Page 17 of Just a Little Daring

22nd February 1841, Axton House, Piccadilly, London.

“About bloody time!” Bainbridge said, slapping August on the back. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to wash your hands of them. They’ll sort themselves out, you’ll see.”

“This from the man who brought his father to town rather than leave him at home to cause chaos in his absence?” August queried, deadpan. He had been tucking into a lavish breakfast, all by himself until now, as the rest of the household had not yet shown themselves.

Bainbridge huffed and waved a hand as he took his place at the head of the table. “Not guilty. That’s Arabella on both counts. She’s spoiled the old reprobate so thoroughly he can’t bear her to go away, and it was her that brought him. Not me.”

“So you say,” August chuckled, amused by his friend’s indignation.

Bainbridge scowled. “It’s true. She made me feel sorry for the wicked old goat being left all by himself. As if he doesn’t have an army of servants to torment, not to mention my brother lives five minutes away. Anyway, enough of that. Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived yesterday, by the way. Some business to take care of that couldn’t wait. I trust you’ve been comfortably settled?”

August snorted. “Comfortably? In this palace? I may never leave. I’ve been treated like some indolent pasha, my every whim anticipated. Is this what life is like as the Marquess of Bainbridge?”

“It’s my wife,” Bainbridge said simply. “I never met a female more able to motivate and organise staff. If Wellington had married a woman like Arabella, the war would have been over in half the time, I swear. They fall over themselves to please her.”

“Just the staff?” August asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Bainbridge grinned at him. “Shan’t even bother denying it, old man. I’d do anything for her. Do you think it’s mesmerism? Animal magnetism and all that?”

“Do you care?”

Bainbridge considered this as a footman set a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes in front of him. “Not a bit,” he admitted, reaching for a slice of fried bread and taking a large bite. “I’m happy. She’s happy. No point worrying why, is there? Enjoy it, I say.”

August sighed and nodded. “I never thought I’d see the day. You, Dare, and bloody Raphe all happily leg-shackled and me still a bachelor. I felt certain I’d be the first to go. I wanted to be the first, dammit,” he grumbled, cutting off a sizeable chunk of sausage and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Well, you looked mighty pleased with yourself when you were dancing with Miss Anson on New Year’s Eve.”

August felt a jolt lance through him at the mention of her name, but schooled his face to remain immobile. “It was just a dance, Laurie.”

“Was it?” Bainbridge asked nonchalantly, reaching for his coffee. “Looked like the stuff dreams are made of from where I was stood. Never seen a fellow with more stars in his eyes.”

“Oh, stow it,” August said irritably. “She’s gorgeous, I admit that. She’s also funny and witty and clever, but she will not want the life I wish for. She is not the kind of female to sit at home and embroider. She’ll want to be involved in… in things. She’ll arrange parties and say outrageous things and ruffle the feathers of people who are best left unruffled. Do you not understand why I’m even here, Bainbridge? I want a rest from scandal. I don’t want to be the fellow in the room that everyone is pointing at and whispering about. I’m tired of it.”

“No, you don’t,” Bainbridge said, not looking up from his considerable breakfast.

“What do you mean, I don’t?”

Bainbridge shrugged. “Just what I said. You don’t want to sit at home embroidering either. You think it’s what you want. You’ve always thought it, but it’s not true.”

“I didn’t mean me doing the embroidering, halfwit, as you well know, and what do you mean by that, anyway? Are you calling me a liar?” August demanded, offended by the implication.

“Oh, no,” Bainbridge said, his voice soothing. “Merely deluded.”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” August retorted.

“Well, I see you’ve upset our guest already, darling. Well done. How long have you been home?” Arabella asked her husband, smiling kindly upon August as he stood to greet her.

“’Bout five minutes,” Bainbridge admitted through a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

Arabella sighed, bent and kissed her husband’s cheek, and sat down at the table. “Dear heart, you’ll give the poor man indigestion.”

“Only fair. He’s giving me indigestion by being a clodpole,” Bainbridge retorted. “He won’t marry Miss Anson. I ask you, is that rational?”

“Not in the least, but it really is his decision, my lamb,” Arabella said, sending August a mischievous grin to take the sting out of her remark. Her expression sobered, and she turned back to her husband. “Laurie, darling. You explained the situation to Mr Lane-Fox, as we discussed?”

“Oh, please, call me August. Laurie is like the annoying brother I never had. I consider you family, God help you,” August said, giving her a wry smile.

She beamed at him. “Thank you. You’re a dear. August it is, but Laurie,” she persisted, turning back to Bainbridge. “You did explain?”