“Then you’ll be gone, and I can do what I want here.”
“Maybe.” He made his voice thick and heavy. A threat if ever there was one, and his brother knew it. “And maybe I come take this all back from you.”
His brother winced. “You wouldn’t.”
He wouldn’t. But he couldn’t allow his family to think he’d gone soft. “You do something stupid, and you know I will.” After all, he’d done that a dozen times in as many years. He was the rescuer of his family, the one who knew what would work and what would fail. And the one who taught them the value of sticking together to help each other out.
But the circle was growing, and he was damned tired of being the one in charge. It was too much work for one soul, and yet his brother was right about the other thing. Even when there was too much to do, he couldn’t help but push for more.
Which was why he needed to get to the Countess Byrn’s now.
“Get me a clean hackney. I can’t arrive smelling of horse or worse.”
Harry headed for the door, his every step thunking down in anger. “We’re not done talking about this.”
“We are for today.”
Then he did his best with his hair and his cravat. He’d spent hours trying to master the more complicated styles that were fashionable these days. He couldn’t do it without the help of an elite gentleman’s valet, and the man he used wasn’t skilled in that way. Besides, he’d have to go home to get done up, and he hadn’t the time nor the patience for it.
So he went for casual. It worked with his boyish charm. And he headed out as soon as he was done. His brother did not say anything more, but the rebellion was clear upon his face. Reuben would need to give the man his head soon.
But he couldn’t manage it. Every time he’d tried before, whenever he looked away, someone messed up and he had to pick up the pieces. But he also couldn’t forget it, and so he was sour and pre-occupied when he finally arrived at the dowager countess’s home.
He had his apology ready, complete with flowers for all the women. The butler made him use the knocker, though the man had no doubt been watching for him. It was a subtle measure of how unwanted he was that he stood cooling his heels for more than a minute. But at least the door opened to him, and he was able to step inside with every appearance of jaunty enthusiasm.
What he didn’t expect was that instead of being greeted by the butler, the door swung open to reveal the countess on the middle of the stairs, her gaze cold as she spoke two words to him.
“You’re late.”
Had she set herself there just to appear to advantage above him? Was that truly why he’d been made to wait outside? Just to startle him with her pronouncement?
He believed so. And indeed, it set him in a jolly good frame of mind. Who wouldn’t appreciate such theatrical staging? Especially when it was for his sole benefit.
He recovered quickly, well used to the game one had to play with aristocrats. He bowed deeply before her.
“My most sincere apologies,” he said. “I’m afraid my nephew required my help with a quick lesson. It set me behind schedule, especially since I was very particular with the bouquets I selected.” He should have sent his niece to buy them for him, but he could never trust that someone would select just the right blooms.
He extended the largest bouquet to her. She didn’t take it, of course, but she didn’t throw them away either. Instead, she nodded to the butler who relieved him of one group of posies, but not the other two. Those he intended to present directly.
Meanwhile, the lady continued down the steps. “Come into the parlor, Mr. Bates,” she commanded.
He set his hat and gloves on the table himself given that the butler was preoccupied with the flowers. Or at least the man pretended to be preoccupied. Such was the casual type of insult that the common man suffered at the hands of the aristocracy. Then he hurried after the countess and into the parlor.
She had seated herself in a throne-like chair opposite the door, and the pompousness of that display had his smile broadening. Life was so often like a theater production. If one wanted to play, one had to enter into the ridiculousness of it with a full heart.
He bowed to her again, spreading his arms wide—a posey in each hand—as he entered the room. “I am honored to be so received,” he said. Then he looked both left and right. The younger ladies were on opposite sides of the room, and he took the time to offer his gifts first to one, then the other.
“Miss Allen,” he said to the one who seemed to share his awareness of the ridiculous. True to her bold nature, her expression was not schooled into bland acceptance, but she openly watched the proceedings with a doubtful air. As if she could not believe the English acted in such a manner. “You are lovely as always.” And she was, her bright yellow dress a compliment to her golden-brown hair.
“A pleasure to see you again,” she said as she accepted the small bouquet of yellow flowers.
Then he turned to Miss Spalding and felt his breath robbed from his chest. She sat in shadow in the corner next to a writing table, though her bright red hair betrayed her. Her head was down, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. It was the appropriate pose for an unmarried young lady, and yet there was an energy about her, especially when she raised her head.
She had clear purpose in her mind and in her life. It wasn’t in any one part of her body. Her eyes were clear, but not unusually piercing. Her hair was in shadow, so the red didn’t burn like fire in the sunlight. Indeed, there was nothing in her attitude but sweet acceptance of the bouquet he extended to her.
And yet like recognized like. She had a plan, and he was suddenly very curious as to what she wanted.
He might have stayed that way for hours, studying her features as he searched for what had changed in her from a few days ago to today. Something had brought her to life.
