Chapter Thirty-Four (part 2)

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Emilia said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

Mr. Byrne tilted his head, obviously not convinced.

She didn't blame him. She was not very convincing, even if it was true... in a way. "Very well, I was, but not on purpose. You see, I was taking Mopsy for his nightly constitutional, as... as I do, and he's very interested in the rosebushes—"

"Of course he is. He's been working to ruin them for weeks," Mr. Byrne said, his hand still on her arm, though not very tightly. She could certainly pull away. Yet she did not.

"I'm certain Mopsy intended no such thing," she said, unable to resist defending the poor darling. Even now, he was sitting so nicely between them, staring up at Mr. Byrne as if he was holding the answers to all of life's questions — that or a particularly juicy bone. "He was likely looking for his ball."

"The one that's in your pocket?" he asked, glancing down at her gown, which was indeed bulging a bit at the side. Drat it!

"Is that where it is? Mystery solved. We shall go on our—"

"How much did you hear?" he asked, his expression blank.

"I didn't mean to hear it. I simply kept still as I didn't wish to—"

"That doesn't answer my question," he said, unrelenting.

Emilia sighed. "I heard more than you wish me to, I'm certain. I don't particularly know what to make of it all."

He nodded, releasing her arm. "Come along, then." He moved to the stone steps.

She followed, rather confused. "Where? Why?"

"You said you didn't know what to make of it all."

"Well, yes, but you don't need to—"

"I'm sure you heard enough to think ill of me and I'd rather you know the full—"

"But I don't think anything ill, at least not of you," she assured him.

"Then perhaps you should," Mr. Byrne said, turning slightly to her as he stilled before the windowed doors of the drawing room. "I suppose we'll find out," he said before opening one door, nodding to her slightly.

She went in, knowing she should not. Hadn't she resolved to avoid being alone with him? Mopsy had no such qualms, skipping ahead and pulling her in excitedly, as if this was a rare treat. It likely was. Apart from her bedroom and the kitchen, he'd not spent much time in the house itself unless he was being chased. He pulled her toward the settee, then the chairs, then the fire, sniffing at everything.

"You may as well untie him, unless you want to be carted about the room," Byrne said, closing the door and moving to the sideboard.

"Well, I know how you don't like him loose in the—"

"I'm certain he won't get into too much trouble," he said, opening a decanter.

She bent down to untie Mopsy, to his delight, then noticed Mr. Byrne was pouring two glasses. "Oh, none for me, thank you."

"I'm afraid I must insist," he said gently, but firmly. "A wise man once told me that talks like these shouldn't be done without a bit of help."

She wasn't certain how wise that advice was. She was actually quite certain none of this was wise for her. She should not be alone in a room with a man, especially at night, and even more so drinking... whatever it was he had poured, but she accepted the glass he handed her, then took a chair by the fire when he gestured to it.

There was something about him tonight, something... unguarded. It was quite a change from how he'd been while she was very reluctantly listening to the arguments on the patio above, crouching in the bushes and desperately trying to keep Mopsy quiet until it was over. She hadn't expected not to escape.

But she didn't feel trapped. He was troubled and, despite every reason she should not be sitting across from him — once again, alone and at night and with a glass of something that likely wasn't that nice pear brandy in her hands, she wanted to be here. She wanted to ease him if she could, even if she had no idea how.

"You didn't miss much," she said awkwardly, since he had yet to speak. "Er... with supper, I mean. No one seemed in the mood for dessert or... dancing."

Miss Poole had declared herself especially eager to go to bed, even if that wasn't where she was actually going.

She and Lady Adele and Miss Marbury had been huddled in the hall with Evie when Emilia had quit the library, eager to commence tonight's little party, if it could be called that.

"I don't think we've got the kitchen tonight," Evie was whispering when Emilia joined them at Miss Marbury's urging. "Mrs. Stern did not find it up to her standards. We're still scrubbing even now. And I won't be able to get much more than a few biscuits," Evie said worriedly. "Mrs. Stern's been making comments about very loud mice gathering in the kitchens at night and how it better not happen again. I think she's on to us."

