Before The Scandal (3 page)

“Alyse!”

At the same time as the muffled female voice yelled her name, a thud came from the middle of her floor. She sighed as the sound repeated. For an invalid, Aunt Ernesta was fairly spry with her walking cane. And how she could reach the ceiling while lying in bed, Alyse had no idea.

As she shoved down the covers and sat up, perfection faded away again. Now she was daughter to the deceased viscount and viscountess, and cousin to the present lord. And now she rarely waltzed. Waltzing was difficult when her aunt insisted on having a companion seated at her elbow for the entirety of each soiree—when they attended them.

“Alyse! You lazy girl!”

Alyse stomped on the floor. “I’m coming!” she shouted back.

For heaven’s sake. Her aunt had set up residence in her old bedchamber, though whether that had been out of spite or because she liked the view from the windows, Alyse didn’t know. She did have her suspicions. Her new bedchamber, on the drafty third floor, had been her old governess’s room. If she’d had any idea how chilled Mrs. Garvey must have been in the winter, she would have insisted that the kindly woman be lodged downstairs.

Throwing on a green morning dress, Alyse knotted her hair and pushed a few clips into it, then left the room and hurried down to the second floor. “I’m here, Aunt,” she panted, giving a perfunctory knock on the door with one knuckle and then pushing it open.

“Don’t you dare stomp at me,” Aunt Ernesta said, her dour face even less friendly than usual. “It’s bad enough that you go clomping about up there at all hours, without you intentionally making noise.”

“Apologies,” Alyse returned tightly, joining her aunt’s maid, Harriet, beside the bed. They each took an elbow and hauled.

“Be careful! I am not a sack of flour.”

No, sacks of flour didn’t complain nearly as much as her aunt did. Alyse kept that thought to herself, however. There were worse things than being an unpleasant woman’s companion. There were even degrees of unpleasantness. And she knew that firsthand, because she’d personally experienced half a dozen aspects of it.

“I’m going into Lewes today to look for gown material,” Aunt Ernesta announced as her maid dressed her. “We have several soirees just in the next fortnight, and I’m beginning to think I haven’t brought enough evening gowns with me.”

That meant that Alyse would be going into town, as well. It was better than sitting in the drawing room and embroidering, and it meant a good chance to increase the amount of her hidden-away funds. Her escape money, as she’d come to think of it. “What time shall I have Winston bring the coach around?”

“Don’t be so eager,” Mrs. Donnelly snapped. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

“Neither have I, Aunt. I merely inquired so you wouldn’t be kept waiting when you were ready to leave.”

With a sniff, Aunt Ernesta nodded. “Ten o’clock. And I want to take the barouche. The fresh air may do me some good.”

“Very well. I’ll see to it.”

Before anyone could change their minds or put her to brushing out her aunt’s hair, Alyse left the bedchamber and hurried down to the foyer. “Saunders,” she said to the tall, spindly butler, “Mrs. Donnelly would like to take the barouche into town at ten o’clock.”

The butler nodded. “I shall inform Winston.” He pursed his lips. “I believe there to be a very limited quantity of early summer strawberries available in the breakfast room.”

Strawberries
. She adored strawberries. “Thank you, Saunders,” she murmured, “but for heaven’s sake don’t risk Richard overhearing you.”

“I’m surprised to still be here as it is, Miss Alyse. And I haven’t forgotten how you always liked strawberries.”

With a quick, fond smile Alyse put a hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she whispered again. “I—”

“Alyse!” Aunt Ernesta’s strident bellow could peel paint from the walls.

Unwilling to risk Saunders being blamed for her absence, Alyse rushed into the breakfast room to hide three strawberries beneath the toast and then returned upstairs. “Yes, Aunt?” she asked, skidding back to the doorway of Mrs. Donnelly’s bedchamber.

