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may meet again here in an hour. Will that suit?”
    “I am well-suited,” said Mr. Everett. “Will you, Mr. Valentine?”
    Percival thought that he was rather less well-suited, since this would in no way further his hope of courting Miss Bolton, but he did very much enjoy the company of Mr. Everett, and had no reasonable grounds for objection. “Yes, certainly. It would be my pleasure, and I leave you in very good hands with Mr. Humphrey.”
    The Boltons went out with their new tour guide, leaving Percival with Mr. Everett. He had a fleeting thought that it may have been intentional to strand him in the charming company of Mr. Everett, but Percival could not imagine what purpose Miss Bolton might have for wishing to further Percival’s distraction.
    Mr. Everett smiled at him, with blue eyes that were full of pleasure. “Shall we?”
    “To be sure.” Percival took his arm once again and they went out of the church.
    Linston Village only had one main road, which ran through the length of the little village and on past Linston Manor at the one end and Linston Grange at the other. Small paths and lanes branched off from it to the farms and houses surrounding Linston, but none of these lanes went more than a mile from town.
    Percival led Mr. Everett along one of the quiet lanes, enjoying the warm, sunny day and the good company of his companion. Whenever he glanced over, Mr. Everett’s eyes were very likely to be upon him, so that it did seem that Mr. Everett was paying more attention to Percival’s profile than to the very lovely meadows and fields all around them. In Percival’s opinion, he could not possibly be more interesting than the rolling hills and scenery of rural England, and he did his best to draw Mr. Everett’s attention to various sights as they passed them. There were not many specific landmarks that could be pointed out in the overall loveliness of the Cotswolds, but Percival did his best by denoting the farms by their tenant’s names and indicating the branches of the river Avon which were visible from the crest of a hill.
    “Was Linston of particular strategic importance?” Mr. Everett asked, while they were still paused on the lane atop the hill.
    This seemed a peculiar non sequitur. Percival peered at him in confusion. “What? Linston , strategic?”
    “There are Saxon fortifications,” Mr. Everett reminded him. “And Roman ones, as well.”
    “Oh!” This significance had never occurred to Percival. “I suppose there are. I confess I don’t know. It is rich country, and lovely. And there is the river Avon. I don’t… forgive me, Mr. Everett, I’m no tactician.”
    “That’s quite all right,” Mr. Everett assured him. “It is merely my perpetual curiosity about everything.”
    Percival smiled at him, thinking that Mr. Everett was ever so clever in addition to being very handsome and kind. He stared fondly until he realised that he was staring, then quickly cleared his throat and looked away. Resuming their journey along the lane, he soon drew Mr. Everett’s attention to the Saxon ramparts.
    The fortifications they sought were just at the edge of the village proper, and easily visible. Crumbling ramparts of honey-coloured limestone formed a boundary between two green fields and dwindled to nothingness at the edge of the lane. A few honey-coloured remnants continued on the other side of the lane, in much reduced profusion.
    Intrepid by nature, Mr. Everett mounted at once upon the ramparts, bounding up a ruined set of stairs to the crenelated top and gazed from there out across the countryside. Percival followed at a more decorous pace, being mindful of his clothing.
    Turning back with a wide, jubilant smile, Mr. Everett offered Percival a hand up the last section of damaged steps. Percival accepted the aid, and found himself pulled up at once to Mr. Everett’s side.
    “Here, Mr. Valentine,” said Mr. Everett, with an adventuresome smile. “We are Norman conquerors upon these