Amanda Scott (19 page)

Either his tone or the gleam in his eyes made her sit straighter as she demanded, “Just what did you do to him? So help me, Ned, if you have harmed—”

“Not a hair on his head, though I longed to draw his cork, I can tell you. Thought I’d wait till he was sensible enough to recognize me. No, Syb, I just held his head while he was sick in the gutter—how to endear oneself to one’s servants—and then carried him to a bed and ordered the second footman to look after him. I’ll tell him to send the brat to you when he wakens. However, if you’ll excuse me now, I have a few errands to attend to first. I’ll send that message to Symonds House for you.”

When he had gone, the first thing Sybilla did was repeat her demand for food. Without Ramsbury’s support, Medlicott was no match for her, and she soon had her sandwiches and tea. Congratulating herself on the masterly handling of a delicate situation, she sat back to enjoy her repast, only to be interrupted by the arrival of her brother, who breezed into the room just as she was biting into the first sandwich.

“I say, that looks tasty,” he said, helping himself from the plate. “Don’t mind telling you, I’m famished. But why are you lying about, Syb? Don’t tell me you’ve got a head like mine! The footman told me you were a little the worse for wear today, but I never expected to find you quacking yourself like this. You have never done so before.”

S
YBILLA EXPLAINED THAT, FAR
from quacking herself, she was doing her best to recover quickly from the illness that had incapacitated her. She would have been happy to recount the details to him, such as she knew them, but Brandon soon turned the subject to his favorite topic.

“I am perfectly stout again, myself,” he said, “and I know you will be glad I came to town, for you will not be thinking I’ve taken a bad toss if I am right here under your nose.”

“I suppose you found you did not have enough money for Leicestershire,” she said. “You said you had enough, but—”

He grimaced in annoyance. “Are you still on about that? I told you everything was all right and tight with me. In any event, I shan’t ask you for a penny, you may be sure of that!”

Since he still moved stiffly and was clearly not yet up to snuff, and since she knew from vast experience that his temper under such circumstances was not to be relied upon, she quickly changed the subject, asking if his friend had come with him.

“Oh, yes, Sitwell came, and we mean to stay through the Season, you know, for I cannot think it will do me any good to go back to school. You know Charlie only stayed the one year, Syb, and I don’t think Cambridge suits me any better than it did him.”

“But surely, Brandon, you would do better to finish what you have started, at least to finish out the term!”

“In point of fact, it has been suggested that I might prefer
not
to finish out the term,” he explained with a rueful grin.

“Oh, dear, but why did you not tell us? Papa will be vastly displeased, I can tell you, and all the more so that you—”

“I doubt he will pay any heed at all,” Brandon said. “He don’t care a whisker what I do, and never has.”

“That is not true,” Sybilla said, but the statement sounded weak even to her own ears, and she could not blame him for his look of scorn. “Why were you sent down?” she asked with a sigh, as much to remove that expression from his face as from any real wish to hear the details.

But Brandon was perfectly happy to tell her. “It was not so much the fact that I overturned my tutor in his own gig—Oh, don’t look so shocked, Sybby. What else was I to do when the silly gudgeon told me he had never been upset. What a damned slow fellow he must have been all his life! I decided he should have the experience, so I drove straight onto a steep bank and upset the gig. No real injury, of course, so that cannot have been it. The bagwig was not terribly clear as to his reasons, you know, or even clear as to whether I was actually being sent down. Just kept muttering about how I was as impossible as Papa, which cannot be the case, for no one is, and saying that perhaps I would prefer to be elsewhere for a time. But that was after the little matter of that scoundrel of a horse dealer, of course, so one cannot wonder if he was a trifle put out.”

“Horse dealer?”

“Yes, not the one I put the bear to bed with, of course, but the other one, the cheat.”

“You put a bear to bed …” Words failed her, and she just looked at him, her mouth agape.

