The gentleman’s green gaze lifted from his stained boots to stare directly at Bella. The fury on his face sent her heart racing. Oh goodness! What was she to do?
“Come with me, my lord,” Lady Astwick said a half-second later, her Scottish brogue lilting in the air. “We’ll get ye all cleaned up.”
The gentleman cast one more scathing glance in Elliott’s direction before allowing Lady Astwick to lead him from the ballroom.
“All right.” An army lieutenant heaved a sigh. “This way, Gillingham. Time to head home.” He grasped Elliott by the shoulder, careful not to get directly in front of Bella’s foxed brother.
“Avery?” Elliott asked, not a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Where did you come from?”
“Been here all night.” He nodded to Bella. “Excuse us, Miss. I’d better pour the baron back into his coach and send him on his way before anything else unfortunate happens.”
“Thank you, sir.” Bella couldn’t agree more. “But he’s my brother,” she admitted softly. “I’ll get him to our coach.”
A sympathetic expression settled on the lieutenant’s face, but Bella didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of the look. People were already gaping at them. “I doubt very much you can carry him on your own.” He gestured toward the corridor with a tilt of his head. “I’ll help you.”
Thank heavens for the kind lieutenant. Bella wasn’t certain how she would have moved Elliott without the man’s aid. And she wasn’t certain how she was going to manage the next fortnight on her own either. Clearly, her brother was not the ally she’d hoped for.
The lieutenant, however, didn’t seem to need Bella’s assistance in the least. He draped Elliott’s arm around his shoulder and practically dragged her brother from the ballroom with ease. Bella trailed after the duo, down a corridor.
Suddenly, a door to a parlor opened, and Lady Felicity Pierce’s blonde head poked out from around the corner. Goodness! What was Lissy up to now? If Bella wasn’t so preoccupied with her own troubles, she would have asked her friend that very question; but as it was, Lissy was just who Bella needed to talk to. If anyone could help her find a husband within the next fortnight, it was Lissy Pierce. Possibly. Hopefully.
Relieved, Bella heaved a sigh and smiled at her friend. “I’m so glad to see you!”
Lissy returned her smile, though it seemed slightly feigned. “Well, I’m glad to see you too.”
“I’m just leaving,” Bella admitted, glancing after her brother and the lieutenant’s departing forms. “Gillingham has made a scene, unfortunately. Would you be able to go for a walk in the park tomorrow? I desperately need your council.”
“Of course,” Lissy replied, though her eyes strayed back toward the ballroom as though she was looking for someone or afraid she might see someone, rather.
Bella didn’t want to distract her and she needed to follow after her brother anyway. “I’ll send you a note then, in the morning,”
“Perfect.” Lissy nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
Greg neededto be off to Tattersalls in the hopes that a decent stud and a handful of mares might catch his eye today as he’d been fairly unlucky so far with that endeavor, but first he needed to speak with his sister. After all, if anyone could help him with his Phoebe problem, it was her. And he most definitely had a Phoebe problem.
The Clayworth butler admitted him into the house, and after inquiring about his sister’s whereabouts, Greg made his way directly to the nursery, where he discovered his sister Cordelia, the Countess of Clayworth, sitting on the floor with her son playing with a little wooden horse. “I remember when you were that small,” he said to her. “Though I think he may have you beat in temperament.”
Cordie glanced up and grinned at him, then her green eyes twinkled just so as she returned her attention to her son. “He is beyond precious, isn’t he?” she said as she rose from her spot on the floor. She smiled, tossed back her dark tresses and held out her toddler toward Greg. “Would you like to hold your temperate nephew?”
Greg eyed the golden-haired boy suspiciously. He wasn’t at all certain what to do with a creature so tiny. He probably would have been an abysmal father if Marina and their daughter had lived. But he shook that sentiment away. The last thing his sister needed was his maudlin thoughts. “I’ve had more than my share of titled lords tossing up their accounts upon me, and this one looks a little untrustworthy, to be honest.”
“Poor Julian! Did you hear what your uncle said about you?” Cordie giggled, hugging her son to her. The child grabbed a lock of Cordie’s dark hair in his pudgy fingers as she said to Greg, “But I understand your apprehension. Tristan did mention something about your boots at the Astwicks’ last night. Some Gilling-something-or-other. I’m not familiar with the name.”
Of course she wasn’t familiar with the name. Cordie kept mostly to herself and her small family these days. However, during the time when she had been a vivacious debutante, she would have never looked twice at a drunkard like Gillingham. A rogue like Haversham, sure; but not an insolvent drunkard. “I’d be happy not to hear it again, myself,” Greg grumbled. Then he shook his head. “The last thing I came to discuss today was that soused dolt.”
Her curiosity obviously piqued, Cordie furrowed her brow and jostled the child in her arms. “What did you come to discuss, then, Greg?”
“Our sister-in-law,” he confessed, hoping she would aide him. He didn’t know who else would help him if she said no. “You have to do something about Phoebe.”
“Phoebe?” Cordie shook her head. “Whatever she’s done, Tristan’s the one you should be talking to.”
“He’s no help at all.” Greg snorted. “But she’d listen to you. She always listens to you.”
His sister’s green Avery eyes seemed to assess him, something Greg found slightly unnerving. “What is she supposed to listen to me about?”
“Apparently she has it in her head that I need a wife and…” Greg sensed his brother-in-law’s judgmental presence behind him and let his words trail off. He could hear Clayworth’s uncharitable thoughts finishing the sentence, however. Preferably a wife of your own this time? Oh, the noble Earl of Clayworth never spoke such words aloud, but Greg could always see them written across the man’s brow, a constant reminder of Greg’s blaring indiscretion with Marina.