The scent of fine Cavendish drifted up from the pipe's bowl in plumes, whisked away be the later afternoon wind as Vaughn strolled down the road. He had been worried the embers might well go out before he arrived at the inn, no easy method at hand for relighting while on the road, but fate had been with him. So with walking sticking one hand and briar in the other, he smiled to himself in contentment. Was there ever so perfect an afternoon? The sky above was a glorious azure, hung with a golden sun but filled with the gentlest of cooling breezes to keep off the late summer heat. Trees were still green and full. Bird song was clear and melodious to the ear while the solitude brought a quiet calm to his soul. Best of all? No wife. For the first time he began to see why tinkers and vagabonds might prefer life upon the road.

"Bah. Damn Londoners. They can keep their 'Season'," he sneered. "This? This is life!"

Rounding the bend in the lane, Vaughn saw a sight that only made him grin wider. Two young men, boys still actually, caught at some mischief along with a third. Their reactions were all too typical of some of the drummer boys and bandsmen he'd known, ashamed for having been caught and stuck in futile anger at the one doing the catching. His brown eyes danced merrily at the sight of boys being chastised by the older girl. [i]No. Not a girl,[/i] he realized. [i]That... is a woman![/i] He felt his heart skip a little at the sight of her. Round and full, whereas his wife was slim and flat, and with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. And definitely full of spirit! He had to keep from laughing outright as she forcefully smote the one boy (her brother?) with whatever his 'prize' may have been and then chase the two about the road, striking their heads and scolding them harshly. It was like something right off of the stage! One of those strange, farce things by Moliere that his father had loved. Or-

Of course! Shakespeare! Was she not the very spirit and image of Kate?! The taunts she lashed her brother and the other young man with could well be called shrewish! And, God's Blood, wouldn't Robert love to tame her! He was a full blooded man of his time, a quiet romp with a doxy or willing tavern maid all part of life. There were few men he knew, even those of the cloth, who hadn't either keep a mistress or gone on the razzle now and then. It was so commonplace among the aristocracy and the well to do gentry that morality didn't even enter into it. And so pipe in hand, his tricorn set at a rakish angle upon his head, Robert approached her with the most charming smile as he could summon up. He tugged at the lace upon his wrist to straighten it as he spoke.

"Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear." He doubted she would get the reference, but he found it amusing to quote the play all the same. It was a wonder what she would make of him: overly tall in dark emerald frock and breeches, golden flowered waistcoat, black tricorn and boots. Robert knew he scarcely dressed at the height of fashion, but he was well aware that it was far more flash than the villagers themselves wore. Even if looks did not impress her, the display of modest wealth might. He waved his silver-tipped walking stick towards the inn. "I find this August weather has brought something of thirst to my throat. Is the barman at his taps and might you care to join me?"