Chapter 10
The morning of Heathbrook’s court appearance dawned cold and rainy, not unusual for autumn, but he still hoped it wasn’t a bad omen.
He was still kicking himself for his lapses in judgment at the Lord Mayor’s Show celebration.
What had he been thinking, touching Giselle as he had?
With one word from her to the judge, he would lose custody of his brothers for good. And if anyone had seen them . . .
He shuddered. That, too, would hurt his chances, even if he went on to marry her. Scandal of any kind had to be avoided. He must be more circumspect. He could no longer afford not to be, if he wanted to save his brothers from Yates.
After dressing, he headed downstairs early, pleased to find his friend Scovell waiting for him when he entered the breakfast room. He could use a friend just now.
And Captain Scovell was a good friend, indeed. The chestnut-haired naval officer had a way of spreading calm wherever he went. Nothing ruffled his proverbial feathers. Heathbrook could use that sort of even temper himself today. He was agitated enough about the court appearance as it was.
“Stealing my food again, I see,” he joked as he caught Scovell helping himself to shirred eggs and rashers.
Scovell offered him a wan smile and put his plate on the table. “Your cook is much superior to my brother’s. Besides, you won’t let me steal your fiancée, so what choice do I have?”
Heathbrook groaned. “So, you know about Giselle, do you?” he said flatly. He should have told his friend right away, but he hadn’t wanted to bother Scovell while the man’s brother was dying.
“How could I not? The servant gossip network has spread the news far and wide.”
Renham. Of course. Heathbrook should be glad of it, but it bothered him to have Scovell find out that way.
His friend took a seat, angling himself to watch as Heathbrook filled his own plate. “Please tell me this is a genuine betrothal and not some machination you’re using to aid your cause at the Court of Chancery.”
“Keep your voice down, for God’s sake,” Heathbrook growled, and walked over to close the breakfast room door. “I don’t need that theory circulating among the servants.”
“But is it true?”
Heathbrook sighed. Scovell knew him too well. “Of a fashion.”
“Is she aware of the true nature of your engagement?”
“Of course. I would never lie to a woman about something like that.” He set down his plate of toast and his cup of tea. “She and I made a bargain. She agreed to it.”
“Ah. So, what exactly are you doing for her?”
Taking a seat at the table, he told Scovell that the French passports of Giselle and her mother had been forged by Beasley. Then he revealed how Vaughan Jones had frightened her over the truth, which had led to his bargain with Giselle.
“That arse.” Scovell snorted. “Can’t believe Jones is tormenting Mademoiselle Bernard now. Someone ought to take a cat-o’-nine-tails to him.”
“Are you volunteering?” Heathbrook asked, faintly amused by Scovell’s bloodthirsty proposition.
“Can’t. I don’t own a cat, and I’m not in the navy anymore. I resigned my commission.”
“So, you finally did it, did you?”
Scovell nodded. “I had my reasons. But back to Mademoiselle Bernard—”
“Miss Bernard. That’s what she prefers, or so she says. And I had my reasons for my bargain with her, so let’s talk about something else.”
“You mean, like your court appearance today? That’s actually why I’m here, you know. To wish you good luck.”
“I appreciate it.” Heathbrook ate a bit of toast. “By the way, I ran into the lads in Hyde Park while I was driving with Giselle. My mother’s bloody cousin hadn’t even told them I’d been trying to gain custody of them! They thought I’d abandoned them.”
“Damn. What a scoundrel!”
“Exactly. On top of that, he insulted Giselle by assuming she was my mistress.”
Scovell chuckled. “I can just about guess how that went over.”
“She blistered his ears, I tell you. And I cheered her on while she did it.” He paused to drink some tea. “But look at me, talking about my troubles when you’re in the thick of your own. How is your brother?”
“It’s touch and go, I’m afraid. Good days and bad days.”
Heathbrook sighed. “Like Morris.”
“Yes. My sister-in-law is desperate to see him well, of course, but the doctor says we should prepare ourselves for the worst. I’m having a hard time with it.
” He shook his head, his brown eyes looking lost. “He’s the only one of my brothers who ever dared to stand up to my father on my behalf. I hate to see him at death’s door.”
“I know.” Rising and patting Scovell on the shoulder, he went to pour himself more tea.
“I just had to . . . get out of there for a bit. I was suffocating in that place. My other brothers are there and my sister-in-law does nothing but weep and I—” He shook his head.
