As they came abreast of the enclosures, Robert could finally read the signs.
THESE ARE ANIMALS, proclaimed one grim placard that graced the goat enclosure. The sign over the pen that held the children read: THESE ARE NOT.
Robert glanced at Sebastian. His cousin was still smiling—he’d always enjoyed stirring matters to boiling—but there was an edge to his smile. Sebastian took a few steps forward until he faced the children.
The children were far more confused than the goats. One small boy had his hands on the middle rail of the fence. He wore only a light coat and thin gloves. If he’d had a cap, it had fallen off. His eyes seemed luminous in the cold of the night; his breath made puffs of cold air.
Sebastian bent down, and the shouts redoubled. “We are not animals!” a woman was saying. “We are not animals!”
They weren’t shouting at Sebastian; nobody chanting recognized him. To their eye, he was just another gentleman taking in the spectacle. Just another reason to hear their own voices. Slowly, Sebastian unwound his scarf from his neck. Without saying a word, he set it around the small boy’s neck. The addition of the oversized scarf made the child look even smaller. Sebastian nodded wordlessly and then turned to go.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a nearby woman screeched. “That’s my son. We don’t need your charity.”
Sebastian kept walking.
“If you listen to that madman lecturing tonight,” the woman yelled at his retreating back, “you stand to lose your immortal soul. We want none of the devil’s teachings here.”
Sebastian didn’t look back; the woman watched him leave, setting her hands on her hips. Her lips pursed; her fingers tapped in impatience. Finally, she turned to her son. “What were you doing, sitting there like a lump, then?” She took hold of one end of Sebastian’s scarf and gave it a yank. “I told you to chant. I want to hear you chant. Try it now: ‘I’m not—’” She stopped mid-sentence, on the verge of pulling off Sebastian’s scarf, as Robert came to stand by her. She looked at his boots, then followed them up his trousers, his waistcoat, until she saw his face.
“Madam,” Robert said, “do you by any chance know the temperature this evening?”
She seemed somewhat startled. “Why, no. But I believe there’s a thermometer mounted at—”
“It’s thirty-five degrees out. Almost freezing and likely to get colder.”
She gave him a sullen look. “If you knew already, why bother asking?”
He took another look at the boy before him. The child’s nose was red and dripping with cold. “You have no right to lecture anyone on the care of animals,” Robert said bitterly. “My cousin least of all.”
She frowned in confusion, and he left, his fists clenched. Behind him, the chants continued. We’re not animals. We’re not animals.
Sebastian was a tease. He could tweak a man to the verge of annoyance and beyond. But he’d never been so thoughtlessly, callously cruel as the woman was with her own child. It chafed at Robert that his cousin was judged in danger of losing his immortal soul, when he wasn’t the one rounding up children, treating them like cattle in order to score points.
He was thankful to leave the crowd behind him. The interior was warmer and drier. When the doors closed behind him, they cut off most of the noise from outside. He found Miss Pursling in one of the back rows, seated next to the aisle alongside her friend. Her hands were clamped around the edge of her seat. He paused next to her.
“Miss Pursling,” he said. “We’ve seats up front, if you and Miss Charingford wish to join us.”
“No, thank you.” Her voice was cool. “I…I do not care for crowds. If I’d known it would be this bad, I wouldn’t have come. If there were any way to leave…”
Her lips pressed together. It was hard to judge the pallor of her skin in the faint light at the back of the room, but he thought she looked a little wan.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“It’s nothing.” She swallowed. “It’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m nothing.”
“Your pardon?”
She glanced up and then swiftly away. “It’s nothing,” she repeated. “Please stop looking at me.”
He sat down in the row behind her. “There. I’m not looking. You have flowers on your gown.” She did. Real ones at that. Little yellow ones edging her hem, her cuffs.
“It seemed appropriate, in light of Mr. Malheur’s work. He discusses plants, does he not?”
“There is. And yet I seem to recall that he started with snapdragons, not…what are those? Pansies. There’s a missed opportunity on your part.” He glanced sidelong at her and caught a soft smile on her face. “They’re lovely.”
“Ah.” She stared straight ahead.
“There,” he said in satisfaction. “Now you’re breathing properly. You just needed a bit of a distraction for a moment.”
He started to stand.
“Your Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” She was still staring ahead of her. She no longer clutched the seat as if it were the only thing keeping her erect. “I didn’t really wear the flowers in honor of Mr. Malheur, Your Grace.”
He smiled. “I know. I know precisely who you wore them for.”
“You…do?”
“You wore them because you knew that color would soften the angles of your gown. That touch at the neckline makes your eyes look like storm clouds. It’s a lovely effect, Minnie. I know who you wore them for.”
She held perfectly still.
“You wore them for you,” he said. “Good for you.”
She let out a breath. “You’re a very dangerous man.”
He stood. “The hall is almost full. I’m sorry you’d rather stay here. I must go to the front and see to my cousin. Shall I see you after?”
“I—the crowd…” She looked around. “I may leave early, Your Grace, so as not to be caught in the throng.” She looked into her lap as she spoke, but her face had begun to grow pale again.
“You really aren’t well.”
