Amanda Scott (22 page)

He turned sharply toward her. “Do you mean that, Syb? You said before that it wouldn’t answer, that we should do nothing but quarrel. Very likely, you are right about that, you know.”

“I’m sure I would rather quarrel with you than have no one to speak to at all,” she said tartly, irrationally annoyed with him, and wondering what had possessed her to ask him to stay.

He looked at her long and hard, until the silence in the room had grown nearly tactile. It was the marchioness who broke it, saying happily, “There now, I am persuaded that if you will only take the trouble to mend things, everything will be pleasant again in a twinkling.” When neither of them responded to this gambit, she smiled, rose from her chair, and said with unimpaired geniality, “I will leave you now to talk things over.”

They stirred themselves to bid her farewell, but when she had gone, Ramsbury turned back to Sybilla at once. “What is amiss, Syb? You have been as blue as a megrim since I walked into the room.”

“It is nothing, Ned. Don’t tease me.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. They felt warm, and there was warmth in his voice as well. “I won’t, Syb, only tell me if this mood is lingering because of your illness, or if it is due to some other worry. I want to help if I can.”

She saw the truth of his words in his expression, but she could not tell him she suspected Brandon of defrauding the marchioness. For many years she had protected her brother from the consequences of his mischief, and the habit was a hard one to break. But if Ned wanted to help, perhaps there was a way. She swallowed, then said carefully, “ ’Tis only that London prices seem to have gone up and up since last I was here. I fear I will outrun the constable, just as you predicted I would.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But the look vanished so quickly that she could not be sure, and he said, “You need more money?”

Perhaps it would be easier than she had thought. “Do you mind? The dresses I ordered before Christmas will not be suitable for the Season, so I shall need any number of new ones, and”—she remembered the excuse given in the letter to the marchioness—“there may be a drawing room soon, too, you know. I have nothing suitable to wear.”

“You said you meant to return to Bath.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, and remembering his temper, she nearly had second thoughts. If Brandon’s folly were discovered, it could mean prison, but it would do no good to pretend she meant to stay in London, since she had to return very soon. Mrs. Hammersmyth’s letters had made it clear that the household in Bath could not go without her guidance much longer.

Swallowing again, she said, “I shall have to go back, of course, but I mean to spend a good deal of time here, and I thought perhaps you would not mind increasing my allowance.”

He was still watching her closely. “I could put a further twenty pounds per quarter into your account, I suppose.”

“Twenty pounds! Good gracious, Ned. A court dress—”

“True, a court dress is exceptionally expensive. Very well then, have that bill sent directly to me, and in addition I’ll increase your allowance by fifty pounds a quarter. I don’t think you will need more than that, certainly.”

The offer was extremely generous, but after some rapid calculating, when Sybilla realized that it would still take a year or more to pay back the marchioness, her face fell.

Ramsbury gave her a shake. “Just as I thought, my girl. This isn’t a matter of court dresses or high prices, is it? Suppose, just for once, you tell me the truth.”

She couldn’t. Suddenly the whole frightening business overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t imagine what to do. Blinking back tears, she tried to step away from him.

His voice sterner than ever, he held her and said, “You might begin by telling me why my mother suddenly decided to post up to town, a thing she hasn’t done in years.”

Sybilla exerted herself to sound bewildered. “Why, I suppose she simply wished to come. Why else …” But her voice trailed away, for he was shaking his head.

“A poor attempt,” he said. “Not worthy of your skills, my dear. You forget that my esteemed father is in London. Mama does not willingly, or for small cause, go searching him out when he is safely out of her hair for the moment. Try again. Is she in the suds, somehow?”

“Of course not. I don’t know why she came,” Sybilla said, unable to meet his gaze, To her own ears her response sounded glum, if not sulky, so she was surprised when he chuckled.

“Poor Sybilla. Shall I tell you what I think?”

She looked at her toes. “I suppose I cannot stop you.”

“I think she came because she had another letter from you, asking her for money, and since one of her cronies had no doubt favored her not only with a rollicking description of your encounter with the footpads but with an account of the scene at Heatherington House, she knew you were here and ill, and no doubt wondered why on earth you were concerned with … what? Court dresses? Is that where that notion came from?”

