by Ava Stone
“I beg your pardon?” Tristan asked, sitting a little straighter in his seat.
“Exactly my thoughts on the matter,” Simon said with a shake of his head. “Apparently they each thought the other was dead. I’m not sure how that happened, but Pierce was quite determined to be reunited with his wife.” Then he frowned slightly. “Though he did not seem to be happy about that revelation, to be honest.”
Tristan blew out a breath. “Lady Felicity’s dead husband?”
“It appears as such.” Simon nodded.
A frown marred Tristan’s face. “The lady is a dear friend of my wife’s.”
And Lady Felicity was a dear friend of Bella’s too.
“I do hope she’s all right,” his brother continued.
“No idea how something like that happens,” Simon added. “One of the most bizarre things I’ve ever heard. And I have heard some strange things in my days.”
At that moment, Greg noticed a fellow leap from a seat at a card table and start bellowing at the dealer, and…
Damn it all. “Speaking of bizarre things,” Greg muttered. What the devil was Gillingham doing now?
“Oh,” Tristan began, “I didn’t think they allowed him in here anymore.”
“Completely insolvent,” Simon agreed. “But he came in this evening flashing a handful of pound notes.”
And Greg knew exactly where the ne’er-do-well baron had gotten those notes. Selling Bella’s earbobs. Anger washed over him anew, just as a large flash-man made his way to Gillingham’s table and grabbed the baron by the back of his collar. Then the muscled servant pushed Gillingham, rather roughly, toward the exit.
Damn it. Greg found himself pushing out of his own seat and following after the pair, though he had no idea why he was doing so. Reasoning with Bella’s brother had not borne any success thus far, but making one more attempt couldn’t hurt, could it? On the off chance he might have the tiniest bit of luck, Greg did have to try.
“Excuse me, will you?” he muttered to his brother and his friend.
Then Greg pushed his way through the crowd and strode outside the hell and down the front stoop just in time to hear the flash-man growl, “I will snap your neck next time ya show your face in ‘ere,” as he pushed Gillingham onto his arse in the middle of the street.
Greg stepped aside to let the muscled employee pass him, back into the hell.
But the man stopped and frowned down at Greg. “Friend of yours?”
Friend was not the word Greg would use. “Future brother,” he replied.
“Condolences,” the man muttered. “Unless ya want to see ‘im broken in two, ya should keep ‘im away from ‘ere.”
Not that Greg had any sort of control over what Gillingham did or didn’t do. “I will tell him.”
Without another word, the flash-man climbed the stoop and re-entered the gaming hall.
The last thing in the world Greg wanted was to be responsible for Gillingham. Poor Bella, stuck with this inept fool all her life. Greg blew out a breath as he started toward her fallen brother. “Did you lose all of it?” he asked.
Gillingham squinted up at him in the darkness, clearly quite deep in his cups. “Are you following me?” He hiccupped.
Greg offered his hand to help his would-be brother-in-law back to his feet. “Coincidence, I assure you.”
Gillingham snorted at that. “Once.” He hiccupped again. “Once, is a coincidence.” Then he stubbornly pushed up to his knees without accepting any assistance. “You can tell Bella I don’t need a nursemaid trailing after me.”
Greg had never been referred to as a nursemaid before, at least not that he was aware of. “Well, you need someone looking after you.” Not that Greg was volunteering for the position. God help anyone who was ever assigned that unthankful chore.
The drunkard stumbled from his knees back to his feet and surprisingly staggered only slightly in the process. “I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
Oh, he was doing amazing on his own. “Stealing your family’s jewels, losing all your money, getting tossed from gaming hells.” Greg shook his head. “You’re on a deadly path if you don’t right yourself, Gillingham.”
The belligerent man glared at him with unabashed annoyance. “You don’t know the first thing about anything.”
“I know you break your sister’s heart every single day. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“A bit dramatic. I’m certain she’ll survive.”
