Before the Scandal Page 8

  As she nodded, clutching his weapon against her chest and sitting back out of his sight again, Phineas realized this was the first time he and William had been alone in ten years. No Beth, no Andrews—and he didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be able to go into town tonight,” William said into the silence.

  “I don’t give a damn about going into town,” Phineas retorted, keeping his voice low.

  “What do you give a damn about?”

  “You and Beth. My men, my friends. Or was that supposed to be a rhetorical question?”

  William took a breath. “I don’t want to fight with you, Phin. I just don’t know why you’re here.”

  “Beth wrote me t—”

  “Yes, I know what Beth did. But I’m not on my deathbed, and I think you know you can’t just…step back into this life. Things have changed over ten years.”

  “I shouldn’t have stayed away for so long,” Phineas returned slowly, on guard against another insult from his brother. How could he explain why he had stayed away? How did his shame and…cowardice compare against William, who hadn’t had any choice but to face what had happened? “I don’t expect everything to be as it was,” he continued. “But perhaps—”

  “My lord?” Andrews looked down through the open door above, his usually stoic expression folded into one of clear concern.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” William returned.

  “The chair is flattened, I’m afraid,” the valet commented.

  William’s jaw clenched briefly. “No matter. We’ll manage.”

  Andrews swung his legs through the door. As he gathered himself to jump down into the coach, Phineas stood again. “Stay there, Andrews. I’ll hand him up to you.”

  The valet paused. “My lord?”

  “I don’t care how you do it,” William commented, his voice tighter. “Just get me the bloody hell out of this hole.”

  He must hate it, being completely dependent on others not just for his rescue, but for everything. Did he hate the person who’d done it to him? How could he not?

  Later, Phineas told himself. He could contemplate his stupidity and damnation afterward. “If I lift you,” he said, squeezing behind William again and wrapping his arms around his brother’s chest, “can you hold on to Andrews’s legs while I shift my grip?”

  “Yes.”

  Phineas lifted William beneath the arms. His brother was solid and his legs nothing but dead dragging weight, but Phin refused to stagger or to give any indication at all that he was struggling. The viscount clutched on to his valet’s ankles, and Phineas let him go just long enough to grip him around the waist and lift again.

  With some pushing and pulling and some swearing on William’s part, they got him out through the sky-facing door. Once he was clear, Phineas jumped up, gripping the doorframe, and hauled himself out as well.

  “May I suggest that you ride on my back, my lord?” Andrews asked, climbing down so that Phineas could lower William into the valet’s arms and from there onto the road where he could lean back against the coach’s undercarriage.

  “We’ll take turns,” Phineas said, clambering down and then squatting to eye the half-buried front axle. It had snapped like a twig, but he couldn’t tell much more than that in the dark.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Warner was saying to Beth from where he held the nervous horses. “I check the coach every morning. I didn’t see anything unsound about it, or I would never have—”

  “Calm yourself, Warner,” William said from his seat in the dirt. “It was an accident. No one’s blaming you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Shall I ride to Lord Donnelly’s and bring back a coach?”

  Phineas could sympathize with the groom’s wish to make amends. But leaving William sitting on the ground for at least another thirty minutes while the clouds gathered seemed a supremely poor idea. “Returning to Quence straightaway seems more prudent,” he said, trying not to give orders so that William wouldn’t feel the need to contradict him.

  “Yes, home,” the viscount agreed.

  They helped William up onto his valet’s back, and then the lot of them started for Quence. In the dark, with two miles to walk, and Beth wearing her thin slippers, Phineas figured it would take them at least forty minutes to get back to the manor house. He glanced at the lowering sky again. They would be lucky to make it back before the rain began. And luck seemed to be in short supply for the Bromley family.

  A hand gripped his. “I’m glad you were here tonight,” Beth said quietly.

  For a moment she looked like the wide-eyed seven-year-old he remembered. He squeezed her fingers. “I’m glad I was here, too,” he returned, “whatever the reason you wanted me back at Quence Park.”