“You’re dawdling again. Find my gold earbobs.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

As she finished dressing, Aunt Ernesta turned from the dressing mirror. “I have decided that I shall ask Mrs. Potter and Lady Dysher over for luncheon tomorrow,” she said. “Send out the invitations, and select a half dozen passages from Milton. You shall read them to us for discussion.”

“Milton?” Alyse repeated, inwardly cringing. “That seems a bit…heavy for luncheon. Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer Shakespeare or Chaucer?”

“Shakespeare is far too risqué, and I wouldn’t be caught dead reading Chaucer, you silly girl. It’s to be Milton.” Mrs. Donnelly waved her back out the door. “And formulate some questions to guide the discussion.”

“Yes, Aunt.” Scowling now that no one could see her, Alyse went into the library for
Paradise Lost
and then headed for the stairs and the breakfast room.

“Ah, good morning, Alyse,” her cousin said from his seat at the head of the breakfast table. The carcasses of what looked like the remainders of all the strawberries save her hidden three lay piled to one side of his plate.

She sent out a silent thanks to Saunders. “Good morning,” she returned, accepting a plate from Donald the footman and heading for the toast.

“How is my mother this morning?”

“Well, I believe. She wishes to drive into town.” Her strawberries were still where she’d hidden them. Swiftly she bit into the plumpest of them and placed the other two on her plate. Strawberries tasted like summer. More significantly, they tasted like the summers of her youth, warm and moist and overflowing with sweet flavor.

“Come sit beside me,” Richard prompted, before she could take her usual seat halfway down the length of the breakfast table.

Suspicious, she did as he asked. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Tell me, Cousin, why do you think it is that Elizabeth Bromley never mentioned her other brother to me?”

Alyse shrugged. “He’s been away for quite some time. I don’t suppose she thought to discuss him any more than you thought to ask whether there might be another sibling about.”

Richard nodded.” Well, he’s about now, isn’t he? Why do you think that is?”

Alyse edged her plate away from him. “You know as much as I do, Richard.”

“Yes, well, give me your opinion, anyway. He seemed to know you quite well.” Her cousin finished off his sliced ham, then reached over and plucked one of the strawberries from her plate.

She didn’t say anything about the theft. He would only remind her how lucky she was to have relatives who were willing to provide for her, and then he would take the other berry. He would probably do so anyway. Before he could, she plopped it into her own mouth.
So there
. “In my opinion,” she said after she’d chewed and swallowed, “he may have come home because of Lord Quence’s health. You know the viscount has scarcely left the house since they arrived at the end of the Season.”

“I agree. It didn’t seem that William had any inkling he might be returning, however. I would wager that Beth sent for him.”

That made sense. Richard was nodding to himself, though, so apparently her further opinion wasn’t required. As far as she was concerned, the fact that Phineas Bromley was back in East Sussex held far more interest than wondering why he’d journeyed there.

“How close are you and Colonel Bromley?” Richard asked abruptly.

Alyse shook herself. “We used to be great friends. As I said, though, I haven’t seen him for a good ten years. I know nothing about him, these days.” She drew a breath, weighing whether having her curiosity satisfied would be worth the verbal lashing she was likely to receive in return. Curiosity won out. “Why so interested in Colonel Bromley, Cousin?”

He pinned her with his pale blue gaze. “I’m pursuing his sister,” he said flatly. “I would be foolish to ignore the presence of a man who might have a different agenda. Is there anything else about which you’d like to question me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I thought not.” Her cousin gestured for Donald to fetch him a cup of coffee. American coffee. She detested it. “I imagine,” he continued after taking a swallow, “that when he spoke with you last night, the colonel thought you were still a diamond. I wonder if they’ve told him yet that you’re made of cheap paste.”

Aunt Ernesta cackled from the doorway. “We’ll know the next time we encounter him.”

Alyse’s cheeks heated. “There’s no need to be cruel,” she said quietly, pushing away from the table.

“We aren’t cruel,” Ernesta countered. “If it weren’t true, it wouldn’t hurt. They do say that pride goes before the fall.”

