Margaret Moore - Regency - Rogues and Runaways

Then he was gone, leaving her to wonder why he’d been so upset about a bet. Didn’t noblemen bet all the time? She’d heard several examples of wagers being written in the betting book at White’s that seemed more outrageous than whether or not a young man could be introduced to a woman.

Why, then, was Lord Bromwell so upset? Or was this just another example of the difference between her world and theirs?

Nearly had a row with Buggy. Damned uncomfortable. Not as strange as what happened after, though .

—from the journal of Sir Douglas Drury

Shifting from foot to foot as if he had an itch, Mr. Edgar stood in the doorway of the inner sanctum, the small chamber where Drury kept his law books and briefs from solicitors.

“Is something the matter?” Drury asked, one brow raised in query.

“Lord Bromwell’s here to see you, sir. He’s, um… he wouldn’t let me take his hat.”

“No doubt he’s in a hurry to get as far from London as possible on the first day of travel,” Drury replied as he got up from his desk and entered the main room.

Buggy was standing by the hearth, dressed in a greatcoat, hat and boots. And he was glowering, an expression rarely seen on his face.

“What the deuce were you thinking? Or did you even think at all?” he demanded, his whole body quivering with righteous indignation.

Drury couldn’t be more stunned if Buggy had slapped him.

“How you could even think to do such a thing after you nearly ruined Brix and Fanny’s happiness over a bet?” he charged. “How could you involve Miss Bergerine in a wager? Haven’t you already caused her enough trouble?”

Drury suddenly understood what Buggy was upset about, and wanted to smack himself on the forehead. “Gerrard. I forgot about Gerrard.”

“I daresay you did, but he didn’t forget your bet. He arrived this morning determined to have his introduction.”

Another emotion swamped Drury, but he kept it in check as he went to pour himself a brandy. “I assume he got it?”

“He did!”

“And was he quite charmed by Miss Bergerine? She can be charming if she exerts herself.”

“How dare you?” Buggy cried indignantly. “How can you insult her after what you’ve done? It’s not her fault he came to meet her.” Buggy jabbed a finger at him. “It’s yours! And if she were charming, would you have preferred your supposed cousin be rude? Maybe you would. You’re rude when it suits you.”

Friend or not, Drury didn’t appreciate being berated. He’d endured too much of that in his childhood. “I forgot about the damned wager.”

“That’s no excuse! I thought you’d seen the damage such seemingly silly things can do after you exposed Brix’s bet about never marrying Fanny. It nearly drove them apart forever.”

“This is hardly the same. Gerrard heard of Miss Bergerine from his sister, who had it from the dressmaker I employed. If I’d acted as if the introduction was not to be thought of, what do you think Gerrard, and every other young buck at Thompson’s, would have thought? They would have been even more curious about her. I sought to avoid arousing any further speculation by agreeing to the wager.”

“Did you lose for that reason, too?”

“I did not lose. It was a draw.” Drury held out his hands. “Need I remind you I’m not the man I was? And it so happens, Mr. Gerrard is very good.”

Buggy flushed and finally took off his hat, twisting the brim in his hands.

“I forgot about the wager because last evening,” Drury continued, “before you returned from the Linnean Society, I learned that Miss Bergerine came to London seeking her brother. She’s been told he was murdered in Calais before embarking for London as he’d planned. She hopes that was a terrible mistake and, although it’s probably pointless, she came to London hoping to find him.

“As you know, I have certain associates who can be useful in such matters and, having decided to assist Miss Bergerine in her quest as a further expression of my gratitude, I was anxious to get the search started without delay. Gerrard and the wager completely slipped my mind.”

Buggy tossed his hat onto a table and sat heavily in the nearest chair. “That’s good of you, Drury. I know that sort of search doesn’t come cheaply. I’m sorry I was so angry, but I was completely caught off guard by Gerrard’s visit. And then to think you’d made such a bet… I don’t want to go through anything like that again with you. It was bad enough when it was Brix.”

“I point out that Brix was really in love with Fanny despite his denials, so that wager had more serious consequences. However, I have no such feelings for Miss Bergerine.”

As for how Juliette felt about him… He preferred not to think about it. Instead, he poured his friend a brandy. Buggy took the proffered glass and downed it in a gulp. He had once said that brandy seemed like slightly flavored water compared to some of the brews he’d imbibed on his travels, and occasionally proved that must be true.

Drury would have preferred to let the matter drop without any more comment, but there was one question he felt compelled to ask. “Was Miss Bergerine upset?”

Buggy undid the top buttons of his coat. “She was a little surprised, although quite polite to Mr. Gerrard.”

“She wasn’t angry? I can easily imagine her flying into a temper. Heaven only knows what rumors would race about Almack’s or White’s about her then.”

He wondered what rumors might already be spreading about her.

“Actually, she was very friendly.”

Drury was sorry he hadn’t used that nasty little maneuver Thompson had taught him when he had the chance. Then Gerrard wouldn’t be intruding and demanding introductions.

“I should be on my way,” Buggy said, rising. “I’ve kept my carriage waiting long enough.”

Drury nodded a farewell. “Have a safe journey and I hope Lord Dentonbarry is generous.”

Buggy inclined his head in return. “Try to be kind to Miss Bergerine, Cicero. She’s a remarkably intelligent, resilient young woman.”

“I appreciate Miss Bergerine’s merits,” Drury replied, although perhaps not quite the same way Buggy did.

Unless she had kissed him, too.

“Then act like it. You can start by telling her you’re sorry,” Buggy said, leaving that parting shot to bother Drury until he could no longer concentrate on the case he would soon be defending.

Because Buggy had a point.

Later that afternoon, Drury walked into the small conservatory at the back of Buggy’s town house. The large windows allowed in plenty of light and a host of plants, several of which had come back to England with the young naturalist, thrived there even in winter.

Although he’d never asked, he’d often wondered if Buggy had brought back exotic species of spiders to go with the plants. Today, however, seeing Juliette sitting on a little wrought-iron chair near some huge, palmlike monstrosity of a fern, he forgot all about Buggy’s plants and his area of expertise.

In a gown of soft blue fabric, her thick, shining hair with a blue ribbon running through it coiled about her head, Juliette looked like a nymph or dryad sitting quietly among the vegetation—until it occurred to him, from the way she held her head in her hand, one elbow on the chair’s arm, that she also looked sad and lonely.

As he had felt so many times, before the war and after.

For her sake, he hoped she was right and her brother was alive. He also hoped that he could help her find him. There could never be anything lasting between them—their worlds were far too different—but he would feel finding her brother as excellent an accomplishment as saving an innocent from hanging or transportation.