14. The Penitent Brother Tells His Tale
The Penitent Brother Tells His Tale
In Miles’s mind, it was nothing short of divine intervention that Alex had appeared in time to bid for Lucinda’s hand.
But since she was the sole reason for his presence at his aunt’s insipid evening, her sudden disappearance from the ballroom—and the unmistakable distress marring her countenance—had not gone unnoticed by him.
Yet before he could so much as take a step in her direction, Alex had appeared at his side, seized his elbow, and murmured a clipped command to quit the event at once and accompany him home.
Lord Sinclair’s unexpected arrival from the Continent—scarcely three hours earlier—had already sent the household in Grosvenor Square into a bustle of activity and speculation.
His butler, Alston, ever discreet but in possession of a most serviceable memory, had furnished him with the intelligence that his younger brother was at a charitable ball, no doubt obliged to attend by their formidable aunt.
Alex might have departed as swiftly as he had arrived, had the count not insisted that they await the arrival of their luggage, lest he present himself in a manner wholly unbefitting the occasion.
Thus it was that Miles, both obedient and relieved, had trailed after his stylish brother, his head awhirl with questions.
“How the deuce did you know where to find me, Alex? Did Alston crack? Lord, but I was dashed glad you showed when you did! I was in no hurry to explain to Mr. Wilberforce that I was quite rolled-up. But Lu needed rescuing, and I couldn’t fail her.
Did she enjoy her first waltz? I trust you didn’t trample her toes.
What the deuce did you say to overset her so? ”
Ignoring his brother’s eager inquiries, Alex turned his attention to making the necessary introductions. Outside the Assembly Rooms on King Street, Johan stood in patient attendance, having been dispatched to secure a hackney coach to fetch him and the Sinclair brothers home.
“Johan, allow me to present my brother, Miles,” Alex said, dryly. “Keep a close watch on your wallet and take care not to believe a word he utters. And you, scamp, this is Count Johannes van der Meer.”
Miles shot him a look of mock outrage. “One summer of card tricks, and I am forever the family pickpocket!” He turned to Johan with an exaggerated flourish and extended his hand. “Your blunt is safe with me, Count, I assure you.”
Johan chuckled. “I doubt it not, young Miles,” he said, clasping the proffered hand.
“As for your brother, I cannot say the same. A night at the card tables, and my guilders are all too soon lining his pockets. I am Count van der Meer, but Johan to my friends—and by extension, to my friends’ brothers. ”
“Well met, Johan.” Miles grinned. “And welcome to London. Did you hail this coach for us?”
“As your brother’s guest in London, we’re now in residence together.”
“Oh, capital!”
Once settled in the hackney, bound for home, Johan and Miles fell into easy conversation.
Alex, however, remained silent, watching his younger brother with unnerving intensity.
Miles, sensing the weight of that scrutiny, darted him wary glances.
The head of the family’s reappearance was, in Miles’s view, most fortuitous—it had spared him the humiliation of making excuses to Mr. Wilberforce and their aunt.
But it also meant the moment of reckoning had arrived.
He would have to make a clean breast of the whole sordid affair.
The prospect quite overset his nerves in a manner he had not thought possible.
Returning to Grosvenor Square, Lord Sinclair found Alston in desperate need of his attention. Directing his brother and Johan to await him in the library, he took pity on his butler.
Alston, a seasoned man with graying hair, stepped forward and inclined his head. “Your apartments have been aired and are ready for your use. We have also prepared the Jade Suite for Count van der Meer.”
Sinclair’s brows rose. “Not the Oriental suite?”
“Mr. Sinclair has taken up residence there, my lord.”
“Of course, he has, Alston.” He shook his head, adjusting to that statement.
“I shall see to any alterations you desire, sir?”
“No alterations.” He shook his head. “I must accustom myself to sharing this residence with my brother. I trust Francois and the Count’s valet have settled in.”
“Both Frenchmen are still occupied with your lordship’s unpacking.”
“Naturally. My apologies for the chaos of this evening, Alston. I could have wished my letter preceded me, but circumstances, I fear, left me little choice. I trust you will all rally, as you always do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I will need to speak to Mrs. Ross about the menus in due course, but not tonight.”
“It’s very good to have you in residence again, sir. Will we have the pleasure for some duration?”
“My business in London could keep me here some weeks, Mr. Alston. For now, I desire brandy in the library, and thereafter, see that we are left undisturbed.”
The butler inclined his head. “Of course, my lord.”
Miles paced the length of the library like a man awaiting the executioner’s summons.