Sybilla flushed, appalled at how easily he had hit the mark, but she rallied quickly, raising her head to look at him. “I did not write to your mother, Ned. Not this week, nor before.”

“I know.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes, so why do you want the money, Syb?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He frowned. “It cannot be on Brandon’s account this time, so … Why do you look like that? No, you don’t,” he added quickly when she turned her face away again. “Look at me, Sybilla.” He caught her chin and turned her face to his. “It is Brandon who concerns you, isn’t it?”

“No,” she exclaimed, “he wouldn’t!”

“I didn’t mean he was the one who wrote Mama,” he said. “I know he didn’t.”

“How can you know?”

“So you do think that.” He frowned. “Is that why you wanted the money, Syb? To pay back what you thought he’d taken? But he hasn’t taken a sou. I paid all his outstanding bills for him. Besides, despite his penchant for outrageous behavior, his mischief is rarely harmful to others. I doubt he would do anything to hurt you.”

But Brandon had already done a great many things to hurt her, she thought. His lack of concern for anyone other than himself, his casual assumption that she or Ned would always be there to protect him from me consequences of his actions, to pay his debts, generally to fix things he had broken. “How can you be so certain he did not do it?” she asked.

He smiled. “I tore a strip off him the other night at Brooks’s, and when I suggested—I thought, tactfully—that he ought not to think he can so easily borrow from the members of his family to pay his debts, that young scamp came right back at me, telling me he knew all about my accusing you of taking money from Mama on his behalf and that he didn’t thank me for thinking such stuff. Said that even if he was such a loose screw as to take money from a woman that you were too proud to humble yourself to anyone. I wish he might have been able to see the affecting little scene you played for me not five minutes ago.”

“I didn’t have any time to think what else to say,” she said. “I was afraid he would go to prison. Mr. Grimthorpe—”

“Grimthorpe? Mama’s tame solicitor? What’s he got to do with this?”

Even as he asked the question, Sybilla remembered how accurately Grimthorpe had described her brother, and her doubts returned. Had Brandon not said he would pay Ned back the money he had borrowed from him? Had he not said something, too, about how if all went well he would have money this very day? She wished now that she had paid closer attention to him.

“Answer me, Syb. What about Grimthorpe?”

“He laid a trap, but the man got away.”

“Man? The letters were from a man?”

“So it appears.” She hesitated, then added morosely, “A slim blond man with greenish eyes. That’s why I thought … Oh, Ned, are you sure it cannot have been Brandon?”

“I’m sure. Now, hush, I must think.” A moment later, he looked her straight in the eye again and demanded, “Are you truly well?” When she nodded, he said, “I believe an idea is beginning to stir, and in celebration, I think I shall be so unfashionable as to escort my own wife to a dinner party tonight.”

R
AMSBURY WOULD SAY NO
more about what he thought, and by the time Sybilla began preparing for the evening ahead, her doubts about Brandon had returned. Having seen her younger brother in a clearer light, she did not find it difficult to believe him capable of taking money from Ramsbury and then applying to the marchioness for money to repay him.

Ramsbury had not told her where they were going, but Sybilla really didn’t care. Just to be getting out of the house was enough. By the time Medlicott had helped her into a gold silk evening gown, embroidered around the hem with a wide band of blue and pink roses, she was beginning to look forward to the party.

“A little rouge, I think, Meddy,” she said, peering into the glass at her pale cheeks. “I look a hag.”

Medlicott obediently presented the rouge bottle and watched while her mistress applied a touch to each cheek and rubbed it in. Then, when Sybilla sat back again to study the results, the dresser said diffidently, “Perhaps your emeralds, m’lady. The color of the gown is rich enough to support them.”

“Not emeralds,” declared Ramsbury from the doorway that separated his dressing room from Sybilla’s bedchamber.

Startled, she turned. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He gave her a teasing look. “Did you think I would knock on my own wife’s door, sweetheart? I have never yet done so.”

