“Being a true lady means making even a mundane topic such as the weather interesting. A gentleman must want to approach you, and a gentleman does not want to be bored.”
A LADY’S GUIDE TO PROPER BEHAVIOR
What do you think of that, Colonel? He’s brought in another one.”
Annoyed, Colonel Bartholomew James opened one eye. At the far end of the room, beyond the two dozen comfortable chairs and tables, past the billiards table and the generous stand of liquor bottles, the Duke of Sommerset stood speaking with a tall, dark-haired fellow wearing the uniform of a naval captain.
“It’s Sommerset’s club,” he returned, giving up on feigning sleep; clearly Thomas Easton meant to converse with him whether he was awake or not. “I suppose he can invite whomever he pleases to join it.”
“Damned navy,” Easton grumbled. “Let him try spending a year in the desert like we did, and see how fine his uniform looks.”
“I wasn’t in the desert.”
“Part of India is desert.” Easton cursed under his breath. “Damn. They’re walking this way. Pretend to be asleep.”
“That doesn’t seem to be very effective,” Bartholomew noted dryly, shifting in the deep chair a little and ignoring the sharp pain jabbing through his left knee.
“This is Mr. Thomas Easton,” Sommerset drawled as the two men approached. “He spent a year in Persia to encourage the expansion of the silk trade to Britain. Easton, Captain Bradshaw Carroway.”
“Carroway. So now the only qualification to join the Adventurers’ Club is what, to survive a rough sea?”
“The only qualification,” the duke returned, still cool and unconcerned, “is my say-so. I see you’re awake, Colonel.”
Bartholomew sent a sideways glance at Easton. “Under the circumstances, there’s little else I could be.”
Sommerset’s mouth twitched. “Captain Carroway, this is Colonel Bartholomew James. Tolly served for a time in India.”
Served for a time. Interesting that four words could so completely describe ten years of his life. Bartholomew nodded. “Captain.”
“Colonel.” The naval officer straightened. “I read about your ordeal. My condolences.”
So it was an “ordeal” now. Better than an “incident” or an “unfortunate occurrence” or even an exaggeration, he supposed, and he’d heard it described as all of those things. “Thank you,” he said aloud.
“Come, Sommerset,” Easton broke in, “you always have a reason for admitting another uncivilized beast into your club. What’s our dear Captain Carroway here for?”
“That’s for him to tell, if he wishes to do so—just as I only mention the parts of your tale that you’ve made public knowledge.” The duke motioned Carroway to follow, and the two men walked over to greet the Earl of Hennessy, the only other club member present at the moment.
Easton leaned over the arm of his chair. “What do you think it is, Colonel? A shipwreck? Capture by pirates?”
Bartholomew made one last attempt to ignore the blast of hot air that was Thomas Easton. He shut his eyes again. And immediately rocky hills, bone-dry stream beds, twisted trees hanging over crumbling ravines filled his mind. It was nowhere he particularly cared to revisit, but he could never seem to be anywhere else. He deserved to still be there, he supposed. Everyone under his command was still there, beneath the stones.
“We’re fifteen now,” Easton went on, unmindful of the fact that no one else wanted to talk to him. “Fifteen outcasts, unfit for proper Society. Ah, the tales we could tell, with only us to listen.”
“Some of us stopped listening to you ages ago,” Hennessy commented from across the room. Bartholomew snorted.
“You don’t—”
“The Adventurers’ Club is supposed to be a damned refuge, Easton,” the earl continued. “Not a place for you to torment the rest of us. Leave be.”
“I’m talking to the colonel, not you. If he doesn’t like it, he can tell me so.”
“Shut up, Easton,” Bartholomew muttered.
Yes, the Adventurers’ Club, established several months ago by the Duke of Sommerset and located in the east wing of his massive town house, was a refuge for misfits. Explorers, adventurers—how had Sommerset put it? A place for those who’d learned to view the world and Society with clearer eyes than the rest of London. That was he, Bartholomew supposed. Because most of the time he couldn’t see London at all any longer.
A moment later he heard Thomas Easton rise and wander off, likely to torment Hennessy or the new fellow. Thank God. Perhaps now he could manage a few minutes of sleep, given the way it tended to evade him at night. Then the scent of sandalwood touched his nostrils, and someone else settled into Easton’s vacated chair. “Sommerset,” he drawled.
“Hervey tells me you’ve been here for three days now,” the duke said, pitching his voice lower.
Inwardly sighing, Bartholomew opened his eyes again and straightened from his current I’d-rather-not-speak-with-you slouch. The movement twisted his knee again, but he hid his flinch. “I don’t feel like going out,” he admitted aloud.
