her lemonade, and Christy knew she’d make sure Hastings was taken care of.

“Wait, what?” Hastings came hurrying over, trying to hold the burlap in place to cover as much as possible. “Take me with you.”

“You have no clothes, Hastings,” Christy told him. “And I’m sure you’re a bit under the weather. I think you should stay here with Stephen for a while.”

“A while? How long is a while?” Hastings asked, trying to follow them to the gate.

“Just a bit,” Christy promised as Robert helped her up into the carriage. “We’ll stop and get you on our way back. Do what Stephen says.”