True or not, Alyse didn’t want to hear it. For God’s sake, she detested these people. Even at her most self-absorbed, she didn’t think she’d ever been cruel. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, dear. Go read the Milton until time for us to leave for town.”

Not bothering to reply, Alyse retreated to her bedchamber. She’d been looking forward to going into Lewes, but now she wasn’t as certain. What if Phineas was there, as well? Would he look at her with the same gloating pity as her so-called friends had after the scandal?

Last night all she’d seen in his eyes had been surprise and relief at seeing her. To him she’d been a friendly face from a kinder past. She recognized that look because she’d felt the same way herself. Once he learned what had happened, how her fortunes had fallen, he wouldn’t smile when next they met. Or worse, he would smile behind her back.

Frustration, anger, loathing at her so-called relations all mingled thickly in her bones and her blood. For five years she’d attempted to make the best of things, learned to be grateful for small kindnesses that scarcely would have reached her notice previously. And finally began making plans to escape them altogether. Still every day ended a little worse than it had begun. Until last night. But feeling hope or anticipation only meant that she would hurt more when they passed her by, pausing only to laugh at her.

She closed her eyes for a moment before she opened
Paradise Lost
. Just to herself she breathed a silent prayer.
Please don’t let Phineas Bromley laugh at me
.

He sat back to look at himself in the mirror, shirtless, barefoot, and wearing an old pair of trousers to sleep in as he’d taken to doing in case the French attacked in the middle of the night. He bore a nice selection of scars from being shot and stabbed and having a horse or two fall on him, but nothing that could compare with what he’d done to William. He had the use of all his limbs, after all.

Dark brown hair that was past due for a trim, his face leaner than it had once been and well tanned from long days in the Spanish sun. Even his eyes seemed different than the last time he’d sat there—still hazel, but…older.

His door rattled with the force of a knock. Phineas jumped. “Come in,” he called, deliberately setting aside the razor. The only war here was the one of his own making.

The door opened. “Good mornin’ to you, Colonel.”

For a moment Phineas simply stared. “Gordon?” he finally managed. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“That’s a bit of a tale, it is,” the stout Scotsman drawled. “That bloke downstairs took me bags. Hope he’s employed here.”

Phineas sank back in the dressing chair. “Tall fellow, old as Methuselah?”

Thaddeus Gordon snapped his fingers. “Aye, that’s him. Bit of a temper, too.”

“Did you call at the front door?”

“Aye. I couldnae climb in through one o’ yer windows. Wouldnae be polite, that.”

“That’s what annoyed him.”

The Scotsman lifted a craggy eyebrow. “That I didnae climb in through a window?”

“That you called at the front door. You, Sergeant, are uninvited. Even worse, you’re my man.” When Gordon continued to eye him, Phineas grinned. Thank God for stubborn Scotsmen and their unflagging loyalty. “You use the back door.”

“Oh. Right, then. Grand houses, back door. Ye might’ve said something before.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Phineas stood. “Which brings me back to my original question—why
are
you here?”

“Ye answered that yerself, sir. I’m yer man. Couldnae stay behind and leave ye to fend for yerself.”

“You’re in the service of His Majesty, Sergeant. You can’t simply leave when the mood strikes you.”

“I didnae. I told Captain Brent that ye’d sent for me. And I stowed yer kit with the captain, in case ye was wonderin’. It’s nice’n safe.”

Phineas blew out his breath. Under other circumstances, Gordon’s disobedience would have annoyed him greatly. After last night, though, he was happy to see an ally. “As long as you’re here, then, help me dress.”

“In yer uniform, or are ye a civilian now?” the sergeant asked dryly.

“Considering the current state of my civilian clothes, I’m still a soldier.” He cocked an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, I believe I have some ironing for you, as well.”

“Oh, grand.”

He might have dug through his old wardrobe, but at four inches taller and two stone heavier he wouldn’t be able to wear anything in there, anyway. Thanks to some vigorous shaking and the strategic application of a hot iron Gordon procured from somewhere, his uniform managed to remain parade-worthy even after a week of hard use.

