Before The Scandal (5 page)

“Phin.” William closed the ledger book on which he’d been working. “How was your ride?”

Was William attempting to keep the condition of Quence from him? Or was there something else in the air? “It was interesting,” he answered aloud. “Might we speak in private for a moment?”

A muscle in William’s gaunt cheek jumped. “This is as private as I get.”

Phineas clenched his jaw, but nodded. If his brother wanted Andrews there, then the valet would remain. He had long ago realized that he didn’t have much skill at diplomacy; he left that to others more qualified. Where he excelled was charging in after the diplomats failed.

He drew a breath as he closed the door. New situations, new tactics. “I rode by the east pasture.”

William continued to gaze at him. “And?”

“The site where Donnelly wants to put the new dam will flood Roesglen’s north pasture and his pond.”

His brother rubbed a finger against the silvering hair at his temple. “And?” he repeated.

“And so I told his men to wait a day. John Stuggley will be here in the morning so the two of you can decide where best to locate the dam.”

“Very well.” William opened the ledger again.

Phineas blinked. “‘Very well’?” he repeated. “That’s it?”

With a breath the viscount shut the book for the second time. “What would you like me to say? ‘Thank God you returned to Quence in time to keep Lord Roesglen from losing his fish pond’?”

“Didn’t Donnelly mention that he was moving the dam’s location, and that it might cause friction between you and Roesglen?”

His brother scowled briefly, then smoothed his expression over again. “I didn’t think to ask.”

“Where’s your estate manager? Where’s…what’s his name? Boling. Where’s Mr. Boling?”

“He married a young lady whose father owns a mill in Darbyshire. He runs the mill, now.”

“Why haven’t you hired someone to replace him?”

William’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not actually questioning my governance of this property, are you?”

“No. Of course not. But—”

“You reappear after ten years, and because you happen across a dam being constructed in the wrong place you’ve, what, become the family’s salvation?”

Phineas straightened. “I said no such thing. I was only concerned that Donnelly’s decision might harm this family’s friendship with Roesglen. That is all—”

“Richard Donnelly has been unendingly helpful since his arrival here last year,” William interrupted. “And he requests nothing in return. No acknowledgment, no money, noth—”

“Nothing except for Beth, perhaps.”

“Beth likes him. He’s become a part of this family.”

Phineas understood that. “You mean he’s taken my place in this family,” he said stiffly, turning his back and heading for the door.

“Someone needed to.”

“Insult me all you like, William. It’s nothing less than I deserve. But it won’t make me leave.”

His jaw clenched, Phineas stalked back down the hall. He’d expected to find a fight ahead of him, and he certainly had never thought William would greet him with open arms. But not to have a place at all—that had never occurred to him. It should have.

Swearing under his breath, he lengthened his stride and turned up the stairs to his bedchamber. In the past he would have paced and sulked, or climbed out the window to head into Lewes and find trouble. Tonight he meant to become someone else entirely and, as a stranger, venture into places that the new and hopefully wiser Phin Bromley could no longer afford to go.

Out the tall, narrow windows, the moon was past full, but still bright and silver over the leaves in the pretty garden. At least Richard hadn’t seen fit to dig up the roses and replace them with something more to his taste—though she couldn’t imagine what that might be, as money trees were solely the stuff of myth. Heaven knew she could use one of those right now otherwise.

In the drawing room her aunt and cousin were playing whist and carrying on a criticism of everyone who wasn’t themselves. Sighing, Alyse slipped past the half-open door and down the stairs.

“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.

“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 away 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.