  Her lips tightened. “Phin, he made me promise.”

  “Let me give it a try, then,” he muttered back. “If I’m right, squeeze my hand.”

  With a quick, guilty glance ahead at William clinging to Andrews’s back, she nodded.

  “Quence Park has seen a string of ill luck lately.”

  Squeeze.

  “Over the past year or so there’s been fire, flood, and some money issues.”

  Squeeze.

  “William’s worried that another instance or two of bad luck could cost the family the estate.”

  Squeeze.

  “He doesn’t want me here because he’s concerned that I’ll get in the way and make things worse.”

  Nothing. Phineas glanced sideways at his sister. She kept her gaze straight ahead, picking her way through the rutted road. Hm.

  “William doesn’t want me here because he’s still angry with me.”

  Nothing. That made his heart pound with something oddly like hope, but he pushed back the resulting questions for later. This wasn’t about his demons; it was about Quence’s.

  With that in mind and instead of continuing with aimless guesses, he decided to alter direction a little. “You wanted me here,” he said slowly, lowering his voice further, “because you think I can help.”

  Squeeze.

  She thought he could help. So she suspected that something more than ill luck was afoot, just as he did. Who, though, would want to drive the Bromleys off their property? Asking her that wouldn’t do any good, because neither she nor William knew the answer. If they did, they would have done something about it already.

  That made resolving this problem his responsibility. He was a soldier, a trained officer, and he arrived in East Sussex with certain skills and a certain mind-set. This was what he excelled at. War. Even if he didn’t yet know the identity of his opponent.

  He should probably stop the questions now and go relieve Andrews, but there was one more thing he wanted to know first. In the grand scheme it was probably inconsequential, but it mattered to him. “William doesn’t want me here because he’s worried I’ll be hurt.”

  Squeeze.

  That night Phineas slept better than he had since he’d received Beth’s letter in Spain. But he rose early, digging out some of the civilian clothes from which Gordon had managed to press the worst of the wrinkles, and dressed before the sergeant arrived to roust him from bed. He was pulling on his boots, in fact, when his so-called valet knocked on the bedchamber door and opened it.

  “Well, yer up with the roosters this mornin’, ain’t ye?”

  “I know we’ve only discussed knocking, but you’re supposed to wait for an answer before you open the door.”

  The sergeant frowned. “How d’ye answer, Colonel, if yer asleep?”

  Phineas glared at him for a moment. “Never mind. Come along.” He headed through the open door.

  “Come along where?”

  “I want to take a look at that coach in daylight.”

  The ancient butler hadn’t yet assumed his post at the front door, so Phineas unlatched and opened it himself. He closed it quietly, and the two of them walked around to the stable to saddle Saffron and Gallant.

  Sergeant Gordon
chattered about the foggy morning and about the coloring of a good beer, and then about one of the house’s upstairs maids who apparently had fiery red hair and a temper to match. Not paying much attention, Phineas instead wondered how he could best use the highwayman to discover who happened to be encouraging the ill luck that had beset Quence Park.

  He hadn’t been there in ten years. He didn’t know old neighbors or friends any longer, and he had no idea at all who might be a stranger, let alone who might bear a grudge against William or Beth or the family in general.

  It had rained overnight, and his boots were well spattered with kicked-up mud by the time they rounded the last curve in the road. “Company,” Gordon muttered.

  Phineas looked up. Through the fog he could make out three riders, two men and a woman, stopped beside the overturned coach. They were all well dressed and wearing the latest fashions, and one of the men had dismounted to climb up onto the vehicle.

  “I don’t see any corpses,” he called out, straightening.

  “Charles, that’s gruesome,” the young woman said with a delicate shudder.

  “I said that I don’t see any—” The fellow stopped as his gaze found the two men approaching on horseback. “Any dead people,” he continued, hopping to the ground. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  The other two moved around to view them, as well. “Good morning,” Phineas returned, automatically noting that Gordon had sent Gallant a dozen steps to his right. Spread out possible targets; make it more difficult for the enemy to wipe out your forces.

