Jerome took up a plate. “It’s as well Tavistock has sought his bed, my lady. I’ve been meaning to broach a topic with you that should not have an audience. Might I close the door?”
He certainly wasn’t wasting any time, but then, perhaps that was for the best. “Close the door if you must,” she said, “but please be brief. I am expected elsewhere this morning.”
Jerome closed the door and took the place at her left. “I will get straight to the point.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Orion Goddard had asked that rude question quietly, probably in deference to the small child searching through the grass a few yards away in what passed for a back garden.
“That is a female of very tender years,” Sycamore said, tipping his hat to the girl, who peered up at him with the solemn curiosity of an owlet. “She has your chin, Goddard, though on her the feature is piquant rather than stubborn.” And she had Jeanette’s inherent sense of self-possession, a painful thing to see in one so young.
Goddard took Sycamore by the elbow and tried to steer him down the walkway. Sycamore was not in the mood to be steered.
“I do not receive visitors, Dorning. Take yourself off and don’t come back.”
By virtue of a move that was part twist, part jerk, and all annoyance, Sycamore removed Goddard’s hand from his person.
“You are a bad brother,” he said. “I know of few insults that ought to rouse a man’s ire more effectively, but the shoe fits, Goddard. Do you know what today is?”
Goddard gave him a peevish look that also put Sycamore in mind of Jeanette. “The day I am plagued with an unwelcome intruder.”
“Jerome Vincent has called on Jeanette twice since she nearly died of food poisoning five days ago. He’s calling when he knows Tavistock isn’t likely to be underfoot. What does that tell you?”
Goddard walked away this time, and it occurred to Sycamore that the point of the evasion was to avoid troubling the child with an adult discussion. The girl went back to her search, though Sycamore knew better than to trust that display. He’d eavesdropped on many a grown-up discussion while pretending to peruse some storybook or other. Toy soldiers were also useful for duping adults into believing a child was distracted by play.
“If Jerome is helping himself to breakfast,” Goddard said, “that tells me Beardsley’s darling boy has overspent his allowance again and is scrounging meals from one end of Mayfair to the other.”
“Tavistock says Jerome has plans to marry Jeanette.” About which possibility, the young marquess was properly alarmed.
Goddard watched the girl searching through the grass. “Jeanette’s choices regarding remarriage are none of my affair, provided they are choices freely made. Her ladyship does not take kindly to meddling, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What I have noticed is that it’s not meddling if you’re family, and you are the only person to claim that honor in a meaningful sense where Jeanette is concerned. For God’s sake, rescue her from Jerome’s schemes.”
Goddard took a seat on a wooden bench. “I haven’t the means to aid her, Dorning. She’s better off if I keep my distance.”
Of all the twaddling nonsense. “You are her brother. Either fulfill the honors of that office, or get to your feet so I can draw your cork.”
Goddard remained sitting on his rosy arse. “Cease your histrionics, Dorning. There’s a child present. I am Jeanette’s only family, true, but others have the more pressing claim on my resources. Jeanette is an adult. This offer from Jerome is not a scheme of recent provenance, and viewed from a certain perspective, it makes sense.”
Sycamore hauled Goddard to his feet by virtue of a secure grip on the man’s neckcloth. “You bloody liar. You knew what Jerome was about, and that’s why you had Jeanette followed. You didn’t want him making off with her and heading to Scotland.”
“Language, Dorning. I didn’t lie, I dissembled in the interests of taking your measure. There was also the possibility Jerome might have attempted to force his attentions on Jeanette and chivvy her to the altar that way. He wouldn’t pull a stunt like that in Trevor’s house, but in the mews, or in the carriage itself, I did not trust him. Now you have equipped Jeanette with knives, and we must conclude she can take care of herself.”
Because there was a child present, and because Sycamore did not have time to administer a proper thrashing to Goddard, he instead made his words count.
“I do not take you for a coward, Goddard. What the hell stays your hand from more obvious measures?”
Goddard’s smile was bitter. “Do you know the power of gossip, Dorning?”
“Of course. My club rises and falls on that very tide.” A problem Sycamore had been pondering lately with increasing focus.
“Your club…” Goddard nearly sneered the words. “A profitable venture all but handed to you, the maintenance of which consists of idling away your evenings, while Mayfair’s finest toss money at one another for their own amusement. The Vincent family’s propensity for talk can add enough fuel to the flames of army gossip to see me destroyed.”
Goddard’s town house was modest but well maintained, his garden a small luxury. The child was healthy and well fed, and Goddard’s attire was that of a man of means.
“Destroyed, how?”
“We have already discussed this. All it takes is whispers, Dorning. A snide comment here, a little innuendo over dinner at the club, and the fellows at Horse Guards aren’t so keen to include you in their card games. You become a pariah, and then your business begins to sour. I have weathered the storm several times and the last gale nearly ruined me. Then, I thought the talk had finally stopped for good but now I’m hearing rumors again. For the sake of my dependents, I must keep to myself and hope the worst is behind me. Jeanette will manage. She always has.”
An odd calm
