Page 27 of The Trouble with a Dare

“Depends on what you mean by good, I should think, though I’d like to know what business it is of yours.”

Bainbridge shrugged. “It’s none of my business. I may look like I’ve not a brain in my thick head and I’ll admit what there is may not be up to much, but I am aware I’m meddling, I assure you. However, my wife is my business, and Lady Bainbridge is worried sick about her friend’s future happiness. Therefore, here I am, like it or not. So, convince me.”

Sterling returned a contemptuous glance. “No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work—”

“What the devil do you mean, no?” Bainbridge demanded, looking so outraged Sterling might have laughed in different circumstances.

He didn’t doubt the son of a duke was unused to being gainsaid, but this was Sterling’s land. Grace was his wife, and he would see hell freeze over before explaining himself to a stranger.

“I mean no,” Sterling repeated, not raising his voice, his gaze steady upon Bainbridge. “You said yourself you’re meddling in what does not concern you, and on that point we agree. Grace is my wife, mine to protect and care for. Her happiness is my affair, and no one, not even you, my Lord Bainbridge, have the right to interfere. Now I don’t want any trouble, but I give you fair warning that I’ll not take any further questions in so friendly a manner as I have up till now. So, I’ll thank you to get off my land and let me return to my work.”

Sterling’s heart was hammering now, all his instincts prickling with the possibility of imminent violence. Whilst that was the last thing he wanted, he was not about to let some bloody nob come onto his land and start shouting the odds. For where would it end? What was between him and Grace was private and no one else’s affair. What’s more, it was so frail and new that he feared any interference from outside might damage the fragile bond that had begun between them, and he’d rather die than allow that to happen.

Bainbridge glowered at him, his dark brows knit in consternation, and then with such abruptness Sterling felt almost giddy with it, his expression cleared.

“Right,” Bainbridge said briskly, clapping Sterling on the back. “That’s that, then. Sorry to have troubled you, but you know what women are. Arabella has such an imagination that she was waking in the night weeping about cruelty and her poor friend all alone and… well, dash it, a fellow can’t have his wife weeping and fretting at all hours. Now then, I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.”

Sterling gaped at the man, his gaze swinging abruptly to Henry, who just rubbed the back of his neck and gave a rueful smile.

“He means well,” he said by way of explanation. “And his heart is in the right place. It’s just that getting helped by Bainbridge is a bit like being stood under an avalanche.”

Bainbridge frowned, staring between them. “What?” he demanded. “I was tactful. You can’t say I wasn’t tactful because I nearly expired under the strain.”

“There, there, old man,” Henry said, patting Bainbridge soothingly on the shoulder. “You were as tactful as you could possibly be.”

“Hmph,” Bainbridge said, apparently mollified.

“Akin to a sledgehammer,” Henry added, his expression bland.

His lordship turned and glowered at Henry and Sterling stiffened, but then Bainbridge sighed and shrugged. “That’s fair. Now then, Oak, do you perchance brew your own beer?”

“Yes,” Sterling said cautiously, feeling a bit like he’d been caught up in a whirlwind as the marquess kept over-setting his expectations. “Happen I do.”

“Any good?” Bainbridge asked, perking up and looking hopeful.

Despite himself, Sterling’s lip twitched in amusement. “Best you’ve ever tasted, I’ll warrant.”

Looking exceedingly pleased by this turn of events, Bainbridge gestured for him to lead the way. “Well, what are you waiting for, then, man? Take me to it. I’m about to die of thirst.”

Utterly bemused, Sterling shouted to his men to carry on without him and led Bainbridge and Henry off to get a drink, not entirely certain of exactly what had just happened.

Chapter 10

Dearest Greer,

Please do not be cross with me. Even Mama agrees you must not come, so you know it must be dreadfully inappropriate. The Baron has the most shocking reputation and to have an unmarried lady in the house with him would be quite enough to ruin her. I will not have your reputation besmirched by proximity.

Besides which, he is not pleasant company at present. I confess if it were not that Daire holds him in such high regard and considers him a close friend, I would not have him here. He is in a vile state from overindulging in liquor and a life of vice and dissipation. I should not inflict his company on my worst enemy at present, so I certainly shall not allow you to come. I promise that the moment we are rid of him I will send for you, but I beg you do not hold your breath, nor reproach me further if it is not for some time. Daire will not hear of him leaving until he is certain he will not return at once to his profligate ways, but I do not see how he can have any faith in this ever happening. I believe he remembers a boy and a friendship which is long since gone, but the darling man is so loyal and determined to help that I cannot possibly do anything else but support him.

I must, of course, beg for you to keep all of this in the strictest confidence or Daire will be dreadfully upset with me.

Please understand, sister, and write back to tell me I am forgiven.

―Excerpt of a letter from Elspeth Kelburn, The Right Hon’ble, The Viscountess Roxborough, to her sister Miss Greer Cadogan (daughters of Mrs Bonnie and Mr Jerome Cadogan).

10th of September 1839, Thistley House Farm, Sussex.

“It sounds dreadfully romantic,” Arabella said, giving a happy sigh before licking cream off her fingers with the fastidious attention of a cat. “And your Mrs Gladwish is an absolute treasure. I’ve never tasted scones like it. Quite delicious, and that cream… simply divine.”