  “You wouldn’t know what happened here, would you?” the one on foot, Charles, continued.

  “That depends,” Phineas said, stopping. “Who are you?”

  “Lord Charles Smythe,” the fellow said. “That’s Lord Anthony Ellerby, and the lovely lady is his sister, Lady Claudia.” He cocked an eyebrow, confident and arrogant. “And who might you be?”

  As an officer, Phineas had learned to assess people quickly; his life, and the lives of his men, depended on his being correct. And he didn’t like this Lord Charles Smythe. He would reserve judgment regarding the other two. The Ellerby name, though, sounded familiar. “Ellerby,” he said aloud. “Any relation to Edward Ellerby, the Duke of Beaumont?”

  The mounted man nodded. “Our grandfather. We’re visiting.”

  Beaumont had an estate southwest of Lewes. He and the previous Lord Quence, Phineas’s father, had entered into some sort of dispute over who had priority at the local granary, but that had been twenty years ago. He didn’t know of anything more recent, but he preferred to keep on the side of caution until he had more details about what was going on.

  “You still haven’t introduced yourself, friend,” Lord Charles commented. He dipped his right hand into the right pocket of his greatcoat.

  He was probably armed, then. Phineas wasn’t, except for the knife stuck into his right boot. As far as he was concerned that made the odds about even, but he didn’t know nearly enough to push for a confrontation. Not yet. “Phineas Bromley,” he said, intentionally excluding Gordon from the introductions. The less the others thought about the sergeant, the freer he would be to make a first move unopposed.

  Lord Anthony blinked. “Bromley? Are you a relation of Lord Quence?”

  Phineas couldn’t read anything more than surprise in his expression. “His brother.”

  “The army fellow?”

  “I’m on leave.” As he supplied that, he noted that despite the fact that they were standing beside an overturned coach with the Quence coat of arms clearly emblazoned on the door, no one had asked anything other than the most general of questions about it. Did any of them have reason to be less than surprised to see the aftermath of the accident?

  Lord Charles strolled closer, his gaze taking in the yellow horse and the old jacket Phineas had donned for their investigation. “The army, eh? You look more like one of those gypsies who wanders the countryside, robbing people.”

  “Charles,” Lady Claudia chastised again, though she sounded more amused than troubled on his behalf.

  “I meant no offense, Sergeant,” Smythe continued.

  “Colonel,” Gordon burst out, his face reddening.

  “Lieutenant Colonel, actually,” Phineas said easily. “No offense taken, Lord Charles.”

  “Well, Colonel Bromley,” Lady Claudia said, flicking the ends of her reins against her thigh, “I hope to see you at the public ball tonight. It’s been rather dull here.”

  “I shall do my utmost,” he drawled. “My coach does seem to have suffered an accident.”

  Lord Charles Smythe swung back onto his horse. “And we’ll suffer an accident if we don’t return to Beaumont in time for breakfast.”

  Phineas watched until they vanished behind the hedgerows. Then he dismounted, moving over to the undercarriage of the coach and squatting down. “Take a look at this,” he said.

  Gordon moved in and bent down beside him, resting a hand on one of the airborne wheels. “That’s a terrible clean break,” he observed.

  “Yes, it is.” Phineas had seen malicious destruction before, and this looked like it. Nothing he could prove, of course, but he added it to the list of bad-luck items he’d compiled thus far.

  “So what d’ye plan to do about it?” his sergeant asked.

  Phineas straightened, wiping his hands on his thighs before he clapped his valet on the back. “What we’re going to do, Thaddeus,” he said smoothly, “is ride into town and see what we can do about getting another carriage. I want to go to that ball tonight.”

  “I should’ve stayed in bloody Spain. It would’ve been safer, I’m beginning to think.”

