Liz Tyner - To Win A Wallflower

‘Seven—’ Carson’s voice squeaked at the end.

‘I agree wholeheartedly.’ Barrett’s strides could never be considered long, but they were stealth and power in one.

‘Until tomorrow, then...’ He turned. ‘And I am almost embarrassed to say this—’ he tapped his thigh ‘—but I’ve a difficulty walking stairs. If you’ve a room on the first storey, that would suffice. Perhaps one with a ray of morning sunlight to brighten my spirits.’

The woman’s room was on the first storey. He’d see her face.

Then, to the sound of the man’s gasp, Barrett stepped into the hallway. His brother stood not far from the door. The barest glance was all the acknowledgement Barrett gave to the smug blink as he walked down the stairs.

‘Mr Barrett, a moment...?’ His brother’s voice.

Barrett didn’t stop and Gavin strode behind him, keeping pace.

At the entryway, Barrett kept walking and he hoped Gavin would take the hint.

Outside the door, Barrett paused enough to let his brother step beside him. ‘Go away.’ Aware of the many windows around them, he kept his voice soft. ‘I would prefer people not know we are acquainted.’

‘I knew you could not resist—the challenge, or seeing her.’ That swagger of Gavin’s head—the same Barrett had seen on his father—sent a sizzle of irritation down Barrett’s spine.

‘I still haven’t seen her face,’ Barrett said. ‘I’m curious. Get me a meeting with her. I just want to see what she looks like. That’s all.’

Gavin held two fingers extended and made a walking movement with his right hand, then he reached out with his left and snapped his hand closed over the fingers. ‘Last words of the unmarried man.’

‘My last words are go away. ’

Gavin turned on his heel. ‘Good day, Mr Barrett. Please take a care with those poultices I mentioned.’ His voice rose in volume. ‘They’ll do you well, but be sure you stop with a single one. Otherwise, before you know it, you’ll be trussed up like a big goose waiting for the stewing pot.’

Gavin bounded back into the house.

Barrett unclenched his hand, wondering why he’d ever thought it good to have a brother—except Gavin had told him about this woman, Annie.

His town coach was waiting and Barrett gave a nod to the man in the perch, eyes telling him to keep his seat. Barrett strode to the vehicle door, pulled it open and slid inside with one lunge.

The awe in his brother’s voice had caught Barrett’s attention when his brother had first spoken of the Carson sisters.

If it weren’t for the bracelet sliding on her wrist, he might have been able to put her from his mind and wait out the seven-day wager unhindered. But he wondered what kind of face went with such a gentle laugh and what Annabelle Carson looked like.

He could usually turn his thoughts away from any direction he didn’t want them to go, but he couldn’t close away the question of the appearance of the woman who had such delicate laughter.

The sound of purity. Unblemished laughter.

If only she’d stepped into the opening so he could have seen her. He drew a fist up and put his elbow against the side of the carriage, feeling cramped in the close quarters, but still unable to put her from his mind.

At the soirées and society events he attended, he never paused to look at the innocent ones sheltered by the chaperons. Work did not stop because the sun set and the music started.

A smile might be halfway on his face, but he put it on much like he did his cravat. He preferred building an empire over having a nice bit of fluff hanging on his arm. The fluff was a weakness for a man who needed adoring eyes gazing up at him in order to build his image of himself.

Barrett closed his mind to the woman, moving his focus to how he would renovate Carson’s shop, thinking of the light fixtures, and updates to bring the business out of the seventeen hundreds.

As the carriage slowed at his home, he opened the door before the vehicle came to a complete stop, then jumped free in the last seconds of movement, letting the door swing behind him, knowing the driver would shut it if needed.

He bounded up the stairs to his chamber, forcing his mind to the world around him. In his room, he tossed his coat and upper garments on to the chair he used when donning his boots. The woman’s laughter returned to his memory. His trousers landed on the table that framed the foot of the bed. He stretched, head back, eyes closed, arms at his side, fists clenched, reliving each second of the moments she had stood outside the door.

A thump and crash switched his movements into action. He grabbed his dressing gown, throwing it on, the collar on one side folding under at his shoulder. He tied the sash as he rushed from the doorway and up the stairs to his father’s room.

Even in the darkness, the shape lying on the floor didn’t surprise him.

He reached down, fisted one hand on his father’s shirt, the other on the back of the loose trousers, and lifted the wiry shape almost without effort. He only stumbled when he put his bare foot down on a bottle.

In a few strides, he stood at the bedside, and tossed his father on to the bed.

Without turning, he acknowledged the footsteps he’d heard behind him. ‘Summers—somehow see he is bathed tomorrow. And air out this room, if possible.’

‘Yes.’ Summers sauntered to Barrett’s side. Neither man moved for a moment.

Barrett thought of the morning’s antics. He tilted his head up so he could watch the servant’s eyes. ‘Has the maid recovered?’

‘She’s fine. Just a fright. She understands.’

Summers, who only had two speeds—slow and blink-fast—was the only man who’d ever been close to besting Barrett in a brawl and it had taken Barrett longer to recover than he’d wished.

‘We can’t leave him alone any time at all. He’ll burn down the house or attack one of the smaller servants.’ Absently, Barrett clasped his left hand over his right fist, tracing the scars.

‘He was asleep when I left him with the maid.’ Summers had no emotion in his voice.

‘Or pretending...’ Barrett stopped. ‘If you absolutely must leave him in the future, make sure he has at least two people with him. You and I are the only ones to be allowed alone here. He’s stronger than he looks. Always has been.’

‘He’s begun to get loud. Shout out the window. The neighbours...’

‘Do the best you can. And don’t turn your back on him. Ever.’ Barrett felt the weight of his decision. The sensible thing would be to have his father confined. And he couldn’t understand why he didn’t do it. It wasn’t as if he particularly cared for the man.

‘For now, just let him be and keep the women away from him.’ He paused. ‘Go back to bed. I’ll sit with him for the rest of the night, but I doubt he’ll as much as roll over. He’ll be having pleasant dreams.’ Dreams of taking food from the mouths of others, perhaps. Or using a lit candle, planning to catch a dog’s fur on fire. He’d only tried that once, though. Barrett looked at the scar that ran along the side of his forefinger to his thumb and covered his first knuckle.

What other people considered nightmares, his father considered fairy tales.

‘A brandy before you retire, sir?’ Summers asked.

Barrett shook his head and ran one hand through his locks. Then he pulled out the collar bunched at his neck, straightening it. ‘Not if this is what it might do to me. If one of the maids is about, you might send her up with tea.’

He heard Summers leave, then Barrett turned, walked to the overstuffed chair, righted it and sat. He’d almost asked Summers to put a pillow over his father’s face. But he couldn’t say for certain Summers wouldn’t do it.