Emilia was certain she was. Mrs. Stern didn't seem the type to tolerate such antics on her watch.

"Do not trouble yourself, mon cheri," Lady Adele said with a wave. "We shall gather in my room. It is the largest, I think. If you bring the glasses, that shall be enough."

"I care not for food," Miss Poole said hotly. "I only want to talk of that... that... Oooh! If that's what he says of the Irish, I shudder to think of what he has to say of my—"

"Now, now," Lady Adele sighed. "He's a boor of a man. Not worth mentioning. And he shall not be staying, est-ce ainsi?"

"He'd better not. But I'd still like to mention a few things. If he'd spoke to me, I'd have—"

"Let us save it for the table, then," Lady Adele said.

"But do you have a table in your room?" Miss Marbury asked. "I only have a dressing table and—"

"I was speaking metaphysically." Lady Adele shrugged.

"Metaphorically," Miss Poole corrected absently, still looking incensed. "You know what? I wish he had said something to me. I'd have—"

"Vanessa, not here," Miss Marbury said, glancing about fearfully as Mary Hartley left the library.

"Ah, there you all are," Mary said with a false little smile as she approached them. "I was about to have my harp—"

"We're all going to bed," Miss Poole announced loudly.

"Of course, normally we would love to stay longer," Miss Marbury began, "but we're all... er..."

"Tellement épuisé," Lady Adele said, very obviously manufacturing a yawn.

"Yes, exhausted," Miss Poole agreed, nudging Miss Marbury.

They all started for the stairs, still in their awkward huddle.

"That's fine be me," Mary said, passing them. "I was only about to say I was going to have my harp put away. Lord knows I certainly don't wish to be forced to perform every night."

"No one wants you to," Miss Poole said, at which Mary stilled, "be forced, that is," she finished after a moment.

Mary gave her a glare before continuing up.

"Good night, Mary," Miss Marbury called after her. She did not answer. "Really, Vanessa. Could you not have resisted—"

"I've had my fill of staying silent in the face of ill-behaved, boorish people tonight," Miss Poole said, starting up the stairs.

The others followed. Emilia followed as well, not sure what else to do with herself.

"Now, then. We shall all dress for bed and meet in Adele's room." Miss Poole stilled and turned to Emilia at the top of the stairs. "Prudence, could you bring Miss Finch when you—"

"Oh, dear," Emilia put a hand to her heart. "I can't! Poor Mopsy. I need to take him for his... nighttime business, you see." Yes, she knew that she and Prudence needed to finish their conversation, but that didn't mean it had to happen immediately.

"I could take him," Evie piped up. "Before I bring up the glasses, I mean."

"Won't Mrs. Stern be cross if you're not scrubbing the kitchen with the rest?" Emilia pointed out.

"Oh, that is true." Evie sighed. "But I don't think it will be for much longer."

"All the more reason for me to lighten your load," Emilia said.

"We shall wait for you," Miss Marbury offered sweetly, "the both of you."

"If we can," Miss Poole grumbled. She looked near to bursting.

"Please do not wait for me tonight," Emilia said. "I am so very exhausted. As much as I'd like to join you all, I shall likely fall right to sleep after taking Mopsy out. Today has been... trying."

"Indeed," Miss Marbury patted her arm. "It is not every day a girl must turn down a proposal. You were very kind about—"

"A what?" Miss Poole gasped. "Have you two been talking without us?"

"We haven't," Emilia said. "Miss Marbury simply overheard something earlier."

"And you didn't tell us?" Lady Adele scoffed.

"I was waiting for tonight," Miss Marbury said, then reddened. "I mean, not for me to..." She turned to Emilia. "I wasn't going to say a word. I thought you might—"

"Yes, now you must join us," Miss Poole said. "We won't keep you long."

