Before The Scandal (4 page)

She shook the reticule a little. A few coins, but she would wait to see whether she could lighten it by a shilling or two. Heaven knew she’d learned to be patient, at about the same time she’d realized that she felt perfectly content to slowly gather funds that, if her cousin had had any heart at all, would have been hers to begin with. Her father had tried to provide for her, but he’d been forced to leave it to his heir’s discretion. And Richard had declined to abide by the former viscount’s wishes.

“And stay close by,” Ernesta continued. “You know I detest when you wander off.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

They waited for a milk cart to pass by and then crossed the street to Daisy Duvall’s Dress Shop. The shop was practically a decade behind the current fashion, and seemed much more popular with the grand dames of Lewes than with the younger set. Alyse had never purchased a stitch there, had never even crossed the threshold until a year ago. Not that she had any ready money to spend at the establishment, but she meant never to do so regardless.

They spent nearly an hour inside, Mrs. Duvall and her shopgirls hovering and fluttering around Aunt Ernesta and Lady Hestley once the baroness joined them. Alyse sat to one side, pasted an interested look on her face, and let her mind wander.

Her mind wandered a great deal these days, since her shoes were unable to do so. Left to her own amusements she would, for example, have begun the day with a visit to the sweet shop. She loved hard candy, and Mr. Styles had always used to keep some aside on Tuesdays, the day she and her friends usually ventured into Lewes for shopping and luncheon. Aunt Ernesta disliked candy, though she would go so far as to dance for biscuits. The closest Alyse had come to any sweets lately was the strawberries she’d hidden from Richard.

“Alyse!”

She blinked. “Yes, Aunt?”

“I said, please go to the bakery and fetch me a half dozen biscuits. And you would do well to pay better attention. For heaven’s sake.”

The viscount’s mother handed her a shilling. Alyse stood and walked outside, ignoring the muttering and giggling going on in the shop behind her as she left. Her aunt didn’t need to remind her that her life had irrevocably altered; all she had to do was open her eyes in the morning to know that. How unfortunate that Aunt Ernesta wouldn’t be receiving any change for the biscuits. She hadn’t in nearly a year.

“Good morning, Miss Donnelly.”

She looked up as a gray-muzzled chestnut mare crossed in front of her and stopped. Her heart skittered as she recognized the low drawl of the rider. “Colonel. Good morning.”

He dismounted smoothly, taking the reins in one hand and reaching for her fingers with the other. Alyse studied him as he bowed over her knuckles. The tall, thin boy had become a lean, hard, and well-muscled man. And so, so handsome, with that dark, wild hair and half-smiling, sensuous mouth, and that blue and scarlet uniform. Hazel eyes lifted to gaze at her face as he straightened. He seemed pleased to see her, and he wasn’t laughing.

She took a quick breath as she withdrew her fingers from his. “What brings you into town this morning?”

“What if I said it was you?”

Alyse felt her cheeks warm. “I would say, Phin Bromley, that ten years haven’t erased my intelligence. You didn’t know I would be here.”

“Witty and beautiful,” he drawled, clearly undaunted. “I nearly embraced you last night, Alyse. To find you here…” He cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you again.”

Her heart shivered. “And you,” she returned, seeking the wit on which he’d just complimented her. “What brings you to Lewes, again?”

“Back on the trail, are we? Then the wish for fresh air brings me here,” he replied. Alert eyes scanned the street around them. “I swear this town has grown again by half.”

“I think it has,” she agreed, more at ease now that she was no longer the subject of the conversation. “That’s Warner’s mare you’re riding, isn’t it?”

His grin deepened. “Yes. Daffodil. I would have arrived in town earlier, but I’m afraid sending her into a trot would cause her to drop dead. Apparently Warner travels everywhere very slowly.”

Alyse smiled back at him. She couldn’t help herself. “That uniform suits you.”

“It is a universally acknowledged fact,” he drawled, his gaze lowering to her mouth, “that given the choice of two otherwise equal gentlemen, a woman will choose to flirt with the man in uniform.”

There was something disconcerting about the attention he paid her. With a laugh she shook her head at him. “You’ve made a scientific study of this, I assume?”

Miss Jane Austen has.
I
am a simple soldier, Miss Donnelly.”

“You’ve never been a ‘simple’ anything, Phin. Or rather, Colonel Bromley.”

“Phin, please,” he returned. “You’ve put mud down my back, after all.”

She laughed. “Ah, yes, but I was nine years old at the time. And you were, what, eleven?”

“Good God. Yes, I believe so.” He glanced past her at the busy shops along the street. “Are you here with friends?”

He truly didn’t know. For a moment she wished she could keep it that way. “No. I’m with my aunt. She’s sent me to the bakery after biscuits.”