“And you don’t have to. That’s why the Adventurers’ Club provides spare rooms for whichever of us requires one. If I’m not mistaken, Tolly, didn’t your sister and brother arrive in Town the day before yesterday?”
He didn’t recall that Sommerset had ever been mistaken about anything. “Hence me being here rather than at James House.” Bartholomew cocked his head. “You’re using my nickname. What do you want?” Lifting his cane, he twirled it idly in his hands. Somewhere in the past few months it had become another limb, an extension of his body. He required it and hated it all at the same time.
“I recall you speaking fondly of your siblings,” the duke countered, ignoring his question.
“I am fond of them. But Stephen and Violet are very…chirpy. I’m not.” Not any longer, anyway.
“Just keep in mind that I won’t have them here. Nor do I want them searching London for you and raising all sorts of alarms that point here.”
“Ah. So that’s what you want.” It was the first rule of the Adventurers’ Club. Members only. As far as Bartholomew had been able to determine in the six weeks he’d been a member, no one else in London had ever heard a word about its existence. “I’ll go see them tomorrow and let them know I’m staying elsewhere.”
“Do it today. They’re already asking around for you.”
A murmur of uneasiness went through his gut. Sommerset made the rules at this club, however, and Bartholomew had no desire to be asked to leave. It was, after all, the only place where he seemed able to close his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. Apparently there was something to be said for being surrounded by people who knew how to manage themselves in a crisis. “I’ll have my horse brought around, then.”
The duke stood again. “I’ll see to it.”
Drawing a breath and clenching his jaw, Bartholomew braced both hands against the arms of the deep chair and muscled himself upright. He’d gotten better at it; when he’d first begun, he’d ended up on the floor more often than not. Now, however, with another sharp, lingering stab and grind in his left knee, he stood. The end of the cane clicked against the polished hardwood floor, his third leg. One short of a horse.
He didn’t have to go at that moment, he supposed. Sommerset had only told him to take care of it today, and going by the longcase clock in the corner, it was barely eleven. The sooner he saw to it, though, the sooner he could return to the refuge of the Adventurers’ Club.
Outside the well-hidden entrance of the club, Harlow held the reins of his big, dark gray gelding, Meru. The groom had already circled the gray so Bartholomew could mount from the right side—a damned shame, but the only way he could make it into the saddle these days. Thankfully Meru had caught on quickly and stood still as a rock while he slid the cane into the straps that would normally have held a rifle or a sword, then swung up into the saddle.
With a nod to the groom, Bartholomew sent Meru down the Ainsley House drive and out onto the streets of Mayfair. It was odd; he’d grown up familiar with these streets, attending parties, recitals, whatever his parents could drag him to first as a lad and then as a very naive young man down from Oxford. Even later there had been an army leave here or there when he’d returned, visiting family and friends, attending parties, but not quite seeing it any longer as the raison d’être his less-traveled fellows seemed to think it.
Now it all seemed foreign. As he turned onto Davies Street a pair of cart drivers stood arguing and throwing produce at one another over some slight or other. Smashed peaches littered the street, attracting a slew of dogs, pigeons, and street urchins. Bartholomew leaned out and caught one of the fruits as it soared by, then dropped it into a small girl’s outstretched hands. She fled back into an alley, skittish as the dogs.
Once he reached the white, multi-windowed front of James House he stopped. For the past few weeks since his return from India he’d been living more or less in the family home, though most nights he seemed either to end up riding the streets or sleeping in one of the back rooms of the Adventurers’ Club—or one of the chairs in front of the fireplace there. Now that the Season had begun in earnest, of course Stephen and Violet would have come to London. He supposed he’d just been pretending ignorance of that fact—until he’d received Stephen’s letter four days ago.
Blowing out his breath, he urged Meru up the drive and around the side of the house to the stable. As soon as he appeared two grooms hurried out, Harry to take the gray by the bridle, and Tom to gingerly pull Tolly’s left foot from the stirrup and then circle around to take Bartholomew’s weight as he dismounted.
As his left foot settled on the ground the sharp, familiar pain shot from his toes all the way up his spine. For a moment he held still, not so much waiting for the pain to subside as allowing his body to adjust to it again. If he could live on horseback, he would hardly mind the injury at all. Unfortunately, Meru couldn’t manage the stairs at James House. Even more unfortunately, Bartholomew couldn’t, either.
“Thank you, Tom,” he said, reaching over to free the cane and shifting to settle his weight on it.
“Lord and Lady Gardner and Miss Violet arrived the day before yesterday, Colonel,” the sturdy groom said, taking a step back, out of the way. “They’ve been inquiring as to your whereabouts.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll see to it.”
He’d just reached the front of the house when the door swung open. “Tolly!”