"There's nothing I can tell you that Miss Marbury didn't hear," Emilia said with a laugh. "And that's fine. I... I don't mind if you tell them." Really, her refusing Tony was the least of her worries today. "I am simply too tired to do so myself."

"You will be missed," Miss Marbury said.

"Perhaps we can all talk about it tomorrow." Emilia turned to Evie. "But could you please inform Miss Finch that I shan't need her help? I'm certain I can manage dressing for bed on my own. She should enjoy herself with the rest of you." She only hoped Prudence would accept that... for now. It's not as if she was avoiding her entirely. But the conversation they needed to have would take longer than the few minutes spent changing into a nightgown. And she didn't feel equal to being in a room with Prudence and the rest of the girls with so much still unsaid between them.

If Prudence found her after, if she didn't indeed fall into an exhausted heap after finishing with Mopsy, they would talk.

At least that had been the plan.

This was just as well, she decided, still waiting upon Mr. Byrne to speak. The girls would likely be talking for much longer than this and she didn't feel tired any longer.

But he certainly looked tired. "If you'd rather I leave—"

"No," he cut in softly. "I'd rather you'd never come upon all this, but here we are."

"I am sor—"

"Please don't apologize." He shook his head, drumming his fingers on the small table between their chairs. "You're not at fault. I am. Here I've been, harassing you with proposals when... when I shouldn't... If you knew..."

She leaned over the table, placing her hand over his, stilling it. "I never felt harassed."

He glanced at her hand, then up at her, smiling slightly. "Come now, surely you've been at least a little—"

"Fine, then. Maybe I've been a little bothered by your persistence, but... Well, that doesn't mean I feel harassed. I enjoy your company." She pulled her hand away. "Though I perhaps shouldn't be enjoying it alone or at night or..." She laughed slightly. "This is highly improper."

"Perhaps you should go, then."

"Perhaps I should," she said. But she didn't.

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Byrne rather wished she would leave, yet he couldn't bring himself to suggest it again.

He knew as well as she did that this was more than improper. It could even be called scandalous if they were discovered. But the house was quiet. Everyone had most likely gone to bed by now.

That actually made this worse. So why was he keeping her here? Was it because he was angry that she'd obviously overheard more than she should? Or was it because he wanted to spend a moment with someone who didn't make him feel lower than dirt?

The irony, that this particular someone was the one who kept rejecting his proposals, was not lost on him. Yet she never made him feel low.

He glanced at the fire. It was not blazing, but not yet banked. It lent her a sort of muted glow. Her dark eyes with alight with a warm glimmer.

He turned his own eyes to his drink. He really shouldn't be imbibing again, not after the other night with Tony. He wondered if this might turn him into the drunken Irishman most of society likely thought he was. But he took a long sip anyway. As Father Fitzmaurice said, some conversations needed a little help.

He glanced up as Miss Crewe took a sip from her glass as well, coughing a bit and making a funny little grimace before schooling her face into one less puckered.

He took her glass wordlessly, emptying it into his own before standing, moving to the sideboard and pouring her a brandy instead.

She took it, but not wordlessly. "Yes, thank you. I was about to say... er... to your health," she said, lifting it and taking a sip. She still grimaced, but less than before.

"Is that better?" he prodded, lifting his own before taking a gulp.

"Certainly better than the whiskey," she said. There was silence... but not for long before she filled it. "I actually had this very nice French brandy with a picture of a pear on it last n... year, I think." She laughed. "It was quite sweet. I enjoyed it a lot. But this is fine." She sipped, making another little face. "I hope they start allowing French brandy again. If the war is truly over, then... Well, it would be nice for... for brandy drinkers and all that."

He nodded. Not sure what to say to all that. She was babbling. She was nervous. That was his fault. Why couldn't he just talk?

He watched the dog, seemingly satisfied with all he'd smelled, paw at the carpet, then spin around several times before curling himself into a fuzzy ball between their feet.

She filled the silence once more. "I want to apologize again, if you'll allow me, for the... the..."