Swiftly he held out an arm to her. “Allow me to accompany you, then.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Which makes me amazingly gallant, I think.” He shook his fingers in her direction, and with another smile she hoped wasn’t too wistful, Alyse wrapped her hand around his arm. It had been nearly five years since anyone had troubled themselves to be gallant on her behalf.

“If I may be so bold,” she ventured as they strolled along the street, Daffodil in tow, “your family seemed surprised to see you.”

“A miscommunication,” he said promptly. “I thought I was expected.”

“Is it true, what Beth said, that you’ve received five field promotions? You must be quite heroic in addition to being gallant.”

He chuckled. “Thus far I’ve excelled at not being killed.” Abruptly he sobered. “Again, I’m sorry about your parents. No one informed me, or I would have written.”

Would you have?
“Thank you. They both caught that awful fever going about five years ago, and never recovered. I am glad they went together, though. For their sakes.”

“Your cousin inherited the title, then?”

She nodded. Richard had inherited much more than the title of Viscount Donnelly, but she wasn’t going to regale Phin with her tale of woe. Certainly not when she hadn’t seen him for ten years.

“It’s good that you didn’t have to leave Donnelly House.”

He really did know nothing. Torn between wanting to pour out her troubles and laughing, Alyse released his arm. “Thank you for your escort, Phin,” she said aloud, trying to keep her voice steady, “but my aunt hates to be kept waiting.” With a half smile she continued down the street.

After a half dozen steps his hand came down on her shoulder, bringing her to a halt. “Alyse,” he said again, his voice lower and more intimate, “might I ask you a question? Just between us. It can go no further.”

Alyse frowned. Evidently she wasn’t the only one with troubles. The realization surprised her a little. “What is your question?”

His shoulders rose and fell as he took a breath. “Do you know of anything that my brother might find…troubling?”

“‘Troubling’?” she repeated. “Do you mean something like the Quence east pasture flooding? That happened a fortnight ago. Richard—my cousin—has been helping to put in a new irrigation dam on the creek, since William can’t oversee it himself.”

“Yes, something like that,” he murmured. “Thank you. If you can think of anything else, please inform me. In fact, may I take you driving tomorrow?”

That was the second time he’d suggested such an outing. Her heart hammered, but she attempted to ignore it. He only wanted information, and thought she might be able to supply it. “I’ll ask my aunt.”

He cocked his scarred eyebrow, attractive and dangerous. “Though I’m not looking to be slapped, are you not five-and-twenty? And I can’t remember you ever asking permission to do anything, regardless of your age.”

She shrugged free of his grip. “As I’m certain you’re aware, things change. And not just for you.”

Keeping her chin up and her shoulders square, she walked into the bakery. Phin might not know what the past four and a half years of her life had been like, but she wasn’t about to forget. And his abrupt reappearance reminded her of other things she hadn’t forgotten.

Phin Bromley had always been equal parts trouble and excitement. The last thing she needed was either of those. No matter how handsome the face bringing it, or how fond the memories she had of him.

He shook himself. Puzzling out Alyse would have to wait. She’d given him a clue, and he needed to follow it. He swung back into the saddle. “Walk, Daffodil.”

At the best pace the mare could muster, it took him nearly thirty minutes to reach the boundaries of Quence’s large, low-lying east pasture. In the past sheep would be scattered across the low grass, inviting some artist or other to paint the pastoral scene. Now, though, it was empty, with shimmers of light reflecting from between the blades of grass and dragonflies skimming the wide stretches of wet. “Good God,” he muttered.

There had to be three inches of water covering the entire pasture. At the upper end he spied several men, and encouraged the reluctant mare through the ankle-deep marsh to the higher bank of the stream.

Three of the men stood arguing with a fourth, who was better dressed and on horseback. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Phineas drawled, stopping beside a cart full of rocks.

They stopped bickering to look at him. “Who’re you?” the stoutest of them asked, stabbing the end of a shovel into the wet ground and resting his crossed arms on the handle.

Phineas gazed at him steadily, unmoved by the show of aggression. “Colonel Phin Bromley,” he said, crossing his own wrists over the saddle’s pommel. “Who are you?”

“Brown,” the fellow retorted.

“And what are you doing on my land, Mr. Brown?” Technically the land belonged to William, but it had been in the Bromley family for generations, and he was still a Bromley.

Mr. Brown spat into the mud. “If it was your land, you’d know why we was here, Colonel Bromley.”

Hm. He
did
know, but that was only because Alyse had told him. And now that he’d identified himself as a Bromley, he had to behave in a relatively civilized manner. That could be a problem, and not just here. If Beth was unwilling to be communicative, he could only imagine what he might face with the rest of the citizenry. “I only ask because you seem to be talking rather than working.”

“Tell that to bloody Mr. Stuggley there.” The fellow gestured at the still angry-looking man on horseback on the far side of the stream.

