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disgust and ordered the driver to move on.
Sydney was content that she and Winnie were to travel in Lord Mayne's
more elegant coach, until he followed them into the carriage. She
supposed he was going to spoil everything now with his thundercloud
expression, just to prove he could do that, too. She stared out the window,
not talking.
Winifred was used to her sister's sitting mum-chance in company and
knew it was her responsibility to fill the silence with polite conversation.
She tried. "Did I thank you for the dance, my lord?"
"Twice."
"Ah, did I ask you to send my sympathy to Lord Mainwaring?"
"At least that many times."
"And to thank your mother for her interest?"
"Yes."
"Then could you stop the carriage, my lord?" she asked in that same
sweet tone. "I think I am going to be sick."
"Whatever made you cockleheads think you could cook, much less
measure?" Lord Mayne was shouting. Sydney sat at the kitchen table,
miserably huddled over her third cup of black coffee. Forrest was waiting
with the fourth, and she didn't even like coffee. Winifred was suffering in
the hands of their abigail, but Sydney was not going to be permitted such
an easy death.
"You are the most blithering idiot it's ever been my misfortune to
meet." His lordship was in full spate. "It wasn't enough for you to threaten
your whole family with scandal by going into trade, not you! You had to
try to poison the whole ton! And at Almacks of all places!"
Sydney did not blame Trixie for that particular lunacy; she knew the
girl was jingle-brained and should have watched her. It was all her fault.
She just sat, feeling more blue-deviled.
Wally tried to exonerate them. "We didn't set out to poison anyone. It
must have been a bad batch."
"And I suppose you didn't sample every one?" He could tell by the guilty
looks and mottled complexions that they had. He poured the twins more
coffee. "Damn if you two haven't taken too many punches to the head! And
you, miss, should have been left out at birth for the wolves."
"I was," she sniffed through gathering tears. "The wolves threw me
back." Then she was crying in earnest. "Do you think& that is, will they
send me to jail?"
Forrest cursed and handed her his handkerchief. "Coventry maybe,
brat, not jail. Who exactly knows that you were responsible?"
"Everyone in the house except Grandfather and "
Willy shook his head. "The general enjoyed the bonbons so well, I told
him we made 'em. He won't talk."
" And Annemarie."
Wally shook his head. "She kept smelling the chocolate, so I showed her
the molds. But she's sweet on me. She won't peach on us."
Forrest was tearing his hands through his hair. "Who else?"
"Trixie, but she can't say anything. She's the one who brought them to
Almacks. And even if she tells her mama, Aunt Harriet cannot tell, for she
handed them around to all her friends."
"Anyone else?"
Sydney started to weep again. Through the folds of the viscount's
handkerchief she whimpered, "An old friend from home& and your
brother was here this morning, helping."
There was a moment of silence. Sydney began to think she might live
through the night. Then she had to grab for the coffee cup as his fist came
down on the table, rattling the china. "Well, I told you to keep him away,"
Sydney cried into the cloth.
"To protect your sister's reputation, fiend seize it, not his! You didn't
warn me you'd involve him in your hen-witted schemes, or try to kill him
with your concoctions! I should have shipped him to the front lines. He'd
be safer."
"I'm sorry," she said, "and you can be sure that I won't mention his
name if they bring me in front of the assizes. And I promise not to tell
them that you lent me the money to start the business."
"Hell and damnation!" Then he took a look at Sydney, so woebegone, so
wretched, her hazel eyes swimming in tears, and his anger melted. "Don't
worry, Mischief, I'll try to fix it."
She brightened immediately. "Oh, can you? I'll be in your debt forever.
How silly, I'm already in your debt. But what shall you do?"
The viscount sighed and got up to leave. "Forget about the damned
money, Mischief, and go to bed."
She followed him to the door. "But maybe I can help."
"That's the last thing I need," he teased, just to see her dimples. Then he
wiped a tear away from her cheek with his finger. "I'll see you in the
morning. Wear that pretty yellow dress."
Embarrassed, she twitched at the folds of her white lace gown. "I know
it's not becoming on me, but Aunt Harriet said I had to wear white."
"And you always follow Aunt Harriet's rules?"
She chuckled and answered, "Only when I am playing her game."
There was nothing Forrest could do that night, beyond shooting his own
brother, that is. And he was too restless for bed, disturbed more than he
ever wanted to be by Sydney's unhappiness. Her eyes should never be
dimmed with woe; they should have stars in them, as they had when she
looked up at him during the waltz. Her mouth was never meant for
drooping sorrow; those full lips were meant for laughing, or kissing. And
her body
He went to visit his current mistress.
Forrest did not own the little house in Kensington, but he was presently
paying the rent, so he let himself in despite the near darkness of the place.
Lighting a candle, he found his way to Ava's bedchamber. There she lay,
fast asleep, propped up on a mound of frothy pillows. Her filmy negligee
was open invitingly, but her mouth was open too, trailing a thread of drool
and issuing raspy snores. An open box of bonbons, each wrapped in silver
paper, rested by her side.
The viscount shrugged. He wasn't in the mood anyway. He wrote a
check and left it on the dresser. She would find it in the morning and
know he wasn't coming back. Forrest left, feeling relieved, and not just
because she hadn't fallen asleep while he was making love to her.
15
Double Trouble
^
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