The selfish bastard didn’t care who he hurt on his downward spiral of destruction, and Greg had endured all of the man’s idiocy he intended to. “Now, see here—”
“You’re the last jackass in the world I care about.” Gillingham scoffed. “If you want to be some white knight, you should be looking after Bella. She needs that more than I do.” He shook his head. “No need for us to have any more of these little tête-à-têtes, Avery.” And then he turned his back on Greg and started down Floral Street and somehow managed to keep his balance in the process.
Practice, Greg decided, practice was the only thing keeping the man upright. After all, he’d had years and years of practice it seemed.
But one thing Gillingham had said niggled in the back of Greg’s mind. He should be looking after Bella? What exactly did that mean? Had something happened that Greg didn’t know about? Then he scoffed to himself. Why the devil was he trying to make sense of the random ramblings of an inept drunkard? Greg frowned after the dolt one more time and then tried to shake the man’s nonsense from his head. Then he turned on his heel and returned to the raucous hell.
Across the crowded gaming room, he spotted Tristan and Simon staring in his direction. At least, he supposed, they believed Greg and Bella’s betrothal was real. If he didn’t care for the girl, he wouldn’t try time and time again to talk sense into her worthless brother, would he?
Greg navigated his way through the crowd and dropped back into his seat with an irritated sigh.
“So that went as well as it did at the brothel, huh?” Tristan asked.
“Who is the bigger fool?” Greg asked. “Him? Or me for trying to talk sense into him?”
Tristan shrugged. “You love Lady Arabella. I imagine there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her. That doesn’t make you a fool.”
Well, Greg felt like one. And he didn’t want to think about whether he did or didn’t love Bella. So much for an evening of distraction. Even now he was thinking about her, and he couldn’t help doing so.
“I’m lucky Greywood is a decent fellow,” his brother continued. “But if he was haunted by the same demons as Gillingham is, I would do the same things on Phoebe’s behalf as you’re doing for Arabella’s.”
Simon quirked Greg a grin. “I daresay the lady entering your life has made you less boring, my friend. I say you keep her.”
“I hadn’t asked for your opinion.”
“No,” Simon agreed with a shrug. “But you are welcome to it.”
Chapter 17
Bella waited until after Grandfather and Johann had quit the breakfast room before she stepped over the threshold and settled into a seat along the far wall. Heaven forbid she should have to engage either of them in conversation.
Besides, the situation with Elliott lay heavily on her mind, and focusing on him had to take her full attention. Her brother would have to make an appearance in the breakfast room at some point, she was certain. At least she thought he would as he’d have to eat sooner or later, though she feared it would be later rather than sooner considering his late nights. And last night he’d been later than usual, according to Mary and the servants’ gossip.
Time ticked by, but Bella waited patiently; and eventually, she’d outlasted Papa and even Prissa in the breakfast room. But she wasn’t deterred and was determined to stay put until her quarry finally arrived.
Sitting alone, she sipped what was now tepid tea, while she drew various angles of the exterior of the Royal Opera House from memory in her sketchbook. She wasn’t cert
ain how long she’d sat there, waiting; but she knew the moment her brother stepped over the threshold. The energy in the breakfast room was at once filled with so much angst the change could be felt instantly.
Bella glanced up from her sketchbook and met her brother’s eyes, directly. “Morning, Elliott,” she said, even though it was already sometime in the afternoon.
He heaved an irritated sigh as he made his way to the sideboard. “Whatever you’re going to say, you can keep it to yourself.”
Certainly, he didn’t think that was going to dissuade her, not after watching him sell their grandmother’s jewelry the day before. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We must have a conversation.” She frowned at her brother as he filled a plate with sausages. “I want to talk to you about our encounter at Garrard, what you were doing there yesterday.”
He cast her a glance back over his shoulder. “I don’t have to answer to you, and while we’re on that subject, Bella, you can have Avery stop trailing me everywhere I go too. It’s damned annoying.”
