“Seems to me that being protective of one’s family would be a desirable quality.”
“Not if it’s going to land the protector in Newgate.”
“They will not send a duke to Newgate.”
“As you keep insisting, you are not the duke yet. And Father may live many years longer than Grandfather did.”
Thomas snapped his head around. “Shut it.”
Robert sat straighter, understanding lighting his eyes. “Ah. That’s it, isn’t it? Father’s birthday is soon. He’ll be the same age as Grandfather was when he died.” Robert nodded, almost to himself as he glanced toward the window. “No wonder everyone’s nervous about our reprobate reputations.”
The carriage slowed to a halt, which saved Thomas from throttling his brother. “Let’s gather Michael.”
“You go. I’ll wait here.”
Thomas glared at his brother. “You really think I’m an idiot.” Thomas took off his hat and nestled it into one corner of the seat. He’d been in more than a few pubs hunting down both brothers in the past. He liked his hat. “Let’s go.”
The brothers entered the Owl and Drum, a good-sized pub filled with a deuce of happy drunks parsed among the belligerent ones, a loud-mouth barkeep, and a few barmaids dressed to induce lust and thirst. Candles and lanterns lit the smoky room, making it hard to distinguish one man from another. Thomas looked for the barmaids, who were easier to discern than the roughly dressed patrons. He pointed to a table against the far wall. “There. A barmaid in a lap.”
“And you think that’s Michael?”
Thomas looked down at his brother with a sneer. “Michael’s lucky he has not yet contracted the pox.”
“How do you know he has not?”
“Because this isn’t the first wench I have dragged him away from. The last time he was much farther along in the process. Some things were obvious.”
Robert glared at Thomas... again. “Are you not taking this big brother role rather seriously?”
“Someone has to.”
“You supercilious knob.”
“Without a doubt. Fetch him.”
Robert growled but headed across the room. The barmaid protested with more volume than Michael, who took one look at Robert, then Thomas, and came along with a half-hearted apology to the girl. He scooped up a tankard from a passing barmaid, who protested mightily as Robert snagged it from his fist and returned it to her tray.
Thomas watched his brothers stagger toward him, Robert fighting to keep Michael on his feet. It was going to be a very long night.
*
Lady Rose Timmonsstood, fists on hips, staring at the wreckage around her. Her lady’s maid, Sarah, dropped the lid on yet another trunk, the thud echoing off the walls and open rafters of the attic. The two lamps they had brought with them barely lit the area around them, but it was enough to see that the gowns of past seasons they had pulled from a variety of trunks were of little use.
Sarah picked up one such gown—a red silk contraption overburdened with frills and flounces—and shook it out before folding it again and placing in one of the open trunks near her side. She sneezed as the dust from the trunk flew up around her. “Perhaps the modiste might still have time to do repairs before the Higginbotham ball?”
Rose had to smile. “You are a hopeful lass, Sarah. My new gown has four rips straight down the front and the train is shredded. Madame Adrienne will have to replace the entire panel and repair the embroidery on the train. She will already be swamped with last minute repairs and fittings from the debutantes. I will not exactly be a priority for her.” Rose’s dismay at finding the injured gown earlier that morning had been set aside by her duties of the day. Now they had to find a solution without alerting her mother. None of her other gowns for the upcoming events of the season were completed yet, as her mother had instructed the modiste to focus on the ones for her sister Cecily, who was debuting this year. Dorothea Timmons had made it quite clear that Rose—already on the shelf—could wait.
Only now, that meant no replacement for the tattered blue and gold frock. Their duties of the day complete, she and Sarah had retreated to the attic, to search the trunks for something that could be used for the upcoming ball.
Sarah began folding other gowns. “I do apologize, my lady. I had no idea that Athena was in the dressing room when I closed it up.”
“It is not your fault, Sarah. That cat should have been in the gardens chasing voles, not trying to scale my gown as if it were a Swiss Alp.”
“I did think one of your sisters’ gowns would work. I could do a quick hemming on one of Lady Beatrice’s—”
“I think it was a faint hope at best. Beatrice is too tall and she and Abigail both are too thin.”
“Perhaps one of your mother’s—”
