The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister 1)

“I think you just like being an outcast.”

“That must be it.” Sebastian shrugged.

“And you’ve managed to distract me. You never did answer my question. Do you believe in God?”

“I’ve given you as much an answer as I’ll give anyone. I think it’s a shame that Mr. Darwin must account for his religion on the basis of the work that he does. A man’s beliefs should be between himself and whatever deity he does—or does not—worship. Nobody asks a cooper whether he believes in God. Why should I have to answer? Why should anyone care?”

It had come on so quickly, Sebastian’s fame. So much that it was still rather a shock to discover that Sebastian—quick-minded, foul-mouthed Sebastian Malheur, his cousin and onetime coconspirator—had become a famous scientist. Not that Sebastian didn’t have the brains for it; he’d always been quick and clever. It was just easier to see his cousin as the prankster he’d been as a child, rather than an actual serious-minded adult.

“Besides,” Sebastian said, “it’s loads more fun tweaking everyone. Refusing to answer the question has all the old biddies hem-hemming and striking me from their guest lists.”

Possibly this was because Sebastian had not become an actual serious-minded adult. Robert had missed him.

The conductor sounded his whistle, and people began to board. Robert and Sebastian waited at the end of the platform for the first crowds to dissipate, and then walked back. They passed the luggage cars, then the second-class cabins, on their way to their seats.

But as they walked past one car, Robert blinked. He couldn’t have seen… He quickly turned and walked back.

“Oy!” Sebastian called. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Robert waved him off. He’d had the strangest illusion when he’d walked by—that the woman he’d seen out of the corner of his eye was none other than Miss Pursling.

It couldn’t be.

When he came abreast of the window, he saw his eyes had not deceived him. The woman lifted her head from contemplation of her book to stare out the window on the other side. The sun spangled through the dust collected on the window, illuminating that nose he knew so well—and those lips.

Miss Pursling was sitting in that compartment. She’d be sitting there the entire way to Leicester—several hours with nobody to talk to. Nobody, unless…

Violet had come out of the station as well. She was tossing orders to the porter.

Robert tapped her on the shoulder.

“Violet,” he said, “might I borrow your maid?”

Violet’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Borrow my maid? No, you may not borrow Matilda. Whatever do you need her for?”

“I—” He tried not to look in Miss Pursling’s direction. “Ah.”

“It’s a woman,” Sebastian put in. “You can tell by the look of nervous anticipation on his face—it’s a woman.”

“Oh?” Violet looked around demurely. “Is it… No. Don’t tell me who. Let me guess.”

Violet was capable of a demure little glance about. But Sebastian craned his neck, looking from side to side with exaggerated motions.

Robert winced. “Stop. Stop. Do you have to be so obvious?”

“I knew it was a woman!” Sebastian said triumphantly. “We’re embarrassing him—it has to be a woman.”

Just a moment before, Robert had been thinking how lovely it was to be around people who understood him. No longer. His cheeks flushed. “If I admit it’s a woman, will you stop gawking and pretend to be normal people?”

Violet sniffed. “I still don’t see what a woman has to do with your needing Matilda.”

“She’s riding in one of the second-class compartments alone,” Robert admitted. “I want to sit with her.”

This pronouncement was met with a rigid silence. Sebastian looked at Violet; Violet looked at Sebastian. The two of them might as well have waggled their eyebrows in accusation.

“You’re interested in a woman who is riding second-class,” Sebastian finally said.

Violet gave him an almost identical look. “You’re interested in a woman who is riding second-class, and your interest is such that you care about the effect on her reputation.”

Sebastian rubbed his hands together. “Oh,” he said with glee, “your mother is going to love this.”

“I hate it when you two do that,” Robert groused, which was a lie. He usually loved it when they spoke like that, Violet’s thoughts piling on top of Sebastian’s, making an ungainly heap of the conversation. Now, though, it was going to prove inconvenient. He had to get rid of them before they said something dreadful.

Violet looked up. “Well, I’m sorry, Robert. You may not borrow my maid.”

“But—”

“But,” she said, brushing her hands together briskly, “I will be happy to accompany you myself.”

Robert swallowed. He tried to imagine carrying on a conversation with Miss Pursling while the Countess of Cambury looked on with avid interest.

“Second class,” Sebastian said. “I’ve never ridden second-class. This is going to be fun.”

Robert coughed heavily into his hand. “No, not both of you. Definitely not both of you.”

“You need both of us,” Sebastian said. “There are four seats. If you take Violet on her own, someone else might come and sit in the car with you. There are four seats. Surely you wouldn’t want all opportunity for conversation quashed.”

“But—”

“You know me,” Sebastian said. “I’m the soul of discretion.”

“No, you’re not. You are exactly the opposite.”

Sebastian grinned. “I’m the soul of only teasing you about things when nobody else is around to hear me. And besides, if you don’t sit with this mysterious woman, I’ll go join her myself. I believe I saw where she was.”

He was doomed. It would almost be better to simply walk away and not speak to her at all. But…

He glanced back at her car. She was staring out the window away from the station, her fingers pressed to the glass. She wasn’t contemplating anyone; she was looking into the distance, away from the high columns of the station, as if what she yearned for was far off.

“Don’t say anything embarrassing,” he said.

“Me?” Sebastian said. “It would be counterproductive to do so. I’m no student of human behavior, but as a scientific matter, noninterference is necessary in order to properly observe the primitive mating rituals of—”