“It’s nothing.” She spoke more sharply this time, and the gentleman up front had stood and looked on the verge of introducing Sebastian. Robert had little choice but to leave her. By the time he found his seat, the man was running through Sebastian’s history.
“…After a distinguished beginning at Cambridge,” the man said, “Mr. Sebastian Malheur made a name for himself by…”
Distinguished beginning? Ha. He’d scarcely made it through the first part of his Tripos examinations. He’d always been on the verge of being sent down, pulling prank after college-boy prank. Nobody had been more shocked by Sebastian’s sudden success than the old men who’d once administered his exams.
In some ways, Sebastian’s subsequent success—the nature of it, as well as the manner—was Sebastian’s biggest prank of all. And he knew it. He came to the podium in front with a bit of a swagger and a smirk.
“Thank you, thank you all,” he said, “for your very kind welcome.” The quirk of his mouth was the only thing that acknowledged that half his welcomers had come to call him names. “I stand here to tell you about the science of inherited traits—the subject of years of study on my part. Over the course of my studies, I have come to several conclusions. One, that traits—like eye color, height, the number of petals on a flower, or the shape of a radish—are inherited from progenitors according to strict, inviolable rules. Second, that the rules of inheritance appear to be constant from animal to plant, from vegetable to tree, from cats and sheep to goats and, of course, the human animal.”
Oh, he was enjoying himself. There was a gleam in his eye as he spoke, a faint smile that spread at the indrawn gasps scattered around the hall.
“Third, I shall explain how the rules of inheritance walk hand in hand with Mr. Darwin’s discoveries on the origin of species. I know that many of you are particularly waiting for this portion, and so I shall explain the connection and the means by which I came to my conclusions, using
—”
“Using the tools of the devil!” someone shouted in the back.
Sebastian paused only briefly. “Using facts, logic, and reproducible experiments,” he said gently. “All those may seem dull to many of you. But my colleagues usually raise objection to proof by diabolical influence.” There was another flicker of a smile and then he swept his arms wide, striding to an easel he’d set up at the front.
“I start with the color of the snapdragon.”
He set his hand on the fabric covering the easel. At that moment, though, the back door of the hall flew open. Heads turned. For a moment, there was only darkness.
Then: “Get on!” someone shouted, and the goats that had once been in the square ambled into the hall. They looked about, mildly puzzled.
“As you think there’s no distinction between humans and animals,” someone yelled, “here’s some for your audience!”
Titters arose.
Sheep, Robert thought aimlessly, would have been a better choice. Sheep were skittish things that bolted away at the flutter of a cloak. They would have panicked in an instant. Goats, on the other hand… Goats saw a gathering of this many people as an opportunity. They walked down the aisle, heads bobbing.
“I welcome all creatures intelligent enough to understand,” Sebastian said grandly. “Never fear, my good man. I’m sure that after I’m finished, your animals will be able to explain the principles to you using very small words, the sort that even you might comprehend.”
Another wave of laughter arose at that.
The head goat took another lazy step forward. Then it stopped. It turned its head in contemplation…and reached out to take a bite from the flowers at Minnie’s hem.
Robert came half out of his seat, reaching back, even though she was yards away. She shoved at its head. He could see her lips move, see her slap it on the shoulder, but he couldn’t hear what she said.
“Here now,” the driver shouted behind her. “Don’t touch that animal! You heard the man—she’s one of us. I’ll have you up for assault if you lay hands on her again.” He gave another belly laugh.
Another one of the goats came up to her, stealthily reaching out its neck. Miss Pursling took a parasol from a nearby woman and whacked it.
“Assault! Assault and battery!”
Waves of laughter grew. Another whack with the parasol; yet another goat joined the fray. This one reached in and chomped at her hem. The blue fabric ripped, showing a hint of creamy petticoat.
And that was when Robert realized what was wrong. Nobody had moved to help her. They all surrounded her, watching, laughing. He found himself standing up, running down the aisle toward her.
“Animal or human?” the goat owner was shouting. “Ah, you see—we can tell the difference after all!”
The people around her were laughing at that fool—holding back, while Miss Pursling beat off the assault on her own. Robert shoved through the crowd, making his way up to the man.
“You think that’s assault?” he growled.
The man didn’t look behind him to see who was speaking. “What?”
Robert set his hand on one shoulder and forcibly turned the fellow around. “This,” he said. “This is what a bloody assault looks like.” So saying, he punched the man square in the jaw. The fellow’s eyes widened in surprise. He seemed to teeter in place for a bare moment. Then his eyes rolled up and he toppled over.
Robert turned away. “For shame,” he snapped to the gathered crowd. “Shame on all of you. Get those goats off that woman. Now.”
Minnie looked up at that. She’d been so busy fending off the goats that she hadn’t noticed the crowd closing in on her. But instead of looking relieved at the men who advanced on the goats, her head whipped from side to side. She went absolutely white. Robert saw her eyes roll up in her head.
If anyone had asked him before this night, he would have wagered good money that she had nerves of steel. He started through the crowd, but he was too late.
She fainted in a crumpled heap before he could reach her.