Trailing him? Bella blinked at her brother. “I beg your pardon?” What in the world did he mean by that?
Elliott did turn around fully then, irritation rolling off him in waves. “I’m not an imbecile, Bella. I don’t know why you have him following me. But call him off, will you?”
He was out of his mind. “On my honor, Elliott, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her brother snorted. “The bawdy house, the jeweler, the gaming hall last night...”
Greg visited a bawdy house? Bella’s stomach twisted at the thought. She hadn’t thought he was the sort to—
“..Looking down his nose at me,” Elliott continued in annoyance. “And I am quite tired of it.”
Greg hadn’t said anything about following Elliott around, and Bella doubted he’d done such a thing. But, goodness, had Greg really visited a bawdy house? Bella shook the awful thought from her mind. “This has nothing to do with Lord Avery. This is between you and me, Elliott. The things you’re doing, they’re going to land all of us in an unfortunate situation. If Grandfather—”
“Wasn’t such a stingy bastard, I wouldn’t have to take an advance on my inheritance,” Elliott finished for her. “And I will not feel guilty about it. So you can save your breath.”
For heaven’s sake, reasoning with him was nearly impossible. “Those earbobs were supposed to be mine, Elliott.”
He scoffed as he shook his head. “I never thought you were so selfish, Bella. You don’t need them, but I did. You want to see me destitute and living in a gutter, do you? All for some shiny baubles?”
Was he serious? He was trying to make her feel guilty for his actions? “Elliott, you need some sort of help, and not just financially.” And then her conversation with Prissa popped back into her mind. “What will happen to your son in Seven Dials if you don’t pull your life together now?”
He stared at her blankly for a moment and then his mouth fell slightly open. “Prissa told you,” he said as though he was putting two and two together.
Prissa had told her that Elliott claimed to have a daughter in the notorious rookery. Had he missed that little detail just now because he was so surprised that Bella knew about the child? Or had he simply forgotten the lie he’d told their sister, and didn’t remember if he was supposed to have a son or a daughter? One way to find out. “What’s his name, Elliott? I think I have a right to know my nephew’s name.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to answer…
“Michael,” he finally said. “Named after Father.” Then he started toward the table, looking as sincere as he ever had. “So you see why I need funds now.”
Bella closed her eyes, unable to look at her brother, who truly was a practiced lair. If she didn’t know better, she might very well have believed him. “Then why did you tell Prissa you’ve sired a daughter, if you’ve had a son you named after Father?” She opened her eyes once more and pinned her brother with a glare. What had happened to the sweet boy she’d grown up with? “Do you even know when you’re lying anymore, Elliott? Or when you’re telling the truth? Or is it all just one big blur?”
Instantly, her brother’s face was red with indignation. “You tried to trick me.”
And was successful. “If you were telling the truth, you couldn’t have been tricked.”
“I don’t need the damn Spanish Inquisition, Bella. So you can save your condescension and Avery’s. Just stay out of my life,” he growled before abandoning his plate of sausages on the sideboard and stalking from the breakfast room in a fit of anger.
That was awful. One of the worst things she’d ever experienced, and Bella’s heart ached for her brother. She had adored him, looked up to him when they were children, he’d comforted her when Mama had left but now… The man who’d fled the breakfast room was a stranger to her, someone she didn’t even recognize.
Less than a moment later, Prissa stepped back into the breakfast room, her face ashen white. “He lied to me,” she whispered.
So she’d heard that entire exchange, had she? Hopefully, no one else had. Bella shook her head. “I don’t think he even knows how to tell the truth anymore.”
Her sister crossed the floor and dropped into a chair across from Bella. “What are we going to do about him?”
If only Bella had an answer for that. “I think we have to talk to Papa.” Because they did have to do something. They couldn’t be complacent where their brother was concerned.
