or Simon hurt because of my stupidity. I donât even want Berkstead killed. It was at least half my fault.â
âHeâs a louse.â
She looked at his set face and wanted to scream with frustration. Instead, being an experienced sister, she tried piteous. â Please, Dare.â
He briefly closed his eyes. âVery well. You wonât mind, I assume, if I warn him away from making further trouble?â
âIâd be very grateful. And,â she added, âno one else need know? You wonât tell Simon?â
Or Father, she thought.
âIf you donât want Berkstead dead, I most definitely wonât tell your devil-haired brother. But I probably should tell your father. Perhaps heâd whip some sense into you.â
âYou know he wouldnât, but please donât.â She reached to touch his arm. âI promise Iâve learned my lesson. Iâll never do anything like that again. I was just so bored .â
He moved slightly back, breaking the contact. âDidnât Johnson say that when someone is tired of London, theyâre tired of life?â
âIâm not tired of it. I havenât yet experienced it. Ellaâs expecting. To be fair, she didnât know when she offered, but apparently at this stage sheâs incapable of anything more than tea with friends, quiet concerts, and drives in the park. Never, of course, at a fashionable hour. Too much noise and hurley-burley.â
âWhich is exactly what you want.â
She responded to the understanding in his eyes. âIs it so bad? We were here for the special Drawing Room on St. Georgeâs day, but that would have been absolutely too much for her.â
âIn fairness, it probably would have been, and a dead bore to boot.â
âBut it would have been something. Almackâs. The theater. Something. Ellaâs house is quieter than Brideswell.â
âNot difficult to achieve.â Perhaps there was a smile in his eyes.
She smiled back, for her crowded home was all bustle and life. âNo, but you know what I mean. The only guests are matrons like Ella, talking endlessly of husbands and children, and Georgeâs fellow MPs wanting to discuss the Corn Laws, sedition, or the ruinous cost of the army. All very important, Iâm sure, but tedious.â
âEnter this military Berkstead. I assume heâs handsome and dashing.â
âFor a man of his age.â She almost added, He was at Waterloo , but thought better of it. That was where Dare had been so terribly wounded. âHe took me to amusing places such as the waxworks and the Egyptian Hall. And he knows all the best scandals.â
He stood, dropping the washcloth in the bowl. âYou need some livelier lady to chaperone you.â
Clearly he did not approve of waxworks, the Egyptian Hall, and especially not of scandals. Could he really have become so prosy?
âNone of my friends from Lincolnshire are in London yet. Simon and Jane are to come soon, but it keeps being put off. It is excruciating to be so close to a treat but have to view it from within a cage.â
âPoor Mara.â
Her deliberate exaggeration had been rewarded with the ghost of a smile. Suddenly she needed to revive the old Dare, to make him smile as he used toâwidely, brilliantly, infectiously. She needed him to make a witty joke, or propose some outrageous piece of mischiefâdaring her, daring everyone, to join him.
He was only twenty-six. Surely not too old for merriment and mischief. War, wounds, and other problems may have ground down his spirits, but it must be possible to build them up again.
He carried the basin back to the washstand and then turned to study her. Something about his stance, or the candlelight, or her steadier nerves made her aware that the changes were not entirely for the worse.
He was still slim, but stronger, with broader shoulders and more muscle. There was something
Christopher Knight, Alan Butler