“Very fine, Colonel,” his man commented, stepping back as if to admire a painting he’d just completed. “Though yer boots could use a polish.”

“They’ll do.” Phineas checked his pocket watch. Time to go down to breakfast and be civil, as Elizabeth—Beth—had requested. And time to see whether he could decipher what the devil beyond the general disrepair had happened to cause his sister to lie to get him to return to the estate he’d once called home.

Sergeant Gordon pulled open the bedchamber door for him and then followed him out of the room. “I do believe I smell roasted chicken,” he crooned, rubbing his hands together.

Phineas stopped. “At the moment,
Mr.
Gordon, you are not a member of my military staff. You’re my…valet.”

“Well, don’t that sound elegant,” the Scot chortled.

“Valets eat with the household staff in the kitchen. And they don’t make trouble, drink, or gossip.”

“Bloody ’ell! Who would ever want t’be a valet, then?”

“You, apparently, since you followed me here. Take the back stairs down to the kitchen. No trouble, Sergeant.” He hesitated. “Find yourself some civilian clothes, as well. Anything you might hear about Quence Park in general, I would appreciate knowing.”

Thaddeus Gordon straightened, offering a crisp, precise salute. “Ye have my word, Colonel.”

Phineas could only hope the sergeant meant it. His own presence was bad enough. He didn’t know how William would react to a rather unorthodox part of his younger brother’s life making an unasked-for appearance. Frankly, Phin didn’t want to find out. “I’ll hold you to it.”

The morning still lacked a few minutes of eight o’clock when he started down the main staircase. From the sounds around him the house was well awake, though he hadn’t seen or heard either of his siblings yet. A wheeled chair sat empty at the foot of the stairs, and he paused.

His brother, who’d loved to go fishing and ride horses, was confined to that straight-backed cloth and wood and wicker trap—because of him. And that complicated everything. Delving into his brother’s affairs would be difficult enough, but to do so when he owed a debt he could never repay—he needed to be two people. The one with whom William could comfortably be at odds, and the one who could uncover Beth’s mystery without ruffling his brother’s pride or walking all over his responsibilities.

A heavy tread sounded on the stairs above him. Startled, he looked up. Andrews descended, William cradled in his arms. The viscount had one arm around his valet’s shoulders, the other holding up the loose blanket tucked around his legs. Being carried like that, William looked broken and frail, much older than the thirty-four years he had to his name.

“I—”

“Not planning to stay long, then?” William interrupted, as Andrews carefully settled him into his chair.

Phineas shook himself. He couldn’t ask for forgiveness. It had to be offered. “Beg pardon?”

“You’re still in your uniform.”

“Ah. Nothing else I own was quite…shipshape this morning,” he said, brushing at his sleeve.

“Andrews tells me you have a valet after all.”

Andrews apparently knew everything that went on in the house. Phin would keep that in mind. “Yes,” he said aloud. “Gordon. My sergeant-at-arms. He…followed me here.”

“Are all your soldiers so well disciplined?”

Damnation
. “Gordon’s hardheaded, and he worries about me. If you don’t want him here, I’ll knock him over the skull and ship him back to Spain.”

William looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “If you’re here as a gentleman, you should have someone attending to you.” As he finished speaking and on some unseen signal, Andrews turned the chair and rolled the viscount into the breakfast room.

Phineas fell in behind them. “I thought I might go into Lewes today, if you’ll lend me some transportation.”

“Bored with Quence already, are you?”

Swearing again under his breath, Phineas went to the sideboard and looked over the selection of breakfast items. The spread seemed less lavish than he remembered, but after ten years of stale bread and meats of uncertain origin, he wasn’t about to complain.

“Yesterday when I arrived I expected to see you bedridden,” he said slowly, choosing his words as carefully as he could. He’d become used to taking action, to making a quick assessment and reacting. Feeling his way without knowing any of the pertinent information necessary for even a conversation—he wasn’t accustomed to it, and he didn’t like it. But he would tolerate it. “Today I’m being civil and cordial and as unobtrusive as possible.”