The name was familiar, and unusual enough that Phineas was willing to risk being in error. “Stuggley,” he repeated aloud. “Not John Stuggley.”

The tall man’s expression eased a little. “The same, Colonel Bromley. My father retired a year ago now. I’ve been seeing to the stewardship of Roesglen since.”

A few years older than William, John Stuggley hadn’t been part of the Bromley circle of friends. His father had been well respected by the Marquis of Roesglen, and Roesglen had been close friends with the former Viscount Quence, Phin’s father. A rather roundabout connection, but Phineas felt more inclined to listen to him than to the sullen Brown.

“Perhaps you could enlighten me, then, Mr. Stuggley,” he said. “What’s the difficulty here?”

“The difficulty is that if a new irrigation dam goes in here, it might save the Quence east pasture, but the backed-up water would flood the Roesglen north pasture and overflow the fish pond. Lord Roesglen wouldn’t take the news of the demise of his favorite fishing pond well at all.”

“This stream is on Quence land,” Brown countered. “And Lord Donnelly says the dam goes here.”

“This is robbery, sir,” Stuggley snapped. “You will set Roesglen and Quence at odds.”

Phineas took in their wet surroundings and the Roesglen land off to the northeast in the distance. “What kept this pasture from flooding before?” he asked, wishing he’d paid more attention to land management in his youth. That had been William’s duty, though. He’d had other interests.

“The old dam half a mile upstream, just south of the east tributary,” Stuggley said promptly. “It collapsed a fortnight ago.”

“Then perhaps the new dam should stand where the old one did,” Phineas stated. “It did serve for better than twenty years.”

“Lord Donnelly already decided against that.” Brown spat again, just missing Daffodil’s near hoof.

“Another day won’t make any difference. Stuggley, do you have a terrain map of the property?”

“Aye.”

“Bring it by Quence in the morning, will you?”

“Of course.” The steward glanced in the direction of the workers.

“And you lot,” Phineas continued, “go home.”

“What about our wages? We ain’t mucking about here for nothin’.”

Phin lifted an eyebrow, but kept his voice even. “See Lord Donnelly. He hired you.”

“Damned soldier’s got a ramrod up ’is arse,” Brown sneered.

If Phineas hadn’t had the uniform on, if he didn’t have William’s reputation currently in his hands, he would have been quite willing to show Brown just how flexible he could be where legalities were concerned. He’d never wanted to be two separate people so badly before.

Riding away at a brisk trot would have put a good period to the conversation, but Daffodil falling down dead in the mud would not. He needed a more sound damned mount. As he clucked at the mare and turned her around, he caught Stuggley’s grateful look. At least someone appreciated his presence.

He slogged out of the pasture and rode back to the broad white manor house. The flooded pasture was ill luck enough. But the way Donnelly had chosen to resolve the matter troubled him even more. With one carelessly designed and easily prevented dam mistake, the viscount might have set two allied families at odds. And since Donnelly had shifted the dam from its original location, Phineas had to wonder whether it could have been intentional.

Beth liked Lord Donnelly, and William likewise seemed to consider him a friend. Phineas scowled. If he was going to be conjuring and pursuing conspiracies, he needed to be cautious about it. His footing in the household was uncertain enough without him accusing friends and neighbors of misdeeds—especially when he had no evidence, and no real reason to do so. No reason but a soldier’s hard-learned instincts. And he needed to use those instincts to figure out how he could get to the bottom of what troubled Quence and his family without causing William to boot him back to Spain.

“Welcome back, Mr. Bromley,” Warner said, meeting him at the front of the house. “Daff ’s got a gleam in her eyes; she must’ve enjoyed the ride.”

“Thank you for the loan.”

“There’s something you should—”

The front door opened, and Gordon charged onto the drive, a practically apoplectic Digby on his heels. “Colonel, ye have—”

“That is
my
duty, you upstart,” the butler interrupted, actually swiping at the sergeant.

That wasn’t the wisest move old Digby could make, considering Gordon’s skills as a soldier. “Enough, Gordon,” Phineas cut in, before anyone could exchange blows.

“Indeed,” the butler echoed, and held out the silver salver he carried in his other hand. A folded missive lay roughly in the center of it. “You have a letter, Master Phineas.”

“My thanks,” he said, taking it. The sprawling hand across the front read “Colonel Phineas Bromley” in a familiar hand. “It’s from Sullivan,” he said aloud, breaking the wax seal.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Colonel,” Gordon broke in again, “but ye need to come to the stable with me.”

The man was red-faced and practically vibrating, so Phineas gestured his valet to lead the way around the side of the manor house. “This had better be good, Gordon, or you’re going to find yourself a private without privates.”

Gordon pushed through the wide double doors and stood aside. “Oh, it’s good, sir. Bloody good.”

Phineas stepped inside the stable—and stopped dead. “Good God,” he breathed.

