a pair of earbobs, Lady Fairchild might part with a necklace, but after another week of losses, trifles like that won’t suffice.”
“Why would Lady Fairchild part with a necklace?”
“Because her daughter has the famous Dorning eyes, but not the famous Dorning last name?”
“These things happen.”
“And these things interfere with decent settlements and an adequate match, when a shy, plain woman gets to be a certain age and has had no offers.”
Sycamore’s flirtatious impulse was checked by a nasty thought. “Do you suppose Chastain has been forcing himself on Lady Fairchild?” Mrs. Tremont was an apparently merry young widow, but Lady Fairchild was the mother of Cam’s half-sister and did not strike him as amenable to romping.
“Chastain has a new wife, and he’s dallying with Mrs. Tremont. He’s a pestilence to the servants, though Lady Wentwhistle knows to assign only the experienced maids and footmen to the guest wing, and they usually work in pairs. I doubt Chastain has the stamina to also inflict himself on Lady Fairchild.”
“I am hardly reassured that a lack of stamina might be all that stands between Chastain and felonious conduct toward the ladies.” Sycamore declined to mention that his own stamina defied womanly comprehension when he was truly inspired. What did an ability to last in bed matter if a fellow was an oaf?
Lady Tavistock patted his cravat. “You want an excuse to blow his brains out. This is part of why I like you.”
“What are the other parts?”
“You can whistle up a small fortune in coin of the realm in less than a week, and you are discreet.”
Such ringing endorsements as those would have Sycamore joining the clergy. He peered down at the back garden rather than take her ladyship’s hand and press kisses to her wrist. William Chastain lolled in a chair on the shady side of the terrace, his posture suggesting he’d like to be stroking his crotch—or he’d like for somebody else to stroke his crotch.
I’m not like him. I’m not. “I am a gentleman, my lady, and I will thank you to—I see my brother and his new wife cuddled up at the center of the maze.”
“They have been there for the past ten minutes. I’m glad Mr. Dorning is spending time with Lady Della. Chastain might limit himself to extorting baubles from Lady Fairchild and commandeering trysts with Mrs. Tremont, but I don’t like how he’s been looking at Lady Della.”
Neither did Sycamore. “How has he been looking at Lady Della?”
“As if he’d enjoy hurting her.”
Sycamore did catch Lady Tavistock’s hand and bowed over it most correctly. “I fear you are right, and I should have a pointed discussion with my brother.”
“Not this instant, Mr. Dorning. Your brother is attending to pressing marital business.”
“Right, not this instant, but the moment he toddles out of the maze.” Looking dazed and replete, Sycamore hoped. Another nasty thought occurred to him. “My lady, how come you to know the look of a man who’d enjoy hurting women?”
She moved closer, her hand still joined with his, and kissed his cheek. “A gentleman would not ask, but I’m touched that you did.” She led him to the door, and when he stood before her wanting to say something, do something, think something, she gave him a gentle shove and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
If you want to leave me, I will understand…
Sitting next to her husband, Della could calm herself enough to speak and even to think. Ash was offering to set her aside—and to be set aside.
A yellowed oak leaf went twirling by to land at Cupid’s feet. “Chastain would love for us to separate.”
“To blazes with Chastain. What do you want?”
Who asked her that, save Ash? “I want peace and safety. I want to have my bouts of hysteria where nobody will remark them.”
“That is easily arranged. You have the means to purchase your own property, though I’d ask that you not establish a household too far from Town. I would rather that I provided you such a home, and I will happily do so, but the dwelling will be more modest. I would like to visit you from time to time, when I’m well, but I will understand if you’d prefer less of my company.”
Della had heard Ash speak like this on other occasions. When explaining his illness to her, for example. All rational discourse and articulate speech. Not a sentiment in sight. He sat in his mental window, detached from the workings of the heart…