To Wed The Widow (23 page)

He chugged and the quiet room broke into laughter. When he’d exhaled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “We’ve come to once and for all settle the question of whether an earl’s brother can be a man in his own right.”

Sebastian said, “George.”

George stripped his coat off, handing it to the innkeeper. “We’ve come, like all men, to fight about a woman.”

Sebastian set his drink down and turned toward the door.

George said loudly to his back, “Win, and I’ll marry Miss Westin.”

That stopped Sebastian, and he turned back incredulously. “I will not gamble our future on a bout of pugilism.”

“It’s a gamble however the decision is made. It’s a gamble no matter what, or who, we choose.”

“And if you win?”

George unbuttoned his waistcoat. “If I win, I will enjoy blacking your eye.”

“That’s all you want?”

“I will enjoy it
a lot
.”

A few men chuckled, then put their faces back into their cups.

George handed off his waistcoat, replaced it with a beer, and said, “And then I will marry Lady Haywood.”

He picked up Sebastian’s beer and handed it out to him again. “But first, we will need to be drunk.”

“You are being incredibly silly.”

George drained his drink, keeping his eyes on Sebastian and his hand out.

Men murmured between themselves. A few coins changed hands quietly.

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Then I leave for London in the morning.”

Sebastian sighed and reached for the tankard. “But I’ll stay and have a drink with you.”

George waited until Sebastian had taken a sizable gulp before he nodded. “I’ll still be leaving for London. I have a bride to win.”

“What makes you think she’s waiting for you? She’s mourned husbands for less time than you’ve been gone.”

George rolled his shoulders. “If you don’t want a fight, you are going about it the wrong way.”

“It only stings because it’s true, George. And I don’t want to fight, but perhaps we should talk this out. Like men.”

“What good will talking do? You’re not going to change my mind, I’m not going to change yours.”

“Then what good will fighting do?”

George showed his teeth. “Besides choosing my bride, you mean? It will make an insuperable situation bearable.”

Sebastian shook his head. “I won’t allow fate and chance and the roll of the dice to dictate my life.”

“No. Only your birth and station.”

“As should you.”

“Can’t you see? It’s no different! Except it was someone else’s roll. Someone else’s chance and choice.”

“I know I’m lucky, George. The title, Flora, the girls.”

George drained the bottom of his third. “It’s all Flora’s fault. Can’t give her husband one heir, only girls.”

Sebastian hauled back and popped George in the eye.

The growing crowd of men shouted as George fell to his arse, then cheered as he sprang back up.

The innkeeper shouted, “Outside! Outside!”

He stopped when he realized he’d been shouting at the earl, but Sebastian only nodded and pushed himself away from the bar to go out the door.

Everyone followed him, and George gingerly touched his eye as men clapped him on the back and made bets with each other.

Sebastian pointed to a fellow, then fished a coin from his pocket. “Help me with my coat, will you?”

Off came Sebastian’s hat, his coat, his waistcoat, his cravat, and then his shirt.

As he undressed, he muttered, “All her fault. About the woman who loves you like a brother, who wrote to you every two weeks for eight years.”

“And I love her. And wrote back. She still has given you only girls.”

“As if she wouldn’t give her soul, her
life
, for a son!”

George pulled his shirt over his head and handed it behind him without looking, his eyes glued to his brother’s.

Sebastian put his toe to the line someone had drawn in the dirt. “Far better for you to suffer an inconvenient marriage than for her to suffer again. Than for her to court death. I will not let him have her!”

“Sebastian?”

“Death can not have her! I win, and you marry Miss Westin.”

George put his toe to the line. “And if I win–”

Sebastian popped him in the other eye.

George’s head whipped back and the crowd cheered. Sebastian followed him and
pop, pop, pop
.

“Gone for eight years, gone to
India!
”

George dodged the next blow. “You were going to marry me off. Just like now!”

He got close enough to ball his fist into Sebastian’s middle and Sebastian’s breath rushed out in a loud grunt. He grabbed for George and leaned on him.

“What do you think (
pant pant
) men do? You marry a respectable girl (
scuffle scuffle
), you find a lovely widow (
punch, groan
), or not so lovely if that’s what tickles your fancy (
twist, ow!
), and let her take care of you while your wife is at home with the children.”

George pushed and spun away. “And how is that working out for you?”

“Well, just lovely, thank you for asking! My wife is furious at me, my brother is in love with the widow, and the respectable girl, well, who knows about her!”

Someone shouted, “More hitting, less talking!”

Sebastian took a step forward and popped George in the nose.

George’s head whipped back, and then he roared mightily and barreled toward Sebastian, shouldering him in the gut and lifting him into the air for a long moment. . .and then dropping him to land heavily on the ground.

Sebastian and the crowd groaned in unison and George shouted, “I can’t be what you want, Sebastian! I can’t be you!”

Sebastian stayed on the ground and tried to breathe.

George huffed and huffed, waiting until Sebastian finally rolled to his side and pushed himself back onto his feet slowly.

Sebastian cupped his back, wincing, and George said, “Are we done then? Lady Haywood is it?”

