Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pritchard’s eyes opened a slit. He startled and his lids flashed open wide. He gathered the bedclothes around him. “I’ve no money, if that is what you want.”
Gabriel looked down from the left side of the bed. Stratton held the same position on the right.
“We do not want money,” Gabriel said. “We have not come to rob you. We only require your company for an hour or so.”
“My company . . . who in hell are you?”
“Two friends of Mr. Yarnell.”
“Did he send you because I did not go all the way to his house yesterday? I would have, but my horse was tired. Barely made it here, you see. I thought it best to avail myself of a bed and finish the journey today. I’ll be doing that now, so if you do not mind—” He began to push back the sheet.
“No hurry. Indeed, we prefer you stay just as you are,” Gabriel said. “Would you like some breakfast? Stratton, send down to the kitchen for some breakfast for Mr. Pritchard.”
Pritchard settled back in. “If I’m to stay here, I might nap a bit if you don’t mind.”
“We don’t mind. Do we, Stratton? We will call for that breakfast anyway, and wake you again when it comes.”
Pritchard nodded and closed his eyes. He soon snored.
“Reminds me of Brentworth,” Stratton mused.
“You are right. It sounds like geese. When did he leave?”
“Eight, as he said he would. He should be back very soon.” Stratton walked to the small table in the chamber, reached in his coat, and set down a pistol.
Gabriel stared at it. Stratton’s casual attitude with the weapon could probably be explained by his history with them. Of the three Decadent Dukes, only Stratton had ever dueled.
“We agreed not to use them,” Gabriel said, aware that Stratton had not explicitly agreed to anything of the sort.
“I don’t intend to use it. Assuming Yarnell does not do something reckless, all will be well.” He threw himself into the reading chair. “He sounds like a bitter man who convinced himself that he is much aggrieved, Langford. So much that he turned criminal in order to find justice. I’ll not risk our lives to his deformed sense of fair play.”
“Just don’t leave it in view when he comes. We do not want to provoke gunplay if we can avoid it.”
“It will be back under my coat.” He cocked his head. “Bootsteps on the stairs. That would be Brentworth. There’s no one else up here but us. The other chamber’s occupants left at dawn.”
The door opened and Brentworth strode in. He gave the sleeping Pritchard a long look, then settled his gaze on the pistol, then turned to Gabriel. “He is on his way. I could not resist waiting to see the carriage roll, then galloped ahead. The letter must have worked, because he is coming alone.”
“He may not be aware yet that Mrs. Waverly is gone. It is still early and whoever serves her may not have gone in if her habit is to sleep late.”
“Let us assume he does know, however,” Stratton said.
Brentworth walked to the bed and bent over Pritchard. “Sound asleep. Did you not wake him?”
“We did, and on hearing that we came from Yarnell and would wait here with him for his cousin’s arrival, he decided to make further use of the fine mattress,” Gabriel explained.
“He must be very stupid.”
They waited in silence after that. Not total silence. Pritchard continued snoring. Brentworth frowned every time the man exhaled.
“Dreadful noise,” he muttered.
Stratton grinned. “Do you pity me now?”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“You are louder. When you marry, if your wife insists you leave her bed after you take your pleasure, you will know I am telling the truth.”
“There will be no insisting. I will leave, of my own choice. Human beings are not presentable in the mornings. No man should wake with another beside him. Even if that someone is you, Stratton. Especially if that someone is you.”
“If you marry for love, you will think differently, Brentworth. Or if you find yourself entangled in an affair that is not so well managed.”
“I am happy that you still live in a mist of loving sentiment regarding your wife, Stratton. I hope that it lasts at least another year since it brings you such joy. Langford and I are made of different stuff. It is unlikely we will lose our hearts, and certain that we will not lose our heads over any woman.”
“Langford and you? Considering our present circumstances, I think you should speak for yourself alone, don’t you?”
Brentworth pivoted and peered at Gabriel. “Surely not.”
“He dragged us across England on her behalf,” Stratton said. “Is that typical behavior when he has a new lover? Can you think of one other woman in his entire life for whom he would have done this?”
Brentworth examined Gabriel closer yet. “Hell. He is right, isn’t he? You are in love with this woman.”
“Yes.” So there it was, spoken here, now, when it should have been said to Amanda days ago.
“Well. Damn,” Brentworth said. “I trusted you never to fall, Langford. I assumed that when we were old men, I could count on you to be working your charm on half the women of the ton.” He turned thoughtful. “This isn’t because of that essay by Lady Farnsworth, is it? Her influence did not go so far as that, I hope.”
“It has nothing to do with that damnable essay. I am going to thrash the next person who mentions that essay or that infernal journal to me for any reason.” He glared at Stratton, who chose that moment to examine his coat sleeves and give them a few brushing gestures.
“This complicates matters, of course,” Brentworth said. He pointed to the sleeping Pritchard. “Today’s actions, and others.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said.
“Not too much, as I see it,” Stratton said. He lifted the pistol while he spoke, stood, and slid it under his coat. He held his finger to his lips, then gestured to the door. Steps sounded, getting louder as they mounted the stairs, a beat now playing beneath the rhythmic honks of Pritchard’s snores.
Gabriel joined the others on the wall that held the door. That door opened and a man rushed in on choppy, hurried strides. The sight of the sleeping Pritchard brought him up short.
“What the hell is this?” He grabbed Pritchard’s sheet and tore it back. “Where is this injury? Where is the surgeon? Wake up, you fool, or I’ll take a poker to your ass and see you jump fast enough.”
Pritchard woke with a jolt. He shrank back from his cousin’s hovering glare. “Injury? I’ve no injury.” He pointed frantically to where Gabriel stood, but Yarnell did not even notice.
“You wrote and told me you were injured, and I was to come with the carriage for you, but I do and I find you asleep like a prince in a chamber that must cost fifteen shillings a night.”
“I—that is, he—” More gestures.
“He did not write the letter, Mr. Yarnell. We did,” Gabriel said.
Yarnell froze. Slowly, he turned around and faced the wall across from the bed. He narrowed his eyes and examined them each in turn.
He did not ask who they were or why they were there. He only walked to the chair, sat, and crossed his arms over his chest.