Arnaud’s voice turned low and ominous. “Mother, you know I’m well past the age of the young set of theton.”
“You’re only four and twenty,” she accused.
“But most of those four and twenty have been spent doing things the ‘young set’ would blanch at, if only they knew.”
“Oh,absurdité- everyone loves a military man with all those shiny buttons and ribbon things,” she said, waving her hands in the air in a very French gesture.
“And besides, what if those ruffians decide to stalk Miss Brancelli again? What if the next time they’re successful? Maybe you should guard her at some of the events – surreptitiously, of course.”
He arched an eyebrow at her suggestion.
“You could stay in the background,” she continued, “and, heaven forbid, pretend to be enjoying yourself while you guard her.”
Arnaud sighed and gritted his teeth. “Eight tomorrow?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Eight it is,” he said, and stalked away toward his mother’s glass-windowed orangerie. Honore’s spoiled tom slunk behind him in spite of the dark glare Arnaud threw his way.
Chapter Four
Arnaud leanedback onto one of his mother’s delicate, filigreed iron chairs, the banded pattern digging into his back and seat. Vagabond invaded his lap and rumbled contentment.
He settled the rogue cat back onto the floor with a thud and pulled an equally uncomfortable footstool closer.
He looked up at a sound, and Dudley, his mother’s butler, appeared at the door with a bottle of brandy and a heavy crystal glass. The servant lifted his chin in a silent question toward Arnaud and raised the tray a bit.
“Of course.” Arnaud motioned him over.
After the butler settled the bottle and glass next to Arnaud, he asked, “Is there anything else you require, Captain Bellingham?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I crave some insight. Is my mother suffering from a particular fit of boredom, or has she always been this interfering?”
“The answer to the former is, of course, no. I’ve never known your mother to be bored over the last twenty years. As for the latter, I would not presume to comment.”
Arnaud smiled and stood, clapping Dudley on the shoulder. “I forget how much you’ve always shielded us from as much unpleasantness as possible. My mother is lucky to have you.”
“I am the lucky one to have served your mother all these years. Will you require a refill of brandy, Captain?”
“No. I have an early day tomorrow at the Admiralty. Amazing how many obstacles they put in your way to refit a prize ship.”
“Right,” Dudley said. "I'll bid you a good night," and he disappeared back into the main house, pulling shut the greenhouse door behind him with barely a sound.
Arnaud tilted the dark amber liquid in his glass and took a sip. He rolled the brandy around inside his mouth and savored the rich flavors before swallowing and letting the alcohol slide down his throat with a satisfying burn. Good brandy was a luxury he intended to enjoy as often as possible before he had to return to his patrol off the west coast of Africa.
At a tap at the door, he stared a moment before saying, “Come.” He regretted the interruption but didn’t wish to appear surly to his mother’s servants.
Dudley opened the door and intoned, “Dr. MacCloud.” Arnaud’s ship’s surgeon Cullen strode through the opening. Arnaud stood and motioned for his friend to join him. “Thought you could use some company.” Cullen winced when he sat heavily onto the metal bench Arnaud pointed to next to his own chair.
After setting another crystal tumbler onto the brandy tray, Dudley surveyed their awkward moves on the unyielding metal seats and said, “Pillows. Your mother has plenty of extra pillows in her sitting room. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as the man left, both Arnaud and Cullen broke into laughter. “Why do I never remember the appalling lack of comfort amongst my mother’s hothouse furnishings?” Arnaud reached over and gripped his friend’s hand. “What brings you out so late?”
“I was curious about the young women we helped yesterday. What happened after you followed their carriage home?”
Arnaud swirled his brandy around and regarded Cullen across the rim of the glass. He rested one booted foot across his knee and leaned forward. “The young women are fine, but now that my mother has called on the Dowager Marchioness Howick and met the girl the kidnappers tried to snatch, she’s convinced I’ve developed atendrefor the chit.” He took a quick swallow and grimaced.
“Do you know her name yet?” Cullen leaned forward.
