Before the Scandal Page 7

  “It was to be up to the discretion of Richard.”

  “‘Was to be,’” he repeated. “What happened?”

  “I had ruined myself. I couldn’t stay in London with everyone laughing at how stupid and blind I’d been, so Richard sent me to Cornwall to live with an aunt.” She couldn’t quite suppress her shudder as she remembered the overpowering smell of cats and mildew. “We weren’t compatible. And I…still had far too much pride to suit everyone, including myself.”

  “Alyse, you were never proud.”

  She gave a humorless smile. “Yes, I was. Remember, I wanted a prince. And love. I thought I deserved them. After all, as you said, half the young men here wanted to marry me. Half the men in London did, too—until my fortunes turned and I made a complete fool of myself. And the women to whom I should have been nicer weren’t quiet about their satisfaction with my new circumstances. That proverb about pride and a fall is very true, you know.”

  Her voice quavered a little, but either he didn’t notice or he pretended not to. She thought it was probably the latter. When he stopped at the edge of the slow-flowing water it seemed quite natural for her to keep her fingers gripped into his arm, and they both gazed out at the river and the hovering dragonflies as she continued to speak.

  “I wrote to Richard and asked him to please let me return to London, but he wrote back that I wouldn’t find anything more pleasant there. Instead he sent me to a second cousin, but she and her husband couldn’t afford to keep me there. After several more changes of address, Richard brought me back to Donnelly House here. As a bachelor he wanted someone able to serve as hostess while he set up a household, and his mother, my aunt, is frail.”

  “You’re her companion,” he said slowly.

  She nodded. “I’m her companion.”

  Well, he knew her story now, knew that to the amusement of a great many of her acquaintances she’d been pushed off her pedestal—or jumped off it herself, rather—and then made to clean it. She watched his expression and waited to see how long it would be before he began searching for an excuse to return her to Donnelly House. After all, she wasn’t the sought-after daughter of a viscount any longer. She was a seven-Seasons-unmarried companion to a viscount’s mother with absolutely no prospect of her situation ever improving.

  “However much you thought you deserved happiness, Alyse,” Phin finally commented, his gaze turning from the water, “you weren’t wrong.” He drew a breath. “I should never have left here.”

  “And what in the world would you have done?” she asked, though she had the feeling that he wasn’t talking about her as much as he was his own family.

  His hazel eyes met hers, and then he took a single step forward. Taking her face in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her. Warm lips touched hers, soft and seeking and not the least bit comforting. The sensation…lit her on fire. A long moment later he lifted his head away from hers a few inches.

  “If I’d stayed, Alyse, at least neither of us would have been alone,” he murmured.

  It took several tries for her breath to return. Good heavens, he’d learned how to kiss since the peck he’d given her during the faux-marriage game and the infrequent occasions after that. But she’d learned some lessons about life, as well—none of them as pleasant as that kiss. “What do you want of me, Phin?” she asked, keeping her voice fairly steady. “We both know you didn’t return to Quence Park because of me.”

  He smiled fleetingly. “What do I want of you?” he repeated. “Perhaps you’ll grant me more than two days back to figure that out. For both our sakes. And no, I didn’t return because of you. Because I didn’t know.”

  “I know how you like adventure and strife, Phin. Don’t make trouble for me.”

  “I will try not to make any more trouble for you. But I don’t frighten easily.” He glanced back in the direction of the horses. “There’s an opera tonight in town and a public ball tomorrow night, I believe. Will you be attending either of them?”

  Did he actually intend to court her? Phin? “Not the opera. Aunt Ernesta finds it dull.”

  “The ball, then.”

  “I don’t know yet. It depends on whether she wishes to go.”

  “Perhaps I should try to persuade her.”

  She blanched. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Very well,” he said, chuckling probably to ease her obvious alarm. “I shall attempt to behave. Save a dance for me if you do attend, dark-eyed Alyse. Because I want to see you again.”

