Before the Scandal Read online

  “It’s a bit late for a stroll, Miss Alyse,” Saunders commented, turning from putting out one of the pairs of candles lighting the hallway.

  “Yes, but it’s also very nicely quiet out there,” she returned, lifting her shawl off a hook and wrapping it across her shoulders. “If my aunt should ask after me, would you mind telling her I’m looking for some thread to decorate her hat for the soiree on Thursday?”

  He sketched a bow. “Don’t be too long, miss.”

  “I shan’t.”

  In her youth, in the days before the scandal had ruined everything, she’d loved the garden at Donnelly. Alyse smiled as she took a seat on the stone bench placed beneath the old crooked elm tree—the best climbing tree in England, according to Phin. Of course that had been well before he’d turned seventeen, before her father had asked her not to spend time alone with him any longer, before the rumors that he’d taken up with actresses and married ladies and begun drinking. And before he’d disappeared for ten years.

  Movement beneath the study window caught her attention. Her heart jumped even as she told herself that it was a rabbit or a hedgehog. Except that the shadow was larger than that. A dog? A deer?

  Her fingers tightened convulsively around the edges of her shawl. Oh, heavens. It was a man. A large one, despite the utter silence of his movements along the base of the wall.

  Abruptly he froze. Slowly his shadowed face turned in her direction. Alyse shot to her feet, a scream rising in her throat. With a rush he was on her, pressing her back against the tree trunk, a gloved hand pressed over her mouth. “Shh,” he whispered softly, gentle despite the speed of his movement.

  She couldn’t see his face. He wore a mask, she realized, beneath an old-fashioned tricorne hat and a greatcoat with the collar turned up and shadowing his mouth. For a brief, amazed second she thought he must be The Gentleman. That fellow would be beyond ancient by now, though.

  “Je ne vous lésez pas,” he murmured in a deep voice. “Comprenez vous?”

  He said he wouldn’t hurt her. Frightened as she was, she believed him, not that she wished to argue the point. Slowly she nodded.

  His hand left her mouth. He took her fingers in his and drew her back to the bench. She sat, grateful for its solid support. The dark shape retreated farther into the shadows, then reappeared, a red rose in his black-gloved hand. “Merci, ma belle mademoiselle,” he said quietly, and handed her the flower. He bowed with an old-fashioned flourish, then vanished into the night. A moment later she glimpsed him heading into the trees, a huge dark horse beneath him.

  Alyse sat where she was for a long moment. Her hands shook, the spicy scent of the rose soft in the evening air. Who was this Frenchman? Had he come to burgle the house? Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, he’d gone out of his way to demonstrate that he had no intention of harming her.

  Had this man followed Phin to East Sussex? After all, Phin had spent the last ten years fighting the French. If one of them had come to exact revenge on him, though, he’d ended at the wrong manor house.

  No, something else was afoot. And even as she stood and returned to the house, the rose in her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t be informing Richard or Aunt Ernesta that anyone had been lurking outside Donnelly House. He hadn’t carried off the pianoforte—or anything else, as far as she could tell. And as far as she was concerned, her relations deserved a bit of ill luck.

  If she ever came across this Frenchman again, then she would worry about him. For now, she would call it an odd, not entirely unpleasant experience, and put the red rose in a vase. Neither would she be informing Colonel Phin Bromley that a masked Frenchman had stumbled across her in the night. She had enough trouble in her life. At this point causing bloodshed would do no one any good, herself least of all.

  Chapter 6

  Phineas deliberately delayed heading downstairs for breakfast. He wanted time enough for the rumors to spread.

  He’d intended to be seen last night, though Alyse had been the very last person he’d expected to encounter. And her presence had altered his plans. He’d intended to break a few windows, roust some of the stableboys, and make the appearance of a masked stranger obvious. If he could rattle some cages as a supposed burglar, he would have the opportunity as Phin Bromley to see what might fall into the open. A guilty man reacted differently than an innocent one. But he absolutely hadn’t wanted to frighten Alyse. She’d literally turned him into a gentleman just by sitting in her family’s garden last night.