“If anyone understands, it’s me. My father took weeks to die.” And yet, not once did he apologize for anything he’d done. It still hurt. Although toward the end, it had seemed as if he’d been trying to say something . . .
But no, that was probably just wishful thinking. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know, whenever you need to escape your brother’s sickbed. Although, if the court makes me guardian, even just of nurture, I’ll be taking the boys to Longmead.”
“And leave your ‘fiancée’ behind?” Scovell asked. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Actually, she and her mother will be coming with me.” He wasn’t about to leave her here where she could be preyed upon by the likes of Vaughan Jones . . . or Percy Tindale.
“Does she know that?” Scovell leaned back in his chair to cross his arms over his chest.
“Of course. She and her mother go regularly to Bath to make use of the hot springs.” He sat down with his cup. “Her mother has rheumatism.”
“Ah. Well, as long as you have a chaperone . . .”
Heath scowled at him. “Since when do you care if I have a chaperone?”
“Since you started sniffing around Tory’s half sister. I like Miss Bernard. I always have. And if you have designs on her—”
“Don’t put it like that. I’m not really . . . That’s not . . .”
Scovell laughed. “She’s got you tied up in knots, doesn’t she?”
Letting out a sigh, Heathbrook stared blindly at his tea. “You have no idea. Day before yesterday, she came over with her mother to plant hyacinth bulbs in my garden. For my birthday, of all things!”
“You don’t celebrate your birthday.”
“I do now, apparently, with a cake and everything.” He swallowed hard, but it didn’t remove the lump in his throat.
For the first time in a decade and a half, someone had cared enough about his birth to celebrate the very fact of it—to even make sure he had his favorite galette for it—and it had touched him more deeply than he cared to admit.
He cleared his throat. “Then she headed out to the garden armed with garden gloves and a smock and the lot, to start digging around in the dirt. Damned if she didn’t look fetching even with a smear of soil on her cheek and a grubby spade in her hand. I wanted to—”
He halted before he could reveal that he’d wanted to carry her up to the big tub in his master bedchamber, bathe every inch of her, and then make love to her right there in his tub. Or his fourposter bed.
And then beg her to stay with him for the rest of his life.
He scowled. Not that. He knew better than to wish for that. When the fog of romantic love encircled him, he lost all common sense. That inevitably led to disaster. He refused to risk going through that heartache again.
“You will behave yourself with her, won’t you?” Scovell said sharply.
He gave a start. “Of course. What kind of gentleman do you take me for?”
Scovell watched as Heathbrook sipped his tea. “The kind who doesn’t know what to make of a woman like Giselle Bernard.”
Well, he had that much right.
“Have you told Jon and Tory about your pretend betrothal?”
“Are you daft? They’d come rushing back to London to put a stop to it. Jon would never let me near his wife’s half sister. And you’d better not tell them the truth, either.”
“I daresay they’ll hear about it soon enough.”
“I hope not. Even if Jon believed our betrothal was genuine, he would never approve of me as a brother-in-law, but if he believed it to be false, he sure as hell would never let me dally with Giselle.”
“Are you dallying with Giselle?”
Damn. He shouldn’t have let that slip. “No, of course not,” Heathbrook lied.
He had to change the subject before he revealed just how much he desired his faux fiancée.
Because if he did, Scovell would tell Jon and Tory, and then they would definitely try and stop all of it.
“By the way, you’ll never guess who was at Thanet’s party. ”
“Sir Percy.”
Heathbrook lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you got that from servant gossip, because I won’t believe it.”
Scovell ate some eggs. “Actually, he paid me a call yesterday. Said you told him about my brother.”
“Ah. Then I guess you’ve heard the whole story of his escape.”
“I did.” He shook his head. “Sounded rather harrowing.”
“Considering the months he spent traveling through enemy territory, I would say so. And, of course, he didn’t have the papers Beasley had forged for him. I’m not even sure how he got into Austria.”
“I believe he pretended to be American, the way some others did. God knows the Austrians and Germans can’t tell an American accent from a British one.”
“Did he mention his theories for who might have betrayed us?”
“He mentioned Lieutenant Jason Davis, which is certainly feasible.” A shuttered expression inexplicably crossed Scovell’s face as he fell silent.
“What are you not telling me?” Heathbrook asked, eyes narrowing on his friend.
“Nothing,” he said and forced a smile. “If you like, I’ll try to find out where the lieutenant has been posted.”
“That might be useful. Percy also suggested that Madame Dubois could have betrayed us—”
“Which I discounted even before he went on to say she was Miss Bernard’s cousin, so that let her out of the running.”