Blood Blade Sisters Series (Entangled Scandalous)

by Michelle McLean

Brynne’s driver waited with the carriage around the corner and she hastened inside. As soon as the carriage lurched into action, she settled back against the seats, a small smile gracing her lips as her heart rate gradually returned to normal. She regretted having to use a rose as her calling card. A red California poppy would have been preferable, but impossible to find in Boston, especially so close to winter. Blood Blade had always left a red poppy. But Brynne would have to make do with what she had.

  It felt good to be helping people again. The family she’d left the package for had several small children, all inadequately dressed for the encroaching cold weather, all thinner than they should be. Brynne had discreetly followed the harried mother until she’d found their home. She hoped her package of shoes, food stuffs, and the small bag of coins would ease their lot a bit. Helping in secret gave her the little taste of the excitement that she used to experience when she had ridden the trails with her sisters under the guise of the bandit Blood Blade.

  Of course, things were very different now. She and her sisters no longer had to steal in order to help the unfortunates who depended on them. Thanks to their very profitable gold mine, they’d never have to steal again. And Brynne was thousands of miles away in the very civilized city of Boston.

  Yet, despite Boston’s wealth and culture, Brynne still found those who needed help. And while Blood Blade would probably never “ride” again, Brynne could certainly do what she could to alleviate suffering when she saw it.

  She had her driver drop her near her favorite eating house. As soon as her cocoa arrived, she settled back with a sigh.

  The anonymous gifts she’d been leaving about the city had been noticed enough that a story had appeared in last week’s paper. Brynne enjoyed reading the blurbs about them. Enjoyed even more reading about how much they had helped those who had received them. Being the secret donor somewhat relieved the restlessness that plagued her, but it could hardly compare to her wild days with her sisters. And bringing happiness to others went a little way toward filling the aching hole in her heart that had been left when her husband had been killed. Brynne didn’t think her broken heart would ever truly mend.

  Being in Boston wasn’t helping as much as she’d hoped. Brynne had been many things in her former life–a rancher, a sister, a wife, a mother, a bandit–but she’d never been a social pariah before. She wasn’t finding the experience enjoyable.

  Well, perhaps pariah was a bit of a stretch. Her in-laws’ reputation and position in social circles saved her from being completely shunned. But it didn’t stop the gossip mills from running full tilt, nor did it stop the cream of the crop from grinning politely to her face and turning their noses up at her the second her back was turned.

  Brynne put down her cup and turned her face to the sun, welcoming the weak warmth of the unseasonably warm day. The small restaurant was one of her favorite spots. It wasn’t often that she got to enjoy being out of doors, alone with her reflections. Her well-meaning in-laws had been nothing but kind and welcoming, taking her in without hesitation when she’d shown up on their doorstep with her daughter and sister in tow after the death of her husband. But they were sticklers when it came to society’s rules. Leaving the house unaccompanied was a near impossibility, and for a woman who was more used to riding the range with a bandana covering her face and taking care of herself no matter what the situation, it was a lot to get used to.

  Brynne missed the freedom of being on her own, as well as the more relaxed life on the ranch. On the ranch, life had been about survival. Here, life was about one’s position in society. There were a few eccentrics, to be sure, more than Brynne had expected. But being an odd stick was only acceptable if you belonged to the right family, had the right connections, or had enough money to make everyone forget everything else.

  Brynne had the money all right, but her background was a bit hazy (and she wanted to keep it that way) and the only connections she had were her in-laws. Granted, it was a good connection. Being the widow of the eldest Forrester son had opened a few doors, at least a crack, that would have been slammed in her face in other circumstances.

  The waiter came back to refill her cocoa. It was a terrible indulgence, but Brynne couldn’t give it up. She’d never tasted hot chocolate before moving to Boston and it had become something of a guilty pleasure.

  “Thank you, Walter,” she said, smiling up at the waiter. She’d gotten to know most of the staff fairly well during her daily visits and Walter was one of her particular favorites. He always brought her a little extra goodie.

