Barbara Metzger (11 page)

Sydney had no answer. She sat quietly, worrying at her lower lip.

“You ain’t going to cry, are you, brat?” he asked after giving her a quick look.

“Of course not, you nimwit.” She sat up straighter. “You really are as unpleasant as your brother.”

“Uh, just out of curiosity, none of my business, don’t you know, but how exactly do you know m’brother?”

If he didn’t know about the loan of his own blood money, Sydney wasn’t going to tell him. “He did me a favor” was all she said.

Bren nodded, relieved. “That explains it, then. Best of good fellows, like I said.” When she made a very unladylike snorting sound, he continued. “Made no sense otherwise. You’re not in his usual style. Forrest don’t go near debs, and you”—taking in her dirty face and stablehand’s clothes, from the smell of her—”ain’t some expensive high flyer.”

Wouldn’t he just be surprised at his brother’s infamous offer to her, Sydney thought indignantly, not that she wanted to be considered a barque of frailty, of course. And as innocent as she might be, she could not imagine a thousand pounds being an inconsequential payment for a lady’s favors. At least the rake put a high value on her charms, as opposed to the opinion of this paltry gamester. Sydney tilted her nose in the air and told him, “I’ll have you know I wouldn’t care to be your brother’s usual anything, Mr. Mayne.”

“Oh, I ain’t Mayne. That’s Forrest’s title, not his name. I thought you knew.” In fact Brennan could not imagine anyone not knowing. “I’m Mainwaring,” he added.

“Then he wasn’t lying and he really is a viscount? How sad.”

Bren was confused enough. “I always thought being a viscount was a good thing. Not that I envied him, you know. Wouldn’t want all those headaches.”

Sydney meant it was sad that a noble family was so come down in the world that one son was a wastrel and the heir was reduced to earning a far from honorable living among low company. He must be successful at it, she considered, judging from the horses and fancy carriage. Unless he’d claimed them from some poor loan defaulter. That was even sadder.

“Hungry?” her companion asked, interrupting Sydney’s contemplations.

“Famished. I couldn’t eat breakfast, I was so nervous, and of course luncheon was out of the question.”

Brennan nodded toward the basket at their feet; he still wasn’t taking his eyes off the cattle for more than an instant. Sydney eagerly rummaged through the contents, coming up with some cold chicken, but no fork. She shrugged and picked up the drumstick in her hands. “Thank you,” she said between bites, earning her a quick half smile.

It was a very pleasant smile, Sydney reflected, remarkably similar to his brother’s. Appraising him over the chicken bones, she realized how alike the two really were. Brennan was not quite as handsome as Mr.—no,
Lord
Mayne. He would do very well, she thought, with a little more attention to his appearance than the simple Belcher necktie and loose-fitting coat he wore.

Now that she had the leisure to think back, she recalled that Lord Mayne was dressed bang up to the nines, as Willy would have said. Most likely Brennan couldn’t play the dandy because all of his money went to pay gaming debts. She was sorry that an otherwise nice young man should have such a fatal flaw as the gambling fever. Perhaps he only gambled to recoup the family fortune, the same way she did. Sydney smiled in understanding, and wiped her hands on her grimy breeches.

He grinned back. “I’ve surely never met another young lady like you.”

“Of course not, if you only keep low company in gaming hells.”

Brennan laughed outright. “I can see you know m’brother better than I thought.”

Since he was in such a good mood, Sydney asked if she could drive. Bren almost dropped the reins and needed a few moments to bring the bays back under control. “Then again, maybe you don’t know him at all. He’d kill me.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Sydney agreed. “Yes, I did note he had a violent nature. I can see where you would be afraid of him.”

“Afraid? Of my own brother? You really are an addlepate. They’re his cattle, by George. Uh, can you drive?”

“No,” Sydney answered happily, “but I’ve always wanted to try.”

On his brother’s high-bred pair? Brennan groaned. “You’d better ask Forrest to teach you. Of course,” he added lest she get her hopes up, “he’s never let a woman take the ribbons yet that I know of.” Then again, after Forrest’s fantastical behavior today, who could tell?