Black-haired Violet flew down the steps at him. Bartholomew braced himself, digging the tip of his cane into the dirt and clenching his jaw against the pain that he knew would come. Just short of colliding with him, though, Violet skidded to a stop.
“Stephen said you’d been hurt,” she said, looking up at him with concerned brown eyes. “You’re still hurt, aren’t you?”
“I heard you’ve been looking for me,” he said gruffly.
“Of course we’ve been looking for you! May I hug you, or should we shake hands?”
Bartholomew didn’t quite know how to answer that. Thankfully, before he could decide, Stephen, Viscount Gardner, descended the front steps, as well. “Stephen,” he said, nodding. His gaze lifted to the young light-haired lady following his older brother outside. “And you must be Amelia.”
She nodded. “I’m pleased to finally meet you, Colonel.”
Knowing what he must look like, he had to give his new sister-in-law credit for not shrieking. He couldn’t remember whether he’d shaved that morning or not, and his brown hair was badly in need of a trim. And then there was the cane. At least his cravat hid the marks around his throat. “Call me Tolly,” he returned, and offered his free hand to Stephen.
His brother shook it. “Where the devil have you been?”
“Staying with a friend,” Bartholomew hedged.
“But this is your home!” Violet exclaimed, finally stepping in to wrap her hands around his left arm. “Do come in. Do you need assistance? I can fetch Graham.”
Bartholomew shrugged free of her grip. “Leave be, Vi. Graham and I already have an understanding.”
“Which is?” Stephen prompted as Bartholomew limped past him.
“He opens the door and then goes away,” Bartholomew returned, clenching his jaw as he reached the first of the three shallow steps. It wasn’t so much that he minded looking ungainly as he didn’t want to appear weak. He glared at the step, willing it to sink into the drive.
“Violet, Stephen,” Amelia’s too-sweet voice came from the doorway above, “why don’t we sit in the morning room? The Colonel—Tolly—can join us when he pleases.”
He glanced up at her. At least someone understood that he didn’t want to be stared at. She was fairly pretty, he decided, blond-haired and green-eyed, with that cheery look that suited Stephen’s own manner. He wasn’t certain he would have given her a second look under other circumstances, but for this moment he was grateful for her presence.
“Right.” Stephen collected Violet and the two of them pranced up the steps with no noticeable effort and vanished into the house behind Stephen’s new wife.
Once left to himself, Bartholomew reached out to hook the door frame with the cane’s handle. Gripping the shaft with both hands, he pulled himself up, one slow, painful step at a time. When he reached the foyer a light sweat covered his brow. Wiping it away impatiently, he shrugged out of his overcoat and set his hat onto a hook. Then, shaking himself, he walked three-legged into the morning room.
“You should sit down,” Violet said immediately, bouncing to her feet to make room for him close by the door. She’d been out for a year now, and by his count would be nineteen by the end of the month, but she still flounced and chirped like the child he remembered.
If he sat, he would have to stand again. “I’m fine,” he said, moving across the room to lean against the fireplace mantel.
“You knew we were coming to London, didn’t you?” Stephen asked, taking Amelia’s hand and drawing it across his knee. “I wrote you nearly a week ago.”
“I knew.”
“Then why have you been missing for the past two days?”
“I haven’t been missing. I’ve been elsewhere.”
The viscount cocked his head. “Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
“Good, because I’m quite happy to see you. It’s been three years, nearly, since you were last home.”
“I’m aware of that.” Bartholomew took a breath. “I’m poor company these days. You’re newly wed, and I know that Vi has never missed a dance in her life. So proceed with enjoying the Season, and I’ll be about.”
“But we’re your family,” Violet protested. “We’re supposed to hold you close in your time of need.”
Good God. That was actually almost amusing. “My time of need was eight months ago,” he said aloud. “Since then I’ve come to prefer my own company.” Bartholomew straightened again, heading for the door.
“Where can we reach you?”
“You may leave messages for me at the Society Club.”
Stephen stood up behind him. “At least say you’ll join us for dinner this evening. It will be family only. Amelia’s cousins Theresa and Michael, and us.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to return to the Adventurers’ Club and the quiet of his own thoughts. Somewhere he didn’t have to be polite, or answer any questions, or have anyone crowd him.
In the foyer Graham inclined his head, pulled open the front door, and headed away down the hall. Descending the stairs was an even trickier ordeal than climbing up; he had nothing to hold on to. Leaning forward a little, he planted the cane on the second step and then stepped down, bad leg first.
“Tolly.”
Damnation. “Not now, Stephen. I’m occupied.”
“Then let me help you, damn it all.”