“No, of course not,” she replied, shooting a glance at her dresser. Medlicott looked her usual complacent self, however, so she added quickly, “He is right, Meddy. I’ll wear my sapphires.”

A few moments later, Ramsbury handed her into the carriage and told the coachman they were bound for Norfolk House.

“The duke is in town?” Sybilla said when he had settled himself beside her.

“He is, and entertaining the
beau monde.
Everyone who is in town will be there, I daresay. Not my parents, of course, for my father don’t approve of Norfolk, but everyone else. Perhaps even Prinny. What a fortunate thing that I forgot to send regrets!”

She smiled, feeling better just to be with him, and twenty minutes later the carriage drew up before the front entrance of Norfolk House, on the southeast corner of St. James’s Square.

“As the critic once aptly observed,” Ramsbury said, peering out the window at the unremarkable front door, “ ‘all the blood of the Howards can never ennoble this house.’ ”

Sybilla could not disagree, for although the three-story house, built of brick and faced with stone, was a full nine bays wide and as large as any of the numerous mansions facing the square, it was hardly a noble edifice. More than one critic had snubbed its appearance, and now, even with the welcoming lights from its lower seventeen windows, the open front door, and the linkboys’ torches, the house looked more like a public building than a nobleman’s London mansion.

Inside, however, it was a different matter. From the spacious entrance hall, they were guided up the grand stair to the principal floor with its lofty, magnificently decorated ceilings and ornate furnishings, where they were received by their host and (since the duchess had been mad since shortly after their marriage) his cousin Lady Katharine Howard, a nondescript woman in her early sixties. Amenities accomplished, they passed into the glittering crimson and gilt great saloon, where a large number of persons were already gathered.

Ned and Sybilla were quickly separated while greeting their particular friends and acquaintances, and Sybilla found herself telling first one person, then another, but she was perfectly stout again. It was with great relief that she turned to find Mr. Saint-Denis at her side. Laughing, she said, “You, at least, will not demand that I recount all my ills and megrims.”

“I should think not,” he replied, raising his quizzing glass to look her over. “You look the picture of health again.” Then, surveying the rest of the elegant throng, he added in his usual drawl, “You know, Sybilla, if we are to be reduced to dining with the scaff and raff, I do believe I shall return to Bath at once.”

She chuckled. “I shall be sad to see you go, sir, but I return soon myself. My father’s housekeeper has written twice, first informing me that Papa had discovered my absence at last and then to say he has been writing notes of complaint ever since, so I fear that my days in London are sadly numbered.”

Sydney murmured something she didn’t catch, but before she could ask him to repeat it, Mally hurried forward to greet her, and his attention was attracted by someone else.

Her sister was in excellent spirits. “Every time I come to this house,” she said, “the richness of its interior dazzles me. The huge mirrors in this room make one see a crush when there are no more than forty people. ’Tis a shame his grace don’t have the same scintillating quality as his furnishings. Do you know that they say he must be dead drunk before one can get him into a bath? Of course, they call him the Drunken Duke, so perhaps that is not so difficult a task as it—”

“Hush, Mally,” Sybilla expostulated, laughing. “Someone will hear you.”

“Well, it won’t be the duke,” her irrepressible sister retorted, “for he has taken Prinny off somewhere to talk about the latest attempt at creating a Regency. I think it disgraceful even to think of pushing a man who behaves as badly as Prinny does onto the throne before his papa has even relinquished it.”

“Well, I don’t understand it all, but I am sure that whatever is decided will be for the best. The king cannot last very long, in any event. They say he is shockingly ill.”

“But not dead,” her sister reminded her, “and I have yet to hear that talking to trees leads to a quick demise. And no matter how ill he is, he is still a better ruler than Prinny will be. You cannot deny that, Sybilla.”

Sybilla glanced hastily around to see if anyone might have overheard Mally, but her concern was forgotten when she saw Ramsbury with a merry group near the white marble fireplace. He was standing next to the seemingly ubiquitous Lady Mandeville. Feeling her temper rise, Sybilla made an effort to remain calm, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to look away.