“I’ll have Warner find a mount for you,” Lord Quence said in the same even tone he’d used before.

“Thank you.”

“Good morning, my two handsome brothers.” Elizabeth swept into the room, her smile bright enough to challenge the sun. She kissed William on the cheek, then danced forward to do the same to Phineas.

“Good morning.” He returned the kiss, noting that her smile was a touch too bright, and her voice a shade too determined. If she wanted a morning of harmony, then he would attempt to do his part. “You look very fetching, if I may say so.”

She fluffed a rose-colored sleeve. “Yes, you may. I’m going out to the garden to pick some flowers, and then Richard is going to be by to take me driving.”

Phineas set down his plate and took a seat at William’s left elbow. “Mm-hm. Are we delighted that Richard is calling, or should I be armed?”

Beth chuckled. “
I
am delighted. William hasn’t yet threatened anyone, and you may do as you please.” She sent him a mock scowl. “Within reason, of course. No shooting or stabbing him.”

“You have my word, subject to future observation.”

“Very well.”

“Phin is going in to Lewes this morning,” William commented.

Beth frowned, but wiped the expression away so quickly that Phineas wasn’t certain if he’d imagined it. “Are you?”

“Unless you have another suggestion for me.” One he would welcome, and wasn’t likely to receive. She’d apparently given her own word, and to William.

“No, of course not. You’re home. You should become familiar again with your surroundings.”

“Any particular surroundings?”

Beth forced another chuckle. “Of course not. For heaven’s sake.”

Very well. He wouldn’t force her into anything, and certainly not in William’s presence. “Is there any good gossip to be had, then?”

Her expression relaxed again. “Oh, I know cartloads of gossip.” She sat forward. “They say, for instance, that Lord Roesglen has been taking to the roads at night to retrieve and return his new mistress to her home. No one’s yet discovered who she might be.”

Phineas chuckled. “For a moment I thought you were going to say that Roesglen was roving the night as a highwayman. I wouldn’t have minded seeing that, considering that the last time I set eyes on him he weighed over twenty stone.”

“I don’t think he can even ride a horse any longer.” With a laugh, Beth dumped three lumps of sugar into her tea. “That would definitely be a sight. Do you remember the stories Papa used to tell us about The Gentleman?” She sighed. “We haven’t had a decent highwayman in thirty years.”

“And thank God for that,” William put in. “We don’t need any more trouble.”

“
More
trouble?” Phineas pounced on the word. Perhaps he couldn’t interrogate Beth, but if William volunteered anything, that would certainly save him a great deal of effort.

A muscle in the viscount’s cheek jumped. “Go for your ride, Phin. Lewes has become a great deal more sophisticated. I’m certain you’ll find enough opera singers and actresses to satisfy even you.”

His face heating, Phineas pushed to his feet. So this was the game they would be playing. “I didn’t come here to find someone to share my bed,” he grunted.

“The inns and taverns open early as well, then. Andrews?”

“Yes, my lord.”

The wheeled chair backed away from the table and then rolled out of the room. Phineas sat down again, trying to rein in his growing frustration.

“Phin, he—”

He shook his head at his sister. “Don’t make excuses for either of us,” he said. “Are you going to tell me why you sent me that letter, or am I on my own?”

To his surprise, her hazel eyes filled with tears. Beth shook her head. “All I can do,” she whispered, “is ask you not to let him drive you away.”

“Beth?” William’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hallway. “Magpie, you have some mail.”

“I’ll be right there,” she called back, rising. As she crossed behind Phineas she touched his shoulder. “Please stay,” she continued almost soundlessly.

That settled that. The devil himself couldn’t drag him out of East Sussex now. The next step was to gauge the lay of the land—and then prepare for battle, whether he knew what he was about to come up against or not.