  “Good morning,” he said as he finally entered the breakfast room at half past nine.

  Beth and William were bent over a pamphlet of some kind, and both looked up as he walked in. “Good morning,” Beth said, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

  “What’s so interesting?” he asked, gesturing at the paper and prepared to show the appropriate amount of cynical surprise.

  “We’re going to the theater tonight,” his sister said with a grin. “An opera. Please say you’ll join us, Phin.”

  He blinked. “Of course.”

  “Don’t answer too hastily,” his brother commented. “This is an entire evening’s commitment.”

  Phineas clenched his jaw. It was only words, just William attempting to drive him away. Why, he didn’t know yet. But he supposed the worse the attacks became, the closer he must be getting. At the moment he clearly had barely a clue. “I expect it is the height of excitement in Lewes,” he returned, hoping one of his siblings would contradict him with the story of how Alyse had just last night encountered a masked intruder.

  “The very height,” Beth said, giggling. “What are your plans today?”

  He’d intended to go see the burned-out tenant cottages. Now he needed to see Alyse. And not just because he’d wanted to kiss her last night. “I sent Sergeant Gordon into town this morning to fetch me a horse that won’t drop if I try for a trot. I thought I might take Alyse riding when he returns.”

  His sister frowned. “But—”

  “Don’t make trouble for Alyse,” William said, returning to the remains of his breakfast. “She’s seen enough.”

  Taking his seat and digging into the pile of sliced ham, Phin looked up. “Care to elaborate?”

  “I don’t gossip. Andrews?”

  Silently the valet stepped forward and took the handles of the wheeled chair. In a moment both the viscount and his servant had left the room for the office. “Splendid,” Phineas grumbled. He glanced at Beth. “And what are your plans for the day, since you won’t tell me why I’m here?”

  “I can’t tell you, Phin, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need you here.” She stood up and left the room.

  “Bloody wonderful.”

  Before he’d finished breakfast, Gordon reappeared. “I used the blasted back door,” the sergeant grumbled as he walked into the breakfast room. “Came to the front of the house and walked all the way around. Bloody English customs.”

  “Here,” Phin said, tossing him a peach and rising. “What did you find for me?”

  “Ye said nothing too fine,” his valet commented, falling in behind as Phin made his way to the front door. “Lewes ain’t precisely the center of thoroughbred breeding, is it?”

  “No, it’s not. This is sheep country.”

  “Aye. I’ve noticed that fact.”

  Digby opened the front door for them, managing to send Gordon an annoyed look at the same time, and Phineas left the house—and stopped dead. “What, pray tell, is that?” he asked, staring.

  “That’s yer horse.”

  “It’s yellow, Sergeant.”

  Gordon passed him to pat the gelding on the withers. “He ain’t yellow. He’s a butter chestnut.”

  Phineas looked from the horse to the Scotsman. “A ‘butter chestnut’? Who fed you that cartload of turnips?”

  “How else d’ye explain his color? It ain’t as though he’s been painted.”

  “What color is the horse you got for yourself?”

  The sergeant edged awa
y from him. “Ye said a bay or a chestnut fer me. Somethin’ no one would notice. So Gallant’s a scraggly bay, Colonel. I wouldn’t want to be caught ridin’ a more bonny horse than my commanding officer.”

  Tempted as Phin was to argue the point, the yellow horse did serve a purpose; no one who owned another horse like Ajax would be caught dead riding this one. “What’s his name, then?” he asked, checking the gelding’s cinch and then swinging up into the saddle.

  The sergeant cleared his throat. “He’s yer horse. Ye call ’im whatever ye like.” He slapped the animal on the haunch.

  Obviously the move was meant to send horse and rider galloping down the road, but with a precise move of his knee and a light tug on the reins, Phineas sent the animal in a tight circle around Gordon. “Name, Sergeant,” he ordered.

  Gordon straightened. “Saffron, sir,” he said, saluting.

