Chapter Thirty-Four (part one)

Byrne leaned on the patio railing, gripping it so hard he imagined the stone might crumble in his fingers.

It didn't, of course, but the way he felt right now, it would feel immensely satisfying if it did.

Was he truly supposed to keep up the pretense of civility after all that? It wasn't even as if he hadn't heard it all before. The Irish were barbaric, lazy, uncivilized, more than often drunk. They couldn't be trusted to govern themselves. He'd heard it from men who refused to do business with him, from banks that refused to keep his money, even from workers who suddenly didn't want the job, not with "an Irish" in charge.

It wasn't a surprise... yet it was. He'd thought he'd worked his way up to a sort of pinnacle where such words couldn't touch him. Even the rejections he'd suffered had been borne with a sort of lazy amusement these days. Really, the Irish insults often only came when his adversary was losing.

The Browning family was losing, even if they didn't know it yet, and at his hands. So why did he let anything a man like Reginald Browning had to say affect him?

He heard the door from the drawing room open behind him and turned sharply, his fists clenched.

A part of him expected Reginald Browning, ready to deliver more diatribes against the Irish, but it was Oliver Browning. He found his fists unclenching, but why should they? Wasn't he just as bad?

"What are you doing out here?" Byrne demanded.

"I... I followed you."

"You shouldn't have. I have no need for company."

"I suspected as much, but I—"

"And didn't I make it clear that your staying here meant you would not speak to me?"

Oliver stepped into the scant light cast from the drawing room's French doors. "I wanted to apologize."

Byrne leaned against the railing, letting out a bitter laugh. "For which crime? Forcing your way into this party? Harassing me with your letters and visits all these years? Colluding with my valet, no doubt to keep gathering information on me? Trying to ruin my plans in Coton?"

Oliver drew back slightly. "No. I'm not sorry for any of that, actually. And I wouldn't say I've colluded with Fletcher. We just happen to be very old friends. He never answers my questions about you. Some sort of... code."

"Aye, I'm familiar." Fletcher claimed the same when avoiding Byrne's questions about the Brownings.

"I wanted to apologize for my brother," Oliver said, his eyes downcast. "Reg... He has this way of saying the worst things. I don't even think he means them. He just wants to dig at people."

"Why shouldn't he mean them?" Byrne turned away. "It's not like I haven't heard all of it before from men like him."

"I know him. He's only doing it to upset you. Reginald likes to make himself feel big by putting others below him, but deep down, he's really—"

"I have no desire to know what Reginald is really like," Byrne cut in, "deep down or otherwise." He doubted the man had any more depth than a puddle.

Oliver was silent a moment. "Very well, then. I... I just want you to know that I'm not... I mean, that I don't think—"

The door opened again. "Never known you to leave the table early, Ollie."

Oliver sighed loudly. "Reg, could you please—"

"They didn't even serve pudding yet. Very unlike you."

Byrne turned as Lord Browning himself sauntered out, lighting a cheroot, blowing the smoke in his brother's face.

"That is not a healthful practice," Oliver said with a cough, waving at the cloud.

"Yes, I've listened to your lectures on the evils of smoking. It only makes me want to do it more, so you know." He grinned as he neared Byrne. "Something bothering you, bastard?"

Byrne clenched his fists at his side. "Yes. Your presence. But that can be easily remedied."

Reginald feigned a look of shock. "Are you suggesting I leave? You should be taking yourself off. This is a party of — with certain exceptions, obviously — vaguely respectable people," he finished after a long pause. "I'm certain they would be scandalized to find a bastard at their table."

"Which is precisely why you should leave," Byrne said coolly, belying the anger boiling inside him.

Reginald's smug little smile faltered. "I meant you."

"I know you did," Byrne said calmly, forcing a smile of his own. "I don't deny I'm a bastard by birth, but as to being one in nature..." He laughed. "That title more rightly belongs to you."

Reginald drew closer. "What did you just say to me?"

"I think you heard me just fine," Byrne said evenly, though he'd much rather say it in other ways. He'd resisted coming to blows for years, resisted answering words with violence. After spending his childhood serving punches for insults, it became exhausting. For the longest time, he'd only fought when he had no choice but to defend himself and, apart from a few close calls on his travels and in London, he'd won... except that night.

"That's rich coming from a mongrel like you. I'm astounded you even climbed high enough to attend this party." Reginald pulled on his cheroot, which lit his eyes in an unholy way. "Yes, the guests are all the dregs of society, but even they must have some standards. Should they not know what you are?"

Byrne reminded himself that he was considered a gentleman these days. He wouldn't stoop low enough to take the bait. "If you wish to tell them, feel free. But they might wonder how exactly you know." Byrne tilted his head, smiling now. "I'm sure your family wouldn't want that getting out, would they?"

"Don't think I don't know what you're up to here," Reginald sneered.

Byrne turned his gaze to Oliver, who looked like he wished to be anywhere else. "Told him, did you?"

"He didn't have to tell me anything," Reginald said. "It's obvious you've been drawing him in for years for some mysterious ends."

Mysterious, was it? Byrne glanced at Oliver, rather surprised. So he'd not told them about Coton.

"Ollie here might be an idiot, but I am not so easily fooled. I thought I taught you a lesson years ago, but perhaps you need another," Reginald growled.