Prissa nodded in agreement. “He’s gone out for the day. Maybe that will give us time to figure out what to say to him.”
“The truth, Priss.” Bella shook her head once more. “There’s no point in saying anything less than the truth. Papa needs to know the extent of what’s happening with Elliott.” It was quite likely, though, that Bella didn’t know the full extent of the truth herself. However, if Greg had been following Elliott – though that still seemed so hard to believe – but if he had been, he might know more than Bella did. She’d have to hurry over to Clayworth House very soon to make their next sitting. As it was, she was going to be late. Hopefully Greg wouldn’t leave before she got there.
“I feel awful,” Prissa said softly.
So did Bella. How in the world had things gotten so bad with their brother? “Papa will sort it out,” she said, hoping her words were true.
She pushed out of her seat to head off for Clayworth House when her horrid cousin appeared just inside the doorway. His icy eyes made an uncomfortable shiver race down Bella’s spine.
“Cousin,” he clipped out, “we will have a word now.”
Heaven forbid he should ask nicely. Bella shook her head. “We’ll have to have it later, my lord. As it is, I am late for an appointment at my future sister’s home.”
The last person Greg expected to see wander into the sitting room was his golden-haired nephew Julian, the two-year-old Lord Bayhurst. But the toddler came racing over the threshold, holding a little wooden soldier in his pudgy hands. Despite himself, Greg smiled at the little baron.
“I bet your mother is looking for you.”
The little boy crossed the floor toward the settee where Greg sat, mumbling a jumble of words that made exactly no sense and then lifting his toy up for inspection.
“Yes, you have a solider,” Greg said. “Like Uncle Tristan and Uncle Russell.”
His nephew giggled and then climbed up onto the settee beside Greg. He muttered more gibberish, twisting and turning the little soldier this way and then that.
Greg wasn’t certain what to say to the boy, so he asked, “You like that little fellow, do you?”
“Yes!” Julian replied, a word that was unmistakable, unlike the rest of his words.
Greg nodded. “I know a story about a soldier. Do you want to hear it?”
His nephew’s eyes lit up and he scooted himself toward the back of the settee as he snuggled against Greg.
It wasn’t the same emphatic yes he’d blurted out a min
ute before, but Greg took the child’s actions to mean he would, indeed, like a story about a soldier. “Well, once upon a time there was a great general. A general is the most important, the bravest of all the soldiers. He gives orders to other soldiers and tells them what to do,” Greg explained.
His nephew nodded vigorously as though that made sense, but Greg doubted the little baron really understood.
He continued anyway, “This general was from Carthage, an ancient city at the top of Africa. His name was Hannibal and he was quite famous. And one time he took an entire army including elephants….” He cast the boy a sidelong glance. “Do you know what an elephant is?”
Julian shook his head.
“It’s a giant animal,” Greg told him, then gestured to the space around them. “As big as this room almost. And they have these long noses called trunks that nearly go down to the ground…”
His nephew’s eyes were round in surprise.
“Clearly, your mother needs to take you to the Royal Menagerie.”
“Perhaps you’ll join us when we go,” Cordie said from the threshold.
Greg glanced up at his sister. “Just telling him about Hannibal.”
“What a lovely story for a two year old,” Cordie teased as she stepped into the sitting room.
Greg shrugged slightly. “Well, he had a soldier. I’m not very good with children.”
“I beg to differ,” his sister said as she crossed the room and picked up her child. “He seems quite enthralled with your tales of elephants.” Then she glanced around the room. “Arabella hasn’t arrived yet?”
Greg shook his head. “Just now starting to worry about her.” Especially after Gillingham made that odd comment the night before about Bella needing a white knight to look after her.
“Be careful, Greg, or I’ll start believing you genuinely care for the girl.”
Greg snorted softly. “You’re the only one in Town who knows I don’t, not really.”
“Not really?” she asked, and those perceptive green eyes of hers bore into him.