  They stood there for another few moments, then returned to the horses and continued their ride. It wasn’t until he’d returned her to Donnelly House that she recalled what he’d said—he would try not to make any more trouble for her. Had he done something already? Or perhaps he’d simply referred to that kiss. Because from they way her heart had pounded, that in itself could signal a great deal of trouble.

  Phineas handed Saffron over to Warner and trotted up the front steps of Quence just as Lord Donnelly left the house and climbed aboard his fine chestnut gelding. “Donnelly,” he greeted, nodding.

  “Colonel Bromley,” Donnelly said, circling his mount to face Phineas, “I don’t know whether you noticed or not, but the sky is clouding up. If it should rain heavily before the irrigation is repaired, Quence might lose the east pasture for the remainder of the season.”

  “It’s unfortunate to see that your concern for Quence doesn’t extend to Roesglen,” Phin retorted, descending again to the front drive and inwardly cursing himself. Damnation. He’d forgotten about the meeting with Stuggley. And he had no one to blame but himself, because he’d wanted to see Alyse, and he’d wanted to discover why she hadn’t told anyone she’d encountered a masked Frenchman last night.

  “It’s unfortunate to see that you have no concern at all,” the viscount snapped. With a kick of his heels he sent his mount into a gallop and left the drive.

  “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Phineas muttered, sending the retreating Donnelly a rude gesture and heading up the front steps.

  Digby pulled open the door as he reached it. “Good morning again, Master Phineas.”

  “Good mor—”

  “Phin?” William’s voice echoed from down the hallway.

  He didn’t sound amused. Bloody wonderful. “On my way,” he returned, moving past the spindly butler.

  “Phin!”

  “Christ,” Phineas muttered, striding down the hallway to his brother’s office. “Apologies,” he said as he walked through the open door. “I meant to return in time for the meeting with Stuggley.”

  William, seated behind the desk with Andrews a statue at his shoulder, clenched his fist around a full cup of tea. For a bare moment Phineas thought his brother would throw it at him.

  “Digby and Andrews looked for you,” the viscount said tightly. “In case you meant to be present for the meeting.”

  “I did mean to be. I apologize, William. Were you able to resolve the issue?”

  “Yes. It was a misunderstanding between Richard and the men he’d hired. You might have simply come to me first, before you swept in and arranged for meetings and to send angry men away.”

  Phineas hid his frown. It hadn’t been a misunderstanding. If Richard Donnelly wanted to save his pride by saying so, that was one thing. But Phin didn’t like being kicked in the arse for another man’s sake. “I apologize again, then,” he said anyway. Protests wouldn’t do him any good.

  “Where were you?”

  “Riding with Alyse.”

  William blew out his breath. “Phin, a great deal has transpired in your absence. Alyse is not—”

  Someone rapped on the closed door behind him. Andrews remained unmoving behind William, so Phineas pulled it open. Gordon stood there, a wide grin on his face.

  “Beg pardon, Colonel,” he drawled in his Scots brogue, “but I got ye in to see Mr. Murdock the tailor, if ye can get yer arse there by one o’clock.”

  Phineas winced. “Thank you, Gordon,” he said. “I
’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “Oh, no, Phin,” William interjected. “Mr. Murdock is quite popular with the gentry. You’d best ride your new mount into town and keep your appointment. And close the door behind you, if you please.”

  Phineas closed the door. With a glare at Gordon, he led the way back to the front door. “Damnation, Sergeant,” he grumbled, “what did I tell you about barging into rooms?”

  “I knocked, Colonel.”

  “Allow me to add, then, that you shouldn’t barge straight into conversation, either.”

  “I beg yer pardon, then, but what, precisely, is wrong with sayin’ I did as ye asked me to?”

  Yes, how could he explain that without delving into the sad story that was his youth? “Tell me, then. No one else.”

  “Bein’ a valet is a damned pit o’ vipers, Colonel.”

  “So it is. Shine my dress boots while I’m gone, will you?”

  Gordon nodded, indicating they should step into the sitting room off the foyer. Another faux pas, but Phineas ignored it as he entered the room and closed the door after the sergeant.