Chapter 11

Reunions and Reckonings

“Let me off here, you clunch. I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“Well, you ain’t doing my consequence any good either, I’ll have you know.” Brennan sniffed disdainfully. “But I have my orders.”

“And do you always obey your brother’s dictates?” Sydney met him sneer for sneer.

“I do when I’m driving his horses!”

Whatever amity the two had found evaporated when they reached the environs of the city. Brennan’s brother had told him to take the chit home, and home he would take her, not set her down like some loose fish halfway across town to make her own way back.

“Don’t you think the neighbors might wonder at this fancy rig outside my house and watch to see who is getting out? Let me off at the corner, at least, and I’ll run around to the back.”

“Now who’s being the clunch? I can’t just leave the horses standing to see you in, and I ain’t leaving till I see you through the door myself. What kind of gentleman do you take me for?”

“None, if you must know. A gentleman would have let me stay at the mill. And a gentleman would not make nasty comments about my appearance, and a gentleman—”

Brennan thought he should do his brother a favor and drown the female while he had the chance, but he had his orders. He kept driving, keeping to side streets and back alleys, until he arrived at the mews behind Mainwaring House. He pulled up before reaching the stable block and told her to get down and wait there. He looked at her suspiciously, then said, “If you think Forrest was angry before, you cannot begin to imagine how he’ll be when he gets to Park Lane and you ain’t there. He did tell you he was coming, remember?”

Sydney remembered. She waited. She told herself it was only because she didn’t know her way around London yet and she was afraid of getting lost.

Bren took the phaeton to the stables and put the bays into the hands of the head groom, who was flummoxed to see the rig and no master, no tiger. “They’ll be along presently,” was all Bren could think to say, practically running down the mews. “Carry on.”

He bundled Sydney into a hackney—at least he didn’t have to make any explanations to the driver, no matter how many curious looks they received— and they did not speak until the coach reached the corner near her home. Trying to act as nonchalant as they could considering that they looked like a pair of housebreakers casing the neighborhood, they finally reached Sydney’s back door.

“I suppose I should thank you for seeing me home safely,” she said, which sounded rag-mannered even to Sydney, so she grudgingly invited Bren in for refreshment. He was looking peaky after their convoluted journey. She guessed a night creature like Mr. Mainwaring would not take proper care of his health.

Brennan accepted, more out of hope of seeing the scene between his brother and this little hellcat than anything else. Knowing Forrest’s opinion of the weaker sex, he thought it might be better than any Drury Lane farce. Because she set a plate of his favorite macaroons in front of him on the kitchen table while she put the tea kettle on, he felt generous. “You just might want to put your skirts on before m’brother gets here,” he volunteered. “You do have skirts, don’t you?”

“Heavens, you’re right. Here,” she said, thrusting an oven mitt at him as if he knew what to do with the thing.

“Uh, don’t you have any servants, Miss Sydney?” he asked before she could fly away.

“By all that’s holy, who did you think was boxing? Their mother is our housekeeper and she’s waiting at the inn near Islington. Poor Mrs. Minch will be so worried. I should have gone to her.”

“You should have
been
with her, you mean.”

“And poor Wally,” she went on, ignoring his remark. “Oh, how could I have left?”

“He’ll be fine,” Brennan reassured her. “Forrest wouldn’t let him continue if he wasn’t up to snuff. Knowledgeable, don’t you know ... I wonder how long before he gets back?”

Sydney disappeared with a hurried “You stay right here.”

* * * *

In keeping with the rest of the day, he didn’t. When Sydney ran down the stairs, wearing her new jonquil muslin to give her confidence, she heard voices from the front parlor. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “What else could go wrong?”

Between Wally getting walloped and a visit from the unpredictably tempered Lord Mayne to look forward to, plenty.

Sydney forced her feet to the parlor door, already knowing what she would see. Sure enough, there was Mr. Mainwaring laughing and chatting, telling the general how honored he was to meet such a great man, and about his hopes to join the army someday. Brennan didn’t seem to mind that the general never answered, and Grandfather didn’t seem to notice that the young gentleman’s eyes never left Winifred.

And there was Winnie, sitting demure and rosy-cheeked in the white dimity frock that made her look like an angel, golden curls trailing artlessly down one shoulder. And she, the peagoose, was gazing back at the handsome scamp with that same look of wonder.

