Before The Scandal (7 page)

“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.”

“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.”

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.”