  “What is it?”

  “Did ye find out why no one’s talking of the highwayman’s appearance last night?”

  “Yes. I showed myself to someone who didn’t wish to admit that she’d crossed paths with a stranger. If I want to upset the local gentry, I’d best make a more…spectacular showing.”

  “Oh, aye. We can’t have ye being subtle.”

  “I will be subtle. Our highwayman will not. That is the point, Thaddeus.”

  “Far be it from me to argue with a madman.”

  Phineas grinned. “Exactly.”

  Chapter 7

  The process of transporting Viscount Quence to a night out in Lewes was more complicated than Phineas had realized. First Andrews rolled him to the foyer in his chair. Then the valet lifted William in his arms and carried him down the front steps to the waiting coach. After carefully seating him where he could hold on to a wall strap for balance, Andrews returned for the chair, which he also carried down the steps and then tied on to the back of the coach.

  They had the system perfected, which made sense after ten years of practice. Phineas didn’t comment on their efficiency, and instead kept his mouth shut and climbed into the carriage to sit beside Beth.

  “Do you like opera?” Beth asked, hugging his arm. She wore a pretty blue and yellow silk gown, with matching ribbons tied through her curly ginger hair. “I should have discovered that before I asked you to join us.”

  Us. He wasn’t back to being one of the family yet, then. Not that he truly expected it. “Nonsense,” he said aloud. “Of course I enjoy opera,” he returned. In the face of her hopeful, pleased expression he would face a firing squad before admitting that opera left him indifferent at best, and asleep at worst. “Do you attend often?”

  “We try to go to the theater for every new production during the late summer and early fall. They almost never perform opera, so I’m quite excited. I’ve been learning Italian, so I will translate for you, if you wish.”

  “Thank you. I can ask for directions to the nearest inn in Italian, but that’s about as far as my knowledge goes.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he liked seeing her happy.

  “What a surprise,” William said into the silence. “Now that you’re here, pray determine which of the local inns and taverns the nobility frequent so that you don’t embarrass the family by entering a bawdy house.”

  “I’m not going to any tavern,” Phineas retorted. “I’m going to the theater with you and Beth, and during intermission I’ll be chatting and behaving in a pleasant and gentlemanly manner.”

  “Tonight, anyway. Forgive me if I otherwise remain skeptical.”

  At the word “forgive,” Phineas flinched. He had a hunch that William had used it intentionally. “You may be correct,” he grunted. “If I find someone willing to purchase me a glass of bitters, I may lose all bearings.”

  Beth cleared her throat. “You look very handsome tonight, Phin,” she said, too loudly. “And very rakish, with that scar.”

  He’d nearly forgotten about his scar. Absently he touched the right side of his face where the old, thin line dissected his eyebrow, skipped over his eye, and ran for an inch down his cheek. “If the fellow had been a feather closer when he swung his saber at me, I’d be looking rakish with an eye patch. Thank goodness for ground squirrels and their well-placed burrows.”

  “Yes, thank God for them.”

  Phineas glanced again at William. The words sounded sarcastic, but his brother’s tone seemed almost…sincere. As far as he was concerned, if he’d lost an eye it wouldn’t be anything he hadn’t deserved.

  “I thank goodness that nothing worse happened to you,” Beth went on.

  Nothing except for being shot twice and having a horse fall on him. But his family didn’t know about any of that. Nor did he want them to. “I was lucky,” he said aloud.

  “Lord Bramwell said you were clumsy and generally fell down at the right moment.”

  “Bram’s an idiot.”

  “He’s very nice,” Elizabeth argued, her color rising, “in a dangerous, naughty sort of way.”

  Phineas sat forward. “What do you mean, ‘naughty’? If he’s put a hand on you, I’ll castrate him.”

  “Good heavens!” Beth’s cheeks darkened to scarlet.

  “Bram has done everything possible to avoid being in the same room with our Magpie,” William said, humor entering his voice for what seemed like the first time since Phineas had returned. “It couldn’t hurt to pass your sentiments on to him, though.”