"Eavesdropping?" he finished for her, knowing that wasn't helping her state.

She giggled a little. "I was going to say accidental listening. I truly didn't mean to. And I didn't hear much. But once I heard it, I hid as I... Well, I didn't wish to bring attention to myself with... with that... I don't even want to call him a lord. He's more like a... a..."

"Vile bastard," he suggested. "You can say it."

She let out another laugh. "You know very well I cannot."

"Why not? I won't judge you for it. We're already being improper. In for a penny and all that."

She shook her head. "I did wonder," she began after a moment, "why you had such animosity toward Mr. Browning. But having met the elder... How someone like that could be dear Mr. Browning's brother is beyond me."

"Dear Mr. Browning," he echoed, taking a long sip.

"Do you still think so ill of him? I thought, with what he said—"

"Ah, so you did hear that much."

"I heard him say he wished to know you better, which seemed rather sweet to me."

Byrne rolled eyes. "I'll give you that he's a vast improvement on his brother, but that doesn't mean I wish to know him."

"Is this because of whatever you've been doing in Coton? Or because he's your brother?"

He leaned over the table between them. "For someone who barely heard anything, you sure heard a lot."

"Very well, I heard things. It didn't mean I understood them. Really, I was simply waiting for the pair of you to leave! I didn't wish to be caught–"

"Eavesdropping?" he supplied, unable to resist needling at her.

"Call it that if you will. It's not as if I did it with ill intent. You were clearly upset and as a... a friend of sorts, I was concerned. But I've learned my lesson now." She stood, putting down her half-empty glass. "I shall no longer care if you–"

"Stay," he broke in. God, he was being beastly. He just didn't know how else to be after this day.

She stared down at him. The dog glanced up with a whine, probably annoyed that his fireside slumber was being cut short.

"Please," he added.

She did, sitting down again, staring at him warily. "Why?"

"So I can allay your concerns and assure you that nothing Reginald Browning does has the power to upset me anymore. In fact, the power is firmly in my hands... or it soon will be." He stared down at the dog as he curled himself up again. He hoped the thing didn't get used to carpets and firesides. He should be in the kitchen, damn his little nose, but Byrne knew she'd been sneaking him into her bed. Lucky little bugger.

She huffed. "If you could explain that a bit mo–"

"I'm not used to this," he broke in, "to... to talking. God, the last time I spoke honestly with someone was so long ago I... I feel like a different person. Like my lie has become the truth. And it might as well be. There are very few people who know the truth about me."

She was silent a moment. "If you don't want to tell it–"

"I do. That's the mad thing. There's something about you that makes me want to confess it all."

She stared at him, tilting her head. "I feel the sa... I mean, I... I feel that, if you want to... Perhaps this is a bad idea." She started to rise, but he leaned over, placing a hand on her knee before he could think better of it. She stilled, staring at it with a little gasp.

He pulled it away, forcing a smile. "Come now. You know too much now not to know it all. At least stay for the terrible tale."

She smiled slightly. "I know someone who tells terrible tales. She likes to use them to warn children off bad behavior."

"Does it work?" he asked.

"Results can vary, but the tales always end with the bad children going to a horrible, but very silly death. Believe it or not, the children adore it. My father tells tales as well."

"To children?" he prodded.

"Just to me. And my mother before she..." She trailed off before finishing with, "before she got tired of them. His were just plain silly. And people rarely died."

"I can't say the same for my tale," he said after a moment. "There's nothing silly about it, except for the misguided notions of a foolish young boy. A foolish young bastard, to be precise." He sighed. "And almost everyone worth anything dies." He glanced up at her. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

She nodded, her eyes wide. "If you need to tell it."

"I barely know where to begin. But I suppose it all starts in Cloghroe. Ever heard of it?"

She shook her head.

"Why should you? It's not a worthy village. In fact, it's been on its way out for a very long time. But that's where our terrible tale begins..."

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More to come! Feel free to like and comment if you could be so kind. :)