  Saffron. At least it wasn’t Jaundice or some such thing. “I’m going to the theater tonight,” he said. “I want that to be the last event I have to attend wearing my uniform. Make me an appointment with a damned tailor. And shine my dress boots for tonight.”

  “Aye, Colonel.”

  He kicked Saffron in the ribs and headed for the main road and Donnelly House beyond. The gelding had an off gait and a hard mouth, but he had to count it as an improvement over walking everywhere on Warner’s mount. And he supposed his uniform would survive the dubious honor of riding a yellow horse. He’d caused his career enough potential damage by riding about the countryside as a highwayman.

  “You know I don’t show well in green,” Aunt Ernesta snapped, tossing her half-finished hat onto the table. “What in the world made you select green?”

  Alyse stifled the answer she wanted to make. “You admired the green ribbon in the shop, Aunt. I thought—”

  “Yellow. I want yellow flowers, and a yellow ribbon. I won’t have you attempting to make me look foolish. We could send you back to your great-aunt, you know.”

  “I beg your pardon, Aunt Ernesta,” Alyse sighed. “I’ll fetch the yellow ribbon.”

  “I thought you would.”

  As she stood up, Saunders knocked and leaned into the room. “Mrs. Donnelly, Miss Donnelly, Colonel Phin Bromley.”

  Crisp, precise, and commanding, Phin strolled into the room and sketched a shallow bow. “Good morning, ladies.”

  Aunt Ernesta stood. “Colonel. What in the world brings you here today?”

  “I thought I would take Miss Donnelly riding, if you can spare her for a time.”

  Alyse’s heart skipped a beat. He’d said he wanted to go riding with her, but she hadn’t realized that he’d meant it. “I…I’m mending my aunt’s h—”

  “You will return her by luncheon,” her aunt said, and motioned at her to leave the room. “I’ll never have a decent conversation out of her if she doesn’t get her way.”

  Well, that was uncalled-for. And a lie. But arguing would be worse than pointless, since she’d never be allowed to go riding if she reacted. “Thank you, Aunt Ernesta.”

  “Humph.”

  “I took the liberty of asking that a horse be saddled for you,” Phin said, offering his arm as they left the morning room.

  “I have to change my dress,” she said, rushing her words and half worried that he would change his mind.

  “I’ll wait outside, shall I?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She hadn’t worn her sea-green riding dress in over three years, but luckily it still fit. Swiftly she buttoned it up the front and stomped into her riding boots, then hurried down the stairs again.

  Saunders opened the door for her, and she took a breath to steady herself. “I shall return shortly,” she said, and walked onto the front portico. And burst out laughing. “Oh, my.”

  Phineas lifted his scarred right eyebrow. “I will assume my mount amuses you,” he said dryly.

  “The poor dear. What’s his name?”

  “Saffron. He’s reputedly a butter chestnut. Shall we?” With a glance at the groom holding the bridle of the bay that had been saddled for her, Phin turned Alyse to face him and then lifted her up into the saddle.

  The sensation of being lifted effortlessly into the air left her breathless. No one did such things for her any longer. Heavens, no one had even given her flowers in over four years—except for last night.

  Phin led the way down the drive, and she urged her mare up to keep pace with the striking Saffron. Belatedly she noticed the groom falling in behind them. A chaperon. It had been years since she’d warranted one of those.

  “Two conversations within two days,” she said aloud, trying to collect herself. “You’re not becoming infatuated with me, are you?”

  “I’ve always been infatuated with you,” he returned easily, his gaze focusing on her mouth. Trouble, she repeated to herself as he looked away again. He was trouble, and that was something she couldn’t afford.

  “I suppose that explains the plethora of frogs I received.” Alyse was relieved that her voice sounded level and amused. She had learned some things over the past few years about hiding her true feelings.

  “I can safely promise there will be no more frogs.” He looked over at her again. “After all, you’re not twelve any longer.”

  “Not for thirteen years.”

  “I’m long past being seventeen, myself.” He hesitated. “How is it that you’re unmarried, Alyse? Even at fifteen you had every lad in East Sussex following you about.”