  He nodded and then hovered for a moment. “What is it, Walter?”

  “Forgive me, ma’am, but I was wondering if you was still needing staff for your new home.”

  “Yes, I am,” she answered, hoping he might have a good lead or two for her.

  Unfortunately, her tenuous hold on propriety hadn’t helped her replace the staff she needed for the house. Nearly all of the old staff had followed the previous owners to their new home. Not surprising, really, considering that the new owners had stayed in town and servants who had been with their families for years tended to be loyal. At least the good ones.

  Still, of the few who had chosen to remain, only Mrs. Krause, the housekeeper, would pass Brynne’s mother-in-law’s muster. There was also Old Mr. Cotton, the former butler. When Brynne said old, she wasn’t exaggerating. The man had to be eighty, at least. No longer really fit to fulfill his duties, but Brynne could hardly turn the man out. However, she’d put out an advertisement for a replacement for him. She needed a butler who could actually run the household. Perhaps Mr. Cotton could be a sort of advisor. Most likely he would be content enough to sit by the fire in the kitchen and doze.

  “Did you know someone looking for employment?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Walter said with a smile. “My little brother, Charlie. He’s real good with horses. He’d make a good footman or stable boy if you have any need of someone like that.”

  “I do indeed.” Brynne smiled, her mood considerably lighter. “The renovations are finally complete and I’ll be needing the staff in place shortly. Why don’t you send him along and we’ll see how he works out.”

  Walter jotted down the address she gave him. “Thank you, ma’am. He’ll be excited when I tell him.” He gave her a little bow and went back to work with a grin.

  At least that was one position she could check off the list. If Charlie was half as likeable as his brother, they should have no problems. As for the other staff…Brynne pondered the pathetically small group of men who had responded for the butler position. She would scrap it all and run the house herself, but she knew her mother-in-law would never allow that. If Brynne was going to live on her own, she needed a properly staffed household.

  Truth to tell, she’d need one more for efficiency’s sake than for propriety. Her new home was a far cry from the ranch house she’d grown up in. She’d need a full staff to keep the place from crumbling like a broken fence in a stampede beneath her feet.

  “Ah, Mrs. Forrester. Imagine running into you twice in the same day.”

  Brynne suppressed an eye roll and tacked on a grin. She would bet her best steer that Mrs. Morey would rather be force-fed a rattlesnake than run into Brynne even once, let alone twice, in the same day. Still, it wouldn’t do to be impolite. “Mrs. Morey, how nice to see you.”

  Mrs. Morey smirked and looked around. “Are you here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman’s face puckered like she’d sucked on a lemon and Brynne held her breath to keep any of her thoughts from showing on her face. Honestly, it wasn’t as if she were the only woman who walked about town on her own. Granted, she wasn’t in the most fashionable area in the city, but it suited her.

  Still, Brynne had no fears of being on her own. She knew how to handle herself. And anything she couldn’t handle, the gun in her handbag would take care of for her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to shoot someone. Wandering about the streets of Bost
on was probably one of the safest pastimes in which Brynne had ever engaged. Not that Mrs. Morey needed to know any of that.

  “Are you alone?” she asked, not seeing anyone with the irritating woman.

  “Heavens no,” Mrs. Morey replied, her hand fluttering to her chest in shock at such a suggestion. “Billy is across the street picking up a few items for me, and Mrs. Kendler and her daughters will be joining me shortly. They’ve been volunteering their time at Dr. Oliver’s clinic. The man is a true saint.” She leaned in as if she had some great secret. “He treats all the poor unfortunates in the area, often without pay.”

  Brynne widened her eyes, hoping that would be enough of a surprised “you don’t say” reaction for Mrs. Morey. If the woman knew what Brynne had done in the name of charity, she would probably collapse right there in the street. That brought a smile to Brynne’s lips and she quickly dabbed at her mouth with her handkerchief. As tempting as the idea was, spilling all the details of her outlaw past would hardly help gain her any headway in the elite circles.

  “Oh my. Mrs. Kendler and her daughter are absolute angels to spend their charitable hours assisting him.” Brynne hoped her sarcasm wasn’t too apparent.