“No. Just. . .a minute.”

They backed off from each other, circling slowly, limping and cursing.

Sebastian said softly, “I don’t want you to be like me, George. I just want. . .everything.”

“I know. It is unfortunate that we both can’t have everything.”

Sebastian nodded. “So we’re really fighting to see who the loser is.”

George stepped forward and swung and missed. “Would it be so horrible? Having no heir?”

“It’s just. . .losing.”

“And earls don’t lose.”

Sebastian’s fist connected with George’s side. “Earls don’t lose.”

George grabbed for his brother and hung on, their struggles turning into mutual support.

Sebastian hung his head, huffing. “We should have done this twenty years ago. I’m sure it would have hurt less.”

George nodded, breathless. “A draw?”

Sebastian looked around at the men circled around them and said, “We need to give them a winner or else there will be a riot.”

“Get on with it then. But make it a good one, would you? If I’m going down, I want to still be a man when I get back up. A man when I marry Elinor Rusbridge.”

Sebastian pushed his brother off him. “All the men heard that you would marry Miss Westin if I won.”

“I lied. Didn’t lie about Flora, though. This is entirely her fault.”

“You scoundrel!”

Sebastian swung with all his might and George had time to think that perhaps being an earl wouldn’t be too bad. It might be nice to believe you couldn’t lose.

And then there was blackness.

They left the next morning for London.

The coach was not so unfriendly and silent on this trip and there was light ribbing and pained groans from both sides.

Sebastian fidgeted. “We should have waited until we were healed.”

“But think how our women will fuss over us.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Resign yourself to it, dear brother.”

Sebastian eyed the bruises on George’s face. “She may take one look at you and faint.”

George laughed. “I doubt it. What of Flora?”

“I doubt she’ll even look. You were obliging enough to stay away from my face.”

George waited for more and when none was forthcoming, said, “Are you going to tell me why Flora is furious with you?”

“Do you think I know why?”

“My guess is she told you, at least. Whether you listened or not. . .”

Sebastian shifted again. “I accused her of something. . .horrible.”

“Bloody hell.”

“She’s been acting so strange, I just–”

“You forgot who she was for a moment.”

“I’m afraid I never knew.”

George laughed and shook his head. He pulled back the curtain to look out at gray skies and green pastures and white dots of sheep.

“
What fools we mortals be
.”

“Must you misquote?”

George smiled. “Fine, then.
Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

“You don’t think she. . .”

“Never.”

Sebastian sighed. “I know. But how does one say I am completely and utterly cork-brained?”

“That’s a good start.”

“For some reason, I don’t think it will be enough for her.”

“I think, and I’m sure you are dying for my opinion, but I think you have always known who Flora is. And I think that all you need to do is ask for her forgiveness.”

“Just ask?”

“Beg?”

Sebastian’s lips pursed and his nostrils flared.

George said, “She knows you just as well and I would bet she knows
asking
is all you can do.”

Sebastian sighed and moved himself into a more comfortable position yet again.

“George. I won’t ask you for forgiveness, nor beg, not about Elinor Rusbridge.”

“I hope there is more coming because that was not a good start.”

“But. . .”

George waited, still looking out the window.

Then he smiled.

He turned back to his brother, saw how Sebastian was trying,
trying
, to say something else.

George shook his head and laughed. “
But
. . .is a good enough start for me, Sebastian.”

Sebastian had even went so far as to ask where George would like to be dropped off, his lodgings or the Lady Haywood’s.

George had privately thought that they should have pummeled each other ages ago but had only said his quarters.

He
didn’t
think Elinor would faint at the sight of him. The smell though. . .

George had to wash the country off as soon as possible and even Elinor would have to wait.

But not for long, and soon he was in front of her townhouse. Anala in his hand, not his pocket, and both of them ready to bound up the stairs and see Elinor. To smell her and feel her and forget the longest ten days of George’s life.

Perhaps take some tea with Mrs. Potts, and then retire to a bedchamber as hot as India and play with his lady’s scandalous midriff.

George stopped before one foot hit the steps. Stopped and turned, and there was her brother.

Watching.

Anala yipped. Alan Rusbridge nodded. George Sinclair nodded back.

He was an English gentleman after all.

But he stayed watching until Rusbridge turned away and walked into the darkening night.

George trudged up the stairs and knocked slowly, and when Jones opened the door, George let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Everything all right, Jones?”

“Of course, Mr. Sinclair.” Jones peered at the bruises. “Are you all right, sir?”

“Oh, fine. Had it out with my brother.” George waved behind him. “Rusbridge was here.”

Jones opened the door wider, showing the gun he’d been hiding behind it. “Yes, sir.”

“She’s all right?”

Jones nodded. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

George entered, handing off his coat and putting Anala down to scratch at the drawing room door.

The door opened and Elinor said, “Anala, no. Sit.”

When the dog sat, Elinor scooped the dog up and scratched behind her ears and turned to George.

She cataloged his features. His still wet hair. The bruises.

“Were you set upon by bandits?”

“A duel, of sorts.”

“. . .Did you win?”