  She snorted. “You don’t mess about with chitchat, do you?”

  “I’m not a chit. And as a soldier I’ve found it wise to speed to the heart of the matter as swiftly as possible.”

  “Why do you wish to know?” she asked, not certain what she wanted to hear him say.

  “Because I’ve made a great many mistakes in my life, and I’ve begun to think that leaving here just when…just when I did was the largest of them.” He headed them down toward the narrow path along the river.

  “After you hear what happened, you may count yourself grateful.” She couldn’t stop the abrupt bitterness in her voice. Oh, she’d been so young, and so stupid.

  “Technically, I believe you and I may already be married,” he said unexpectedly, “considering the ceremony that William performed for us. We might have been only eight and ten, but I do think it’s a possibility.”

  Alyse laughed reluctantly. “You only pretended to marry me so that you could pretend to go off to war and be killed in battle to leave me a grieving widow.”

  “In hindsight it was probably more entertaining for me than for you.” He stopped Saffron and dismounted, circling around to slide his arms around Alyse’s waist and lower her to the ground. His warm hands stayed where they were for a moment too long. “Wait here,” he instructed the groom, and offered her his arm.

  She wrapped her fingers around his crimson sleeve, and side by side they made their way down to the willow-edged riverbank. “I don’t want to tell you what happened,” she said slowly.

  “Then don’t. I intend to find out, though, and I prefer to hear it from you. If it helps, I’m nowhere close to perfection myself, and I don’t expect it from anyone else.”

  Blowing out her breath and pretending to be more annoyed than worried he would turn around and simply leave her there, whatever he might say, she shrugged. “Very well, then. To touch on the plot points of a very long tale, I had a wondrous debut Season in London. Four proposals of marriage within a fortnight. But I wanted to fall in love, so I waited.” So foolish, she’d been, thinking that she would love and be loved and that everything would be daisies and waltzes. She should have married the first man to ask her.

  “You were set on marrying a prince, or a duke at the very least, as I recall.”

  “Yes, well, I was a silly girl.”

  “Go on.”

  She liked the way he said that, as though he were truly interested in hearing what she had to say. “At the beginning of my third Season, I met him. Phillip Ambry,
the Marquis of Layton.”

  Phin scowled, the muscles in his arm tightening. “But he—”

  “Yes, he rather famously married Roberta Engles, that American heiress.” She paused, but her pride didn’t sting as it used to—too many other things had given her a better perspective on the relative importance of her heart. “He asked Papa’s permission to marry me, and my father refused to grant it. Phillip was a fortune hunter, you see, and everyone knew it. Everyone but me. Or I suppose I did know, but I thought that he hadn’t pursued me because of money. He was so very dashing, you know.”

  “I believe I know the type.”

  “When he suggested that we elope to Gretna Green, it was the most romantic thing I could imagine. I was to pack a bag, and then halfway through the Windicott soiree he would whisk me away in his coach and no one would be able to stop us.”

  “Something stopped you.”

  “A fortnight before the ball, Papa died, and Mama four days after that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Alyse,” Phin murmured.

  “Thank you,” she returned automatically. “I miss them.”

  “Layton begged off because your parents died? That’s—”

  “A few days after the funerals, my father’s solicitor called on me. Everything—all of the Donnelly property—was entailed. Everything—the paintings on the walls, the furniture, my clothes, even—was to go to my cousin Richard. I panicked, tried to find Phillip and tell him that I wanted to leave with him immediately. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Richard take possession of my family’s home and title and…everything. But I couldn’t find him.”

  “You went to the soiree, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “With my bag packed. He was there, dancing with that awful Roberta Engles. At first he pretended that he didn’t even know me. Then he took my bag and threw it onto the floor and said that I was mad and should stop following him about before he had someone deliver me to Bedlam.”

  Phin muttered a word that she couldn’t quite make out, but that sounded exceedingly rude. “What about a stipend for you? An inheritance?”