He grinned. “Old Nolly—same one that tried to take my arm and leg off. I got carried away that time, forgot he wouldn’t take kindly to the spur. He didn’t like the horse dealer either. Man was a dead bore, and I’d already given him a hint earlier in the evening by putting a hot coal in his pocket, but he was determined to be obtuse, so sterner methods were called for. But Nolly didn’t like sharing a bed, and I’m afraid when he lost his temper he took a bit of skin from the fellow. Still, the man didn’t complain, or if he did, the bagwig didn’t believe him.”

“Then, who?”

Brandon shrugged, winced, then helped himself to another sandwich. “Told you, it was on account of a fellow who tried to cheat me, selling me a horse. I gave him a note to a Newmarket banker and said he could collect the money for the horse from him. Didn’t tell him the banker’s also the governor of the lunatic asylum outside the town. Likewise didn’t tell him the note said only, ‘Admit bearer into your asylum.’ Turned out the banker lacked a sense of humor.”

“Good gracious,” Sybilla said, chuckling, “I don’t blame the dean for sending you down, Brandon. What a dreadful boy you are! I shudder to think what mischief you will get up to in town.”

“Well, a man needs entertainment, but the first thing I mean to do is have some decent clothes made, for I don’t want to look like a rustic while I examine the goods on the marriage mart.”

“You mean to look for a wife?” She stared at him, then said flatly, “You are not old enough to marry.”

He grinned. “I’m older than Charlie was by a good several months, but don’t throw yourself into a tizzy. I’ve not the least expectation of getting married yet a while. I merely want to have a look at what’s available and have a bit of fun.”

Her worry was scarcely eased by these casual words, but when he had taken himself off, she found herself thinking not about what mischief he might get up to but what he might already have done. Ramsbury had been right before in pointing out that if Brandon had enough money to suit his needs, it was for the first time in his life. It had been nearly a fortnight since the wager over the bear, and even if his winnings had been considerable, he had had plenty of time to squander them. He was still on his high ropes, she decided, not wanting to ask her for money, but no doubt he would soon develop some foolish scheme for winning more.

She did not worry much, however, for she fell asleep shortly after he left her, and when she awoke, her slender, fashionably attired sister was sitting at her bedside, elbows resting on her knees, her firm little chin in her hands as she leaned forward to stare steadily with heavily lashed, wide blue eyes at Sybilla.

“Oh, good,” Mally exclaimed, straightening, “you are awake at last! I am so glad, for Harry did not want me to stay long, you know. He said very firmly that he would expect me home by five, and here it is gone four now, but that stupid Meddy threatened to have my head off my shoulders if I dared to waken you, so I sat as still as a mouse and merely wished you awake. How are you, dearest? They told me you need a great deal of rest and ought not to have come to London at all. Why did you do so?”

“Have you actually paused to draw breath?” Sybilla asked her with a warm smile. “No, no, do not answer that, my dear. Tell me instead how you came to be so foolish as to think of running off with that dreadful Brentford. His reputation, Mally … . Really, you ought to know better than to encourage such a man!”

Mally tossed her head, setting her blond ringlets aquiver. “Do not scold me, Sybilla. If that is why you came to London, I wish you had not come at all. I told you in my letter why I was going away. Brentford is wealthy, and I thought he would be amusing and buy me lots of presents, only he never did so, which is why he is still so wealthy, I expect, for if one spends all one’s money on presents, one cannot stay rich, can one?”

“No, I suppose not.” Sybilla looked carefully at her. “What did Harry have to say about all this? He did not … that is, I hope he was not so angry as to …”

“Beat me?” Mally laughed. “No, of course not. Poor Harry is terribly distressed that I was lonely enough to run away with a man as dangerous as Brentford is said to be. And he is, Sybilla. I am certain the handsome viscount is capable of murder!” She shuddered dramatically but then added a note of mischief, “Of course, the danger only makes him more attractive, but I would not say as much to dearest Harry, I assure you. I cast myself on his mercy, and it was the most affecting scene, for I wrung my hands much in the way of Mrs. Siddons when we saw her last. Oh, I tell you, he had tears in his eyes!”

“I see,” Sybilla said, her voice taking on a dry note. “You did not behave very well, did you, Mally?”

But her sister was not remorseful. “Why should I?” she demanded. “Men are selfish beasts, concerned more with their own pleasure than with ours, and Harry has neglected me shamefully. I merely wished to point out to him the dangers of such neglect.”