By contrast, Johan had disposed himself in a leather wingback with negligent ease, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
Periwinkle, having initially joined his master in his restless prowling, soon abandoned the exercise in favor of Johan’s idle hand, which scratched behind his ears with enviable skill.
“You’ll wear a hole clear through that handsome rug if you keep on like this,” Johan observed. His voice softened. “Relax, my friend. Alexander has returned, and I daresay it is to help you out of whatever scrape you’ve landed yourself in.”
“You haven’t endured the Sinclair yoke,” scoffed Miles. “Alex inherited every ounce of our father’s judgment, his temper, and his unrelenting nature—a triple threat of doom, I assure you.”
“Perhaps,” Johan murmured, “but I suspect you’ll find him more forgiving than you expect. He isn’t the man he used to be.”
Miles shot him a dubious glance. “Forgiving? Alex? Are we speaking of the same man?”
“Indeed, we are. And if you think this return is purely for the pleasure of delivering judgment, you are much mistaken. Whatever trouble you’ve found, he’s here because he cares. Even you must see that.”
Miles turned away, muttering, “I hope you’re right.”
Johan’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m always right. It’s my most exasperating trait, at least, that’s what my sisters would tell you.”
“Sisters?” Miles asked, caught off guard.
“Several of them. A divine torment, every one.” Noting Miles’s distraction, Johan feigned idle curiosity to further divert his mind. “And you? No sisters, I take it?”
“No,” Miles replied with a wistful smile. “Though there was Lu. She was like a sister—but no, it’s just Alex and I.”
Johan looked enlightened. “So ‘Lu’ is her nickname, is it? That accounts for some of Alexander’s more cryptic mutterings.”
Miles’s brow furrowed. “They were engaged once—a lifetime ago. I’m sure he regrets his blundering in that quarter.”
“I assure you he does,” Johan said cheerfully. “But whatever his regrets, my friend, Alexander has far greater concerns than playing your judge and jury.”
At that pronouncement, the door swung open, and Alex entered, a liveried footman close behind with a tray.
Johan, who had been lounging, straightened.
Miles fixed his gaze on his elder brother as though bracing for a thunderclap.
The footman placed a decanter and glasses on a nearby table before withdrawing, leaving the three men alone.
Alex poured three measures of brandy. The first he handed to Johan. Then, taking up two more goblets, he crossed the room and extended one to his younger brother, whose expression teetered between bewilderment and dread.
“I suppose, I should congratulate you on your engagement,” Alex said magnanimously.
Miles froze, his glass arrested halfway to his mouth. “But—but—how did you—who told you?”
“Lord Creswell wrung a confession from the lady herself,” Alex replied, swirling his brandy. “For some unaccountable reason, acknowledging it to me made her ill at ease.”
Miles groaned. “Creswell did what? Ugh!” Dragging a hand through his coiffed hair, he muttered, “Lucinda.” Then, collapsing into a chair, he dropped his head into his hands. “If that vexing chit doesn’t land me in Bedlam, it will be a miracle.”
Johan sat up as Alex’s brows knitted together.
“Miles, be plain with me—”
“There is no engagement!” Miles groaned.
Alex squinted at him in skepticism. “Creswell seemed quite convinced.”
“That was precisely the scheme!” The tortured young man threw up his hands. “Lu’s been trying to hedge the fool off for weeks.”
“Alexander!” Johan sat forward, his expression hopeful. “The engagement is just a trick, yah ?”
“Yes, of course!” Miles said impatiently. “She’d be the death of me otherwise,” he muttered.
“Thus her need for Creswell’s secrecy?” said Alex, musing to himself. He had retreated to the mantle, on which he’d placed his glass. With a speechless relief flooding through him, he grasped the edges, gazing down into the flames.
“Huh! So much for his discretion,” Miles grumbled. “I told Lu I knew him for a toad. Was he demanding you break us up?”
“Uh—no,” Alex said distantly, still lost in thought.
“Well, he probably will soon. He all but called me out last week for daring to drag Lu into an unhappy marriage, the insufferable fop.”
“An English duel?” Johan brightened. “I did come at an excellent season.”
Miles rose abruptly. “Enough! There’s something I must tell you, Alex. Something far more serious.”
“More serious than a fictitious engagement?” Johan drawled, settling back into his chair. “This should be entertaining.”
“I’ve made a mess of things,” Miles admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “A colossal mess.”
Alex turned, his reverie dispelled. “Go on, Miles,” he said. “Start at the beginning, and leave nothing out.”