"I'd be careful with that kind of talk if I were you," Byrne said coolly. "You don't have four men to hold me down tonight."

"I don't need them. And my family doesn't need any association with you... or your whore of a mother."

So much for keeping his temper...

Byrne lunged forward and gripped Reginald by his lapels hard, turning to drag him across the railing before dangling him beyond it.

"Let me go!"

"Are you certain about that?" Byrne loosened his grip slightly and Reginald clawed at his arms.

"Mr. Byrne," Oliver cried out behind him. "Please don't—"

"Not so brave now, are you?" Byrne asked, ignoring him. "Want to hit me now? Go on! Try it!" Byrne kept his grip tight. The fall to the garden below wasn't enough to kill the blighter, but it might break an ankle, maybe crack his head if he fell against one of Tony's decorative rocks. "It's not so easy now, is it, without your cronies?" He drew Reginald's limp form back over the railing, setting him on his feet. Byrne shuffled back, raising his fists as Reginald fought to gain balance. "Why don't we try again? Just you and me."

Reginald swayed slightly, looking like he might be sick, but he started to raise his fists.

Yes. Finally...

"Has the party moved out here?"

Byrne growled as he turned to find Tony now, ever the jovial host, smiling as he sauntered out of the drawing room.

"Thank goodness there's some amusement to come," Tony went on. "The ladies all elected to retire early, so there's not even dancing to be had. But I suppose fisticuffs will do." Tony raised his fists, shuffling to one side, then the other. "Now, I should warn you all. I'm quite dangerous. You don't even want to know what happened to a billiard cue that ran afoul of me a few days ago."

Tony probably thought he was being amusing, but Byrne was not amused.

"No... no fisticuffs here," Oliver said quickly, pulling at his brother. "We were simply... joking about. But it's getting awfully late and Reg was just thinking he should get on the—"

"Get off me!" Reginald pulled away from his brother, turning to face Byrne. "This isn't over," he grunted before stalking past Tony and into the house, Oliver following close behind.

Tony stared after them a moment. "Mind telling me what that was about?"

Byrne turned back to the railing, collecting himself. "Like Mr. Browning said—"

"Hang what Mr. Browning said. I saw more than you think, including you dangling him over the garden. What is it between you and the Brownings?" Tony demanded. "Was it some business deal gone bad? Whatever it was—"

"How many times do I have to say it?" Byrne turned sharply to Tony. "There's nothing. You saw the way he behaved at supper. You might have done the same."

"Believe me, I was tempted. But there's more to this. Do you think I'm stupid, Byrne?"

"I never said you were."

"Very well, then. I suppose you just think I can't be trusted. Can't decide if that's better or worse." Tony sighed. "I find myself quite tired. I'll leave you to your... secrets."

Byrne stared after him a moment, almost tempted to follow. He turned away instead. It wasn't that he didn't trust Tony. But the less people who knew what he was, the better. And damn him, anyway! Just because Tony went about telling everyone every damned thought in his head didn't mean...

"I... I apologize once again," he heard behind him.

He turned to find Oliver, looking uncomfortable, yet determined.

"I don't know why he is the way he is or why he would say such a thing about your mother. From what I know, she was—"

"I don't wish to talk about my mother," Byrne snapped. "Not with anyone and certainly not with a Browning."

"But I have..." Oliver shook his head. "That's fair enough. All the same, I'm sorry Reg acted like such a... a bastard," he finally finished, as if the word was hard to say. "He's gone now."

"You didn't go with him," Byrne droned.

"No. I thought it would be rude to leave without informing Sir Anthony. I also... Well, I didn't wish to leave. I've been enjoying my time here. It's actually rather nice to see who I am away from school or... my family."

Byrne peered closely at him. "Why didn't you tell him? About Coton, about the railway?"

"I'm still hoping you change course. Even if you don't, I... I don't share my brother's opinion of you. I never did. You must know I had nothing to do with... with what he did, despite how it looked."

"I know that now," Byrne said after a while. "Seeing the pair of you together... You must favor your mother."

Oliver laughed. "You must favor yours as well. You look more like Father and Reg, at least more than I do. But you aren't like them. It's why I wanted to know you." He moved closer. "It's why I still do."

Byrne shook his head. "I cannot... This is not possible. Do you truly think it would be acceptable for you to be friends with your bastard brother?"

"Yes," Oliver said simply. "It's all I've wanted for years."

Byrne shook his head harder, turning away. "Well, it's not what I want. You need to accept that."

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. "I suppose I can understand, but I can't accept it. I'll leave you... for now."

Byrne let out a breath when he finally heard the door close. He tried to take another, but he felt stifled by the humid air, as if he might choke. His skin felt tight, as if it might burst. Why could he not be at ease. He was finally alone... or was he?

He heard a slight rustling in the bushes below. "Who is there?" he barked.

He heard an actual bark in response, then a little whine.

"Shh! Mopsy! Be still," a voice hissed.

He knew that voice all too well. He moved around to the stairs quickly, catching sight of green silk as she rushed from the bushes... but not fast enough.

He caught her by the arm. "How long have you been eavesdropping, Miss Crewe?"

**********************

That's all I got for now. I'll be back with more as soon as I can!