  “You’re likely correct. But this is turning out to be much more interesting.”

  Chapter 8

  Phineas hired the resident blacksmith and a team of heavy work horses to pull the Quence coach upright and render the broken vehicle capable of limping into Lewes for more permanent repairs. While Gordon oversaw that, Phin rode to a local coach house, where he rented a curricle. He would have preferred a coach, but most of the gentry had returned to the country from their Season in London, and none were available. And he needed to attend the public ball.

  He drove back by the blacksmith’s to collect Gordon. “What are the damages going to be?” he asked, as the Scotsman tied his horse to the curricle and climbed onto the seat beside him. Never mind that a servant would be expected to sit on the narrow perch at the back. Sergeant Gordon wasn’t precisely a typical servant.

  “Replacing the axle and three wheels, and the left-hand door—Carter says twenty quid, give or take.”

  “He agreed to do the work?”

  “I gave ’im a fiver.” Gordon looked over at him. “Ye are goin’ to pay me fer bein’ yer valet, ain’t you, Colonel?”

  “I didn’t ask you to follow me here, but yes, I suppose I will. Though five quid seems a bit generous.”

  “What the bloody h—”

  “Did you volunteer the money, or did he ask for something before he began the repairs?” Phineas interrupted.

  “He asked.”

  Phineas nodded. The locals knew, then, that Quence was suffering money troubles. Otherwise a commoner would never have asked for any payment from a noble’s household before providing a service.

  Gordon squinted one eye at him. “Ye told me not t’gossip, but does it count if I hear things’n tell ye about ’em?”

  “No, that doesn’t count,” Phineas agreed swiftly, turning the curricle down the road toward Quence.

  “Then there’s been some speculation as to ’ow long the Bromleys can hold on to Quence Park, what with the bad luck they been havin’.”

  “Was this from the blacksmith?”

  “Aye. And with nods from the tanner and Fred the innkeeper.”

  “And how did you respond?” Phineas queried.

  “With outrage, tempered by respect fer my gentlemanly master.”

  “Hm.” That was as well as could be expected, he s
upposed, but rumor could do as much damage as any flood. “How much ready blunt do you have to hand?”

  The sergeant sighed. “Near about forty quid, I would wager. The rest of me pay I sent home to me poor mum.”

  “You were found under a rock, Thaddeus.”

  “All right, ye cruel man. Sixty quid. But that’s me drinkin’ money.”

  “After Saffron and Gallant I’ve got about two hundred still to hand, and another five hundred or so I can draw from the bank on short notice.” He had more, but it would take longer to get his hands on it.

  “That’s a fair sum, Colonel. What d’ye intend to do with it?”

  “Turn the rumors to our favor, and see if I can figure out who’s trying to drive the Bromleys out of Quence Park.”

  “I foresee some mayhem comin’, then.”

  “I should think so.”

  “Excellent.” They rode in silence for several minutes. “How much trouble are ye willing t’cause here?”

  “I’m becoming convinced that someone is doing this to my family,” he returned, for once letting his anger at this unknown foe temper his voice. “I mean to flush him from hiding and bury him. And whatever I can’t do, our masked friend can. Beginning tonight.”

  “That’s plain enough, then. This fellow’s begun a war. We’ll end it fer ’im.”

  Phineas drew a breath. War. He knew war, but once he’d set eyes again on Alyse, this had become much more complicated. He’d kissed her, and he wanted to do so again. He wanted to go riding with her, and chat with her—and he wanted those things he’d sought with other women because he’d never thought to be able to experience them with Alyse. He wanted to feel her warm skin beneath his hands, feel her shudder with pleasure.

  “…help in the stable, don’t ye think?” Gordon was saying.

  Phineas shook himself. If he was to be fighting a battle, the distraction Alyse presented could be dangerous. He’d turned his back on his old life. Some of it he frankly was glad to leave behind. But other parts, he wanted again—and with a yearning he’d never expected. He placed Alyse firmly in that category.