Sydney almost searched the little room for blind Cupid and his darts. No, she amended, love wasn’t blind. It was stupid and mean. If that wasn’t just what Sydney wanted to see, her beautiful sister throwing her cap over the windmill for a ne’er-do-well gamester, the brother of a rake and worse, who did not even have enough blunt to buy himself a commission. She had a vision of delicate Winnie following the drum as the wife of an enlisted man while he gambled away the pittance a private was paid.

Sydney was so upset at the idea, in fact, that when she reached across to take her tea from Winnie, she spilled the cup. On Mr. Mainwaring’s legs. “Oh, I am so sorry you have to leave us now.”

* * * *

“You’re home! Oh, Wally, I’m so happy to see you! Are you all right? Shall I send for a physician? Here’s Willy, thank goodness. You don’t look so bad. No, don’t try to talk. Just give me a hug. And you too, Mrs. Minch. Don’t cry, please don’t. Wally’s safe and Willy’s safe and I’m home safe.”

They were all in the little kitchen, with Sydney needing to touch each of her friends to reassure herself they were really there. Mrs. Minch was blubbering into the apron she quickly donned, meanwhile putting pots on the stove. Willy held a damp cloth to his jaw, but Wally kept bouncing around the room in boxer’s stance.

“You should have seen him, Missy. Why, the big oaf couldn’t get his hands up to save himself. Just stood there breathing so hard he nearly sucked up the canvas they put down. Never laid a glove on me after you left, he didn’t.”

“That’s the nicest news I could ever have!” Sydney danced a circuit with him, then made him promise to go rest. “And you, too, Willy. Go find Griff to help you get cleaned up. He’ll know what to do and can get the doctor if you need. And don’t either of you worry about chores or anything. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She gave Wally a final pat, embraced Willy, squeezed what she could of Mrs. Minch’s ample form—and walked into the viscount’s open arms. She jumped as if she’d just hugged an octopus. “My lord.”

“Miss Sydney.” He nodded back, grinning. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, sir. I need to thank you for seeing my people home.”

He waved that aside and pointedly stared around the kitchen. Willy was busy at the pump and Mrs. Minch bustled with dinner preparations. “Elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but Grandfather is resting now and my sister has gone visiting.” There, that should keep her from being alone with him. He was still smiling, but...

“I should be honored to meet your family—another time. For now, your own company will suffice.”

“But, my lord, I have no other chaperone, and it would not be at all the thing for me to—”

“Flummery, my girl. You cannot claim propriety, not after this day’s work. Now, come.” He held out his arm and raised his eyebrow. Sydney remembered how he’d lifted her out of the boxing ring as if she weighed no more than a footstool. She didn’t doubt he’d resort to such tactics again. Really, the man was a savage. She ignored his arm and led the way to the front parlor, the “company” room.

On the way there, however, she decided that she did not need another lecture, especially from him. Especially when he was ruining all of her careful plans. Besides, Grandfather had always said the best defense was a good offense. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face him.

“Before you say one word, my lord, I should like to thank you, and then thank you to get out of my life. My grandfather is ill and he would be terribly upset to think that someone of your type was in the house, or that a wastrel was trifling with my sister. You should know better than to scrape up acquaintance with proper people.”

The viscount was astounded. He’d been prepared to be gentle, firm but not overbearing. After all, he’d had the entire afternoon to put a check on his temper. She was only a green girl, he’d rationalized, perhaps she didn’t know better. He would just explain the error of her ways, then go about his own business. Somehow his best intentions flew out the window whenever he was near her. Now, when she was looking as appetizing as a bonbon in a stylish yellow frock with a ribbon in her hair, when she didn’t smell of attic or stable—now she was back to hurling idiotic insults. He took a deep breath.

“Miss Sydney, I am not a mushroom trying to climb the social ladder; I am not trifling with your sister. Indeed, I have never met the young lady and, if she is anything like you, only pray that I may never do so.”

“Not you, you jobbernowl. That wastrel brother of yours was here setting out lures for Winnie, and I won’t have it, I tell you! Just being seen with him will ruin her chances!”