  Mrs. Morey didn’t pick up on it. “They are indeed.”

  Brynne almost snorted, but managed to turn the sound into a sneeze. From what Brynne had heard, the saintly Richard Oliver was a rather handsome man and fairly well off. She’d be willing to bet the pearl-handled knife in her boot that the Kendler women’s charity had more to do with garnering some favorable attention from the good doctor than any true desire to help those less fortunate than themselves.

  “Ah, here they are.”

  A dour, plump little woman strode purposefully toward Mrs. Morey, her equally dour daughters in tow behind her, and a houseboy and maid in tow behind them. Brynne didn’t care what was considered proper or even safe; she’d never gallivant about town with an entire entourage traipsing at her heels.

  Mrs. Kendler greeted Mrs. Morey as if she hadn’t seen her in ages and then turned to Brynne, her good mood immediately fading. She gave Brynne the barest of nods.

  Brynne was tempted to ignore the woman altogether, but that would be unforgivably rude and Brynne had no desire to bring any consequences down on her mother-in-law. Or on her sister, Lucy, who needed to navigate her way through society’s waters as well. So Brynne forced a smile.

  “Would you ladies care to join me?” she asked.

  “No. Thank you.” Mrs. Kendler looked down her nose at Brynne. “We have an appointment to keep and should really be on our way.”

  Mrs. Morey wasn’t quick enough (or smart enough) to hide her surprise, which left Brynne with no doubt that the supposed appointment was a convenient excuse to save themselves from her undesirable company. Brynne steeled her face into a bland expression, hiding the surprising sting that knowledge brought. She’d never give the woman the satisfaction of knowing how effective her barbs were.

  “Well, perhaps another time then.”

  “Perhaps.” Mrs. Kendler gathered her daughters and stalked off. Mrs. Morey at least had the decency to nod in Brynne’s direction before she tottered off after her friend.

  Brynne sat and stared at a flock of pigeons across the lane, fuming in hurt silence. It wasn’t that she liked either woman or even wanted to spend any time in their company. Still.

  Brynne sighed. No sense in dwelling over what she couldn’t change. She knew she should probably be getting home, but she couldn’t bear going back into her in-law’s massive, beautiful home yet. Coraline would be going down for a nap soon, and her sister and mother-in-law had made plans to visit one of the art museums the Forresters donated to. And she would only be in the way of the workers remodeling her own home if she dropped by there again.

  Brynne really needed to find something to do with her time.

  An idea niggled at the back of her mind. Perhaps she could volunteer her time to help the sainted Dr. Oliver as well. After all, if the high and mighty Mrs. Kendler could spare a few moments at the clinic, Brynne could certainly do so. She had experience in medical aid and wasn’t squeamish around the ill or injured, something she doubted Mrs. Kendler or her daughters could boast. Brynne could be of valuable help at his clinic. And unlike the unholy trio who had just left, she truly wanted something of value to do with her time. Something more interesting than wandering about a museum or socializing at yet another fundraiser.

  Her mind made up, she gathered her belongings and went inside the café to ask for directions to the doctor’s clinic.

  She was helpful, hard-working, and willing to get her hands dirty. Anyone would be lucky to have her help. It was about to be Dr. Oliver’s lucky day.

  Chapter Two

  Brynne kicked at her heavy skirts, wondering what the good people of Boston would think if she stripped right there in the street. She’d worn dresses back home, certainly, but they hadn’t been nearly as constricting or as heavily layered and she had spent more time than not in a pair of her Pa’s old breeches. She never thought she’d say it, but she missed her old life, no matter how difficult it had been at times.

  At least, back on the ranch she’d had something to do other than sit around gossiping with the women from her mother-in-law’s society clubs or shopping for yet another dress she’d only wear once. On the ranch, Brynne might have woken every morning to a list of chores a mile long and gone to bed every night exhausted, but at least her life had had purpose.