“I tried to tell you, sir,” Warner put in from the stall where he was removing Daffodil’s saddle.

“No worries,” Phin said absently, his gaze on the monster that snorted at him from beside the post in the center of the floor. Black and sleek and clearly a thoroughbred, the beast looked at him and stomped.

“Now that’s a horse,” Gordon said reverently.

Abruptly Phineas remembered that he still clutched Sullivan Waring’s missive in one hand. He opened it hurriedly.

“‘Phin,’” he read aloud for his sergeant’s benefit, “‘Welcome home. I thought you could use a good horse. His name is Ajax.’”

“Ajax,” Gordon repeated. “Aye. Captain Waring always did know his blood-horses.”

“He has a stable in Sussex,” Phin said, walking forward to take a closer look at the animal. Sullivan was arguably the best horse breeder in the country, even with the four-year absence he’d taken to serve with the First Royal Dragoons in Spain. Reluctantly he looked away from the horse and down at the note again. “‘I hope your brother and sister are doing well, and that Bram’s and my concerns have been unfounded. If you need anything—anything—I’m but a few hours distant. Sullivan.’”

“Now that is a good friend,” Gordon commented, then stirred. “What concerns?”

“I’m still determining that,” Phineas replied, running his free hand along the stallion’s withers. “You are a handsome lad, aren’t you?” he murmured, and the black nickered at him.

Ajax was hardly the horse a fellow attempting to do some subtle investigating should be riding. Of course, that same fellow probably shouldn’t be bringing attention to himself by wearing a shiny uniform, either.
Hm
. No, he shouldn’t be riding about on Ajax, unless he could somehow use the animal’s striking appearance to his advantage. A plan began to curdle through his brain.

He glanced over his shoulder at Warner. “You’re a local fellow, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember the stories about The Gentleman?”

The groom grinned. “Aye. A highwayman, from about thirty years ago. My grand drove one of the coaches he held up.” With a chuckle, he gestured at Ajax. “Rode a horse very like that, as I recall.”

“Yes, he did supposedly have the swiftest animal in the county, didn’t he?” Phineas agreed, half to himself.

Gordon looked from the groom to Phineas. “And what happened t’this Gentleman, if I may ask?”

“No one knows,” Warner returned. “Retired with one of the pretty young things he robbed and charmed, I would imagine. He stole as many hearts as he did coins.”

“Might I have a word with ye, Colonel?” the sergeant said gruffly.

“Certainly.” Phin walked to the stable door, then looked back at Warner. “I would appreciate if no one else learned about Ajax here for the moment.”

The groom looked curious, but nodded. “Aye.”

As soon as they were outside, Gordon rounded on him. “Ye came back home to become a highwayman? What the devil is—”

“I suggest you think very carefully before you continue, Sergeant,” Phineas interrupted darkly.

“But ye—”

“What have you noticed since your arrival here?”

“Noticed?” Gordon frowned. “If I’m to be in trouble, it won’t be for insulting ye or yer family, sir.”

“I appreciate that. But I want you to be honest. What have you noticed?”

“Some fields could use plowing, too few servants, but one carriage, only four horses in the stable—five, now—and a handful of burned-to-the-ground tenant cottages.”

Phineas looked at his so-called valet for a moment. He’d noticed the rest himself, but he hadn’t known about the tenant cottages. And that was after only a single day in residence. He drew a breath. “My sister admits that she lied about my brother’s health to get me here,” he said slowly, “but she’s apparently given her word not to involve me in anything further. All I know is that something is wrong, and that I’m not leaving until I discover what it is and make it right.”

“I think that’s fine an’ noble of ye, Colonel, but I don’t see how bein’ a highwayman can—”

“I need information, without drawing suspicion to my family or to me. And under the circumstances, I…welcome the opportunity to obtain some answers that I might not be granted as Phin Bromley.” He cocked his head. “Are you with me, Gordon?”

“Always.”

“Explain it to Warner, there. For the moment, no one can know that Ajax is here.”

“Aye. But if ye become a highwayman, Colonel, yer goin’ to be risking getting yer neck stretched.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Digby, still looking annoyed that Gordon had galloped through his territory, opened the door for him as he topped the shallow front steps. “I trust everything is well, sir?” the butler asked.

“It is. Has Beth returned yet?”

“No, sir. I don’t expect her for another hour, at the earliest.”

“Where might I find William, then?”

“Lord Quence is in his office. Do you req—”

“I remember where it is,” Phineas interrupted, leaving the foyer for the main hallway and the rooms at the back of the house.

The office door stood open, but he stopped to knock, anyway.

“Enter.”

“Good afternoon, William,” he said, strolling into the office and pasting a friendly look on his face. Andrews stood to one side of the room, immobile as a statue but obviously ready at any moment to become the viscount’s legs.