Chapter Fifteen
THE WORLD WAS MADE OF VINEGAR, and Minnie’s sinuses were on fire. She coughed and became aware that she rested on an uncomfortable surface—hard and lumpy and warm, all at the same time.
She opened her eyes.
Lydia was staring at her, waving a vial of sal volatile underneath her nose. Minnie coughed heavily and batted the smelling salts away.
“There,” her best friend said brightly. “That’s done the trick. Do you have a dreadful headache?”
It all came back to her. The flowers. The goats. The crowd. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “Lydia, please tell me I did not just faint in front of everyone.”
“You did.”
She wanted to close her eyes again. Robert had been there. What he would think of her?
“Did the goats eat all of my gown?”
“None of the good bits,” another voice said, this one directly above her.
And that was when Minnie realized her head wasn’t resting on a pillow. Those uncomfortable lumps were thighs; her head was cradled on the Duke of Clermont’s lap. She jerked upright, ignoring the pounding behind her eyelids, and pushed away from him. She had been laid out on a hard wooden bench. There was a desk at the front and a few chairs off to the side. She was in one of the upstairs merchants’ meeting rooms in New Hall, she supposed.
Along with the Duke of Clermont.
“Lydia,” she moaned, “how could you?”
But Lydia didn’t answer right away. She glanced at the duke and then colored and looked away.
“Someone had to carry you,” he said finally, “and, as it turns out, I was first to volunteer.”
She felt sick just imagining it. They’d all have looked at her when she fainted. To have the Duke of Clermont wade in, though—that would make everyone pay attention. No doubt the gossip was running the rounds.
“Now,” Lydia said, enunciating very carefully, “I am going to go fetch a glass of water—”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone with—”
But Lydia was already withdrawing.
“Lydia!”
The door closed behind her.
Minnie shot to her feet with no thought but to put space between them. If he didn’t touch her…
He stood along with her; when she wobbled, he caught her arm. “Sit down, Minnie.”
“People must know we are in here together,” she said frantically. “They’ll see her. They’ll think us alone. Everyone will think—”
“Everyone,” he said distinctly, “is already thinking. Your friend left me alone with you because she knew what I was going to say. Please sit down and listen to me.”
She looked into his eyes. He seemed quite forbidding, and her head was still spinning. She sat again.
“When those goats surrounded you,” he said, “I punched the man who was driving them. In front of everyone. And then, when you collapsed, I picked you off the floor and carried you out of the room. Whatever gossip you imagine you might forestall by walking out now—believe me, someone is already saying it.”
Oh, God. It had happened. It had really happened. Her head felt light. She was ruined; Stevens would come back with his proof, and it wouldn’t matter. Minnie took a breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think. I told you I can be stupid. When I saw you out there, thinking was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to be by your side.”
Minnie shook her head, which made her feel all the more dizzy. “As much my fault as yours.” If this was disaster, it was a disaster she’d courted. She’d known there was an attraction between them. He’d as good as told her nothing could come of it. And she’d kissed him anyway—kissed him and wanted him to look at her. That’s what came of putting herself forward. “I’ll take care of this somehow.”
There had to be some explanation she could give, some way that this could all come right. Maybe if someone else fainted, and he grabbed her, too
? Then it might be seen as mere chivalry on his part.
But that didn’t feel right to her. Too forced. Unnatural. Minnie scrubbed her forehead in distress.
He sat down next to her and took her hand. “Minnie,” he said gently. “Do you recall the time you came to my house and threatened me?”
“How could I forget?” She frowned. “I suppose I could use that. Expose you now and explain that you were just trying to keep me quiet. It still doesn’t feel right. I don’t think it will work.”
“At the time, I said that if anything happened, I’d make sure you had a proposal of marriage. I believe my precise words were that I’d make sure of it, even if I had to make one myself.”
All her plans came to a halt. Minnie looked up into his eyes. It would have been a vicious thing to joke about, and he’d never been cruel before. Still, it was easier to imagine him callous than the universe kind.
“You didn’t mean it,” she said. “It was said in jest.”
He shrugged. “It was said in stupidity, not jest. I say a lot of stupid things when you’re about.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair and then sighed. “But stupid as it might have been, it was also true. I meant it, Minnie. I wish you would marry me.” He glanced over at her. “Even without this, I would have asked. I’ve been thinking of nothing else for days. Marry me.”
She couldn’t comprehend that. Instead, she stood and walked over to the narrow window. From here, she had a view of the square in front of them. The last remnants of the crowd had dispersed, taking their goats with them. No, what he was saying didn’t seem possible. “That makes no sense, Your Grace,” she said. “That is madness talking. You cannot marry someone like me.”
He didn’t pretend to know what she meant. “That’s what everyone says.” He regarded her. “And I admit, I hadn’t considered the possibility until I met you. But once I started thinking about it, you began to make all kinds of sense. Do you know why I haven’t married yet?”
“You’re not even thirty. You’ve years ahead of you…”
She trailed off, suddenly uneasy. His eyes had fixed on her in a way that started her heart beating in a way that had nothing to do with his age. Her hands grew clammy.
The Duchess War (The Brothers Sinister) Page 16