  “No! No, no, no! You will do no such thing! Because if you do, I will die from embarrassment!”

  “I thought you were being courted by Lord Donnelly.” Phineas eyed his sister. Under other circumstances he might have pursued this topic more delicately, but he and William seemed to have momentarily become allies. He couldn’t allow that to pass by without doing anything to encourage it.

  She lifted her chin. “Clearly it would be very silly of me to continue to participate in this conversation.”

  “But how will I know who I’m supposed to threaten if you don’t tell me which gentlemen you find interesting?”

  “Richard has been a great help to us,” she retorted, “so please do not threaten him simply because he takes me driving.”

  Phineas’s amusement faded. He’d brought up the topic of Richard Donnelly, but not to be slapped with the reminder that the man had stepped into the place within the Bromley family that had been his. Had been and would have continued to be, if he hadn’t been such a fool.

  “Did you write Lord Bramwell to tell him you’re here?” Beth asked, either realizing that she’d trodden on sensitive ground, or unable to overcome being a seventeen-year-old young lady with a very ill-placed infatuation.

  “I’ve written both Bram and Sullivan. I didn’t ask them to come, however, so don’t expect to see either of them.” He refrained from mentioning that he’d already received a very substantial gift, in the form of Ajax, from Sullivan.

  “I didn’t ask anything about whether anyone would be visi—”

  The coach jolted sideways. Beth shrieked as with a tremendous crack the vehicle pitched forward into the road. Phineas felt the sickening roll begin as the top-heavy vehicle started over onto its side. Not even taking the time to think, he shoved Beth against the sinking wall to keep her from falling that way, and then launched to the other side of the coach to grab William, bracing himself beneath his brother.

  With Beth’s screams in his ears the coach rocked onto its side and continued on toward the roof before it settled back again. “Beth! Quiet!” he snapped.

  She subsided with a surprised whimper.

  “Are you hurt? Beth! Are you—”

  “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  “William?”

  “Intact, as far as I can tell.”

  Thankfully the oil in the coach lamp
had drowned out the flame, but all of them were covered with the slick substance. Inside the toppled coach it was dark as pitch, but looking up he could make out the overcast sky through the trio of windows he’d been sitting beside a moment ago. He could hear the horses neighing and stomping, and crickets, but nothing of the two men who’d been seated on the driver’s perch. “Warner? Andrews?” he called.

  “Here, sir!” Warner’s voice came. “Is anyone injured?”

  “No.”

  “Give us a moment, then, to free the horses so they don’t drag the coach.”

  “What happened?” Beth quavered, crawling over to grasp William’s hand.

  “I would guess that we lost a wheel,” Phineas supplied. William was heavy across his chest, but he wasn’t about to complain. As his eyes adjusted to the dark well enough for him to make out his siblings, the tension in his muscles eased a little. They were all bumped and bruised, but thankfully nothing worse. And he couldn’t detect any trace of the distinctive metallic scent of blood. He’d smelled that often enough to recognize it anywhere.

  “I want to get out.”

  He also recognized the beginnings of panic in his younger sister’s voice. “I’ll see what I can do. William, I’m going to shift you to my right.”

  “I can manage.” His brother gripped the edges of the facing seats and bodily lifted himself high enough for Phineas to scramble out from under him.

  “Remind me not to arm-wrestle you,” he muttered, unbuckling his sheathed saber and setting it aside. He stood to shove hard at the door above his head. It lifted up and over, falling open with a creaking thud. He offered a hand down to his sister, pulling her carefully to her feet in the cramped space. “I’ll lift you,” he said, putting his hands around her waist. “Rest your elbows on the frame, and then stand on my shoulders to climb out.”

  She reached up as he lifted, and within a few seconds she made it out onto the skyward-pointing side of the coach. “What about you two?” she asked, leaning her head back in to look down at them as Phin handed her up his saber.

  He sank back onto his haunches. “We’ll wait for Andrews and Warner. And you stay up there until one of them can help you down. Don’t stab anyone unless it’s strictly necessary.”