  Well, hopefully she could do something to get a little of that back. If she could find Dr. Oliver’s clinic, that is. She’d already turned down two wrong streets and had had to backtrack. At last, she turned down a lane and spotted a large plot where builders worked on renovating a damaged, old building. The clinic should be just up the lane a ways.

  It had been established in an old, stately home in what had probably once been a fashionable neighborhood. Now, most of the homes had been torn down or converted for other uses. Men scurried to and fro over a stone wall like ants on a picnic lunch while others shored up the support beams leaning against the wall. Brynne repressed a shudder. The thought of being so high off the ground made her head swim and her stomach revolt.

  She put her head down and continued on. Brynne came to a halt in front of the clinic’s gates. It still retained some illusions of grandeur. A few trees stood watch in front. A beautifully swirling wrought-iron fence covered in flowering ivy admitted entrance to a carefully landscaped yard and wide stone steps led to the covered porch of the building.

  Brynne mounted the steps, hoping she wouldn’t be sent away before she’d even had a chance to plead her case. She wasn’t a trained nurse and had never worked in a medical facility, so they certainly had every reason to turn her away. Which was why she had come to this clinic instead of going to Massachusetts General Hospital. Hopefully, a smaller, less formal establishment would have need or some appreciation of skilled help, even if it wasn’t professional.

  Brynne wasn’t sure if she should knock or simply enter. Thankfully, she didn’t have to decide as the door opened as she reached for the handle. A kind old gentleman held the door open for her as he tipped his hat.

  “Thank you,” Brynne murmured, stepping inside the brightly lit interior.

  The heavy drapes had been pulled open, allowing daylight to stream through the numerous windows. What had once been a grand entrance hall had been set up as an admittance ward. Several comfortable looking chairs were arranged in one corner, many of them occupied with waiting patients. A mother with a runny-nosed child; a dock worker whose arm had been bandaged and placed in a sling; an older couple who looked perfectly fine except for the cane in the man’s hand. All stared at Brynne with unabashed curiosity. With her fine morning dress trimmed in ribbons and fringe, her veiled hat and soft kid gloves, she stuck out in this place like a lemon among a bushel of apples. And she seemed about as welcome.

  She straightened her shoulders and marched up to a crabby-lookin
g woman sitting behind the large desk that guarded the main staircase. The woman didn’t look up. Brynne waited a moment and when the woman continued to ignore her, Brynne cleared her throat. The woman glanced up, not bothering to conceal her irritation at having been interrupted by someone the likes of her.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked. She sounded like the only thing she’d like to help Brynne with was finding a nice, high cliff to jump off.

  “Yes, I’d like to speak to the administrator in charge please.”

  The woman’s frown deepened. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “Are you one of our patrons?”

  “No, but—”

  “I’m sorry. Dr. Oliver is a very busy man. If you’d care to make an appointment you can come back another day.”

  The woman put her head down and went back to her task. Brynne refused to be dismissed so lightly and had no issue with letting the woman know it. She opened her mouth to giving her lungs a good airing out but was distracted when a door opened and a man’s laughter floated through the hall.

  “You take care of that hand now,” the man said, ruffling the hair of a small child who was gingerly holding a hand wrapped in white bandages.

  “Thank you, Dr. Oliver,” the mother said, giving the doctor a grateful smile.

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Patrick. Keep the little scoundrel away from his papa’s forge for a few more years, eh?”

  The mother nodded with a sheepish grin and escorted her son out the door. Dr. Oliver looked up and caught sight of Brynne. He turned his charming smile on her and came in her direction.

  Brynne stared, completely taken aback by the man walking toward her. This was Dr. Oliver? She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the handsome man in front her was certainly not it. He was so young. She had expected someone with at least some gray at his temples, maybe even a distinguished elderly man in a white coat.

  But this man couldn’t be more than thirty. His blond hair didn’t have a touch of gray and his face was smooth except for the slight crinkles around his blue eyes when he laughed. As he was doing right now. An action which also revealed the dimple in his left cheek. Adorable wasn’t a word she usually used to describe a full grown man, but in his case…