Before he could protest, his older brother had grabbed his free arm. Pulling Bartholomew’s arm across his shoulder, the viscount swiftly descended the remaining two steps. As soon as his feet were on the ground, Bartholomew shoved his brother away. “Hands off,” he snapped, stumbling backward until he could catch his balance.
“Apologies. But I don’t understand what’s—”
“Just don’t touch me.” Not only did it physically throw him off, but the memories of being grabbed, held down…It was still too fresh.
Whether he read the upset on his brother’s face or he recognized that Bartholomew had gripped the cane like a weapon, Stephen raised his arms and backed away a step. “Very well.”
“Good. I have to go now.”
“Tolly, I read the newspaper account of what happened in India, and I received your letter. I know what you’ve been through. And I understand. We only want to help you recover.”
A shiver ran down Bartholomew’s spine. “You may know what happened, but you don’t know what I’ve been through, Stephen. And I’m as recovered as I will ever be.” He motioned at Tom as the groom peered around the corner. “I truly only wish to be left alone.”
“After tonight. Come by at seven o’clock.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Not good enough. Be here, or I’ll come looking for you.”
And then Sommerset would likely boot him out of the Adventurers’ Club altogether. “Seven o’clock,” he grunted. “And then you’ll leave me be.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Bartholomew abruptly understood why his brother had thought that an unsatisfactory answer. All he could do at the moment was appear for dinner, and then either convince his family that they wanted nothing to do with him, or disappear. Either one would do, he supposed.
“Theresa, do stop preening,” Michael Weller said with a grin as he descended the stairs of Weller House. “You’re already the embodiment of perfection. And we know everyone attending tonight.”
Theresa looked away from the foyer mirror to frown at her older brother. “The point is to look one’s best, no matter the company.”
“You’re quoting your booklet at me again, aren’t you?”
“I knew you read it. You said you hadn’t.” She flashed him a smile, trying to picture him reading A Lady’s Guide to Proper Behavior.
“Because it’s for chits.”
“Well, thank you, anyway.” She finished putting on her hat. “And we don’t know everyone attending tonight. The other brother will be there. Amelia sent over a note.”
“The colonel?” Michael spent his own moment in front of the mirror adjusting his cravat.
“Yes. He was wounded, wasn’t he? Do you have to purchase a new uniform if the old one is ruined in battle, or does the army provide it for you?”
“How the devil should I know? He’s retired on half pay, anyway. The uniform is only for large soirees and people he wishes to impress. And I doubt he’ll worry about impressing us.” Michael collected his hat from Ramsey. “See that Mooney has my riding boots cleaned, will you?” he asked the butler. “I’m to go riding with Lord Gardner in the morning.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Offering her an arm, Michael walked outside with her to their waiting coach. “You did tell Grandmama we’re leaving, didn’t you?” he asked.
Theresa nodded. “Of course I did. She said you should mind your language, and then she went to find some strawberries.” She looked over at her brother as he took the seat beside her. At six-and-twenty he might have been three years her elder, but he seldom acted like the more mature sibling. That responsibility fell to her. “Whether the colonel wears a uniform or not, he was the lone survivor of an attack. We must show compassion.”
“I’m always compassionate. And I imagine I can find something other than uniforms to chat about,” he said dryly. “If I settle on an unsafe topic, you may kick me beneath the table.”
“Gladly,” she said, offering him another smile.
“You didn’t have to agree to that quite so swiftly.”
“Hmm.” She straightened her gloves. “By the way, have you spoken with Lord Montrose lately?” she asked as casually as she could.
“I saw him this afternoon at White’s. Why do you ask?”
Theresa made a face. “Why do you think I ask?”
Michael lifted an eyebrow. “So you’ve settled on him?”
“I’m not certain yet,” she hedged. And that was the truth. Whether everyone else thought she was being coy or not, she simply wasn’t certain—about Montrose, or any of her other suitors. And mostly, about herself.
“You only wanted to know, then, if he’d gone off and found someone more interesting?” her brother asked skeptically.
She sniffed, shaking herself. “I was only curious as to his whereabouts. You’re his friend, Michael, so you should know. I can’t very well send a note over to his house to ask his health.”
“I do know all about him. Which is why I’m fairly certain his only illness is that he’s still pining after you.”
“I told him not to do that. I simply need more time to make up my mind.”
“The trouble, Tess, is that you have so many to choose from. His odds make him nervous.”
“That’s not actually my fault.”
Whatever her brother teased, in truth the Marquis of Montrose wasn’t her only prospect. In fact, the only difficulty should have been in narrowing down her choices. But she didn’t quite feel ready for that, yet. The more choices there were, the more time she could be expected to take to choose. And that suited her quite well.