“Then you did not really intend to run away?” Sybilla’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me that you were the one who sent word warning him of your infatuation with Brentford!”

“No, of course I did not do such a thing, though I am glad now, of course, that someone did, and of course I would have gone with Brentford. Don’t be a goose, Sybilla. Did I not tell you he is enormously wealthy? Of course, if he makes it a practice to run off with young women, I should not have liked that, but I daresay he would not run off with any more, once he had me. Still, it was nice that Harry did not want me to leave. I think perhaps we will be very happy again now, don’t you?”

Sybilla was beginning to feel tired despite the fact that she had just wakened, and she did not think she was up to an argument. Changing the subject without a qualm, she casually mentioned the fact that Brandon had come to town. “It seems he neglected to tell anyone that he had been sent down from school,” she added, “if not for the whole term, at least for some weeks.”

Mally shrugged. “He can stay if he likes, so long as he behaves himself and don’t play off his usual tricks. I was exceedingly embarrassed last year when he rode his horse into Lady Cowper’s drawing room and said he’d had to bring it in out of the rain and couldn’t leave it in the stable because the dreadful animal preferred a place by the fire.”

Sybilla laughed and told her about the bear. “He is uncommonly partial to animals,” she added. “Remember how furious Papa was to discover that Brandon had ordered a suit of livery made for the kitchen cat so that everyone in Royal Crescent would know it was ours and bring it home again if it got lost?”

But Mally was not amused. “Harry does not like our family to be so much talked about, Sybilla. I have promised him that I will take care in future, and so long as he remains in London, I shall, but it will not be easy if you are going to continue to drive over highwaymen, and Brandon is to bring bears to dinner, and Ramsbury is to persist in making a cake of himself over that dreadful Lady Mandeville.”

Sybilla said, “He assured me that the boot is on the other foot, Mally, that it is she who pursues him. Indeed, he told me that from the outset, though I did not believe him.”

“No more should you,” declared her sister. “Even if it were true, she behaves very possessively toward him and he does nothing that I have ever seen to discourage her. Moreover, he certainly cannot deny that he was enthralled with her before he married you. Why, they had had a long liaison before that.”

“He said there was nothing to it and that he had known her less than three months,” Sybilla protested, conveniently forgetting that she had disbelieved him at the time.

Mally shook her head sorrowfully. “Poor Sybilla. Three months is a prodigious long time for such affairs, I promise you. Why, mine scarcely ever last more than a week!”

“I don’t wish to discuss your affairs or Lady Mandeville,” Sybilla said firmly. “Who else is in town?”

“Scarcely anyone,” Mally told her, but then she went on to name a good number of people, and they chatted amiably for another half hour, before she exclaimed at the time and took herself off home.

Neither Ramsbury nor Brandon showed his face again that evening, but in the days that followed, they visited her often, both doing what little they could to reconcile her to her lot. At first, being extremely tired, she did not really mind following the doctor’s orders to remain in bed. Indeed, she spent most of her time sleeping and paid little heed to the notes and posies sent by Sydney and numerous other concerned friends, or even to the letter from her father’s housekeeper, warning her that Sir Mortimer had discovered her absence.

By the fourth day, however, although the doctor continued to insist that she remain in bed, the inactivity had begun to pall, and that night both Ramsbury and Brandon went out, believing she would rest better without them. Feeling neglected, she tried to read after dinner, only to f all asleep over her book, with the result that she awoke the next morning feeling well enough to insist upon dressing and going to the breakfast parlor. If she had hoped to find company there, however, she was disappointed. The first footman informed her that both men, having returned to the house late the previous night, were still abed.

Wondering what on earth she would do to pass the time, and deciding that she did not dare order out a carriage, Sybilla retired at last to the sunny morning room, where she attempted to pass the time by reading the latest issue of
Le Beau Monde.
Fortunately, since she soon became bored, her efforts were interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, and a surprising and very welcome visitor at that.

“The Marchioness of Axbridge,” intoned the butler gravely from the threshold.