Page 8 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

8

SILAS

S ilas sat in his bedchamber, spinning the kaleidoscope in his hand as he leaned back in his chair, his feet upon the dressing table. He had meant to give it to Miss Easton the other night at dinner, but he had not. Something had kept him from doing so. A sense that it would have been too much, no doubt. Miss Easton had not even accepted the little butterfly pendant, after all.

Why had he bought the kaleidoscope?

Mrs. Fairchild and Miss Fairchild had both expressed regret over things they had not been able to purchase, and he had not gone out of his way to buy anything for them .

The obvious answer was that he had begun to develop feelings for Miss Easton, but he refused to accept this explanation.

He put the kaleidoscope to his eye and watched the shapes and colors shift as he turned it. The memory of Miss Easton doing the same soon brought a smile to his face.

She had been both entranced and entrancing.

Since escaping to France two years ago, Silas had been focused on survival. In France, that had meant deprivation and fighting illness in whatever lodgings he could afford—or work in order to afford. Arriving at William’s estate had been a welcome reprieve from such adversity, and yet even there, he had been obliged to remain hidden. If his presence had become known to anyone beyond his brothers and aunt, it could have meant the gallows.

Watching Miss Easton’s appreciation of fireworks and magic tricks and kaleidoscopes was proving a needed reminder of all the marvels and beauties of life he had forgotten about and why his freedom was worth pursuing.

There was a knock on the door, and the front legs of his chair smacked down to the floor as he removed his feet from the desk. He slipped the kaleidoscope into the drawer of the dressing table just as the door opened to reveal Frederick.

Frederick looked around the room, frowning. “What were you doing?”

Silas raised a brow. “Is this the Inquisition? Or am I permitted to be in my bedchamber without being subjected to questioning by the brother whose leading strings I held?”

Frederick stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Come off it. You are only two years older.”

“Only someone lacking two years of life experience would discount the significance of such a difference.” He clasped his hands in his lap and regarded his brother. “How may I help you, Freddie?”

“I am here to deliver a message from Fairchild.”

“And what message is that?”

“That Miss Easton sent a note.” Frederick watched for his reaction, which Silas made certain to keep entirely dispassionate.

He rose from his seat and made his way to the armoire, which he opened, burning with curiosity about the contents of the note but determined not to let his brother know it. “I felicitate Fairchild on the momentous occasion.”

“Don’t be daft,” Frederick said impatiently. “The note was for you.”

“Ah.” Silas turned to his brother and put out a hand. “You have come to deliver it to me, then.”

Frederick shot him an unamused look. “It was addressed to Fairchild, but the information within was meant for you, as you well know, for I heard you and Miss Easton discussing your plan to meet Mr. Easton the other night. She says her father will be at Lord Woodrow’s party next week and that he is looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

Silas rifled through his clothing in the armoire, refusing to ask the question that was in his mind: would Miss Easton be there, as well? She must intend to go, for if she did not, who would make the introduction?

The fact that this was the matter preoccupying him and not the introduction itself did not escape his notice.

“Thank you for relaying the message.” Silas took out a fresh cravat and shut the armoire doors.

It remained quiet, but Frederick made no move to leave.

Silas shot him an amused smile as he turned up his collar and stepped in front of the mirror. “Go on, Freddie. Say it.”

“Fine. I think you should not come.”

Silas draped the cloth of the cravat around his neck. “You shock me.”

“It is foolhardy, Silas.”

Silas cocked a brow at him through the mirror.

“Hayes,” Frederick amended with a hint of impatience. “You might be recognized.”

“Is Drayton in Town?”

“He is not,” he replied reluctantly.

“Then the danger is negligible. But”—he silenced Frederick’s retort with a heavy emphasis on the word—“I do not at all know that I shall attend despite that.”

Frederick stared. “You do not?”

“No.” The disappointment that filled him at the thought of not attending was evidence enough that it was the right decision. He was becoming too attached to Miss Easton. Of course, not attending would mean missing a potential investment opportunity—the first since returning to England—but Silas needed to keep his focus where it was meant to be. There would be other investments.

“I cannot pretend to be anything other than relieved,” Frederick said. “I was becoming concerned you were falling victim to Miss Easton.”

Silas laughed. “Falling victim? Is she some scheming villain?”

“Of course not, but that does not change the fact that you are not in any position to be…”

Silas raised his brows, waiting to hear precisely what his brother accused him of.

Frederick stuttered a bit more. “…on the catch.”

Silas snorted. “On the catch? You make me sound like a dashed loose screw.”

“Well? What would you call toying with a woman’s emotions under a false name?”

His words stung, but Silas forced a smile. “I assure you, Freddie, that I shan’t toy with the emotions of Miss Easton, nor of any other woman, for that matter. I know why I am here, and I shan’t let anything come between me and my goal.”

Frederick met his gaze squarely and searchingly, then gave a nod, looking as though a burden had fallen from his shoulders.

A thought struck Silas as he made a knot with his cravat. “Will Bence be at Woodrow’s party?”

Frederick’s brows drew together. “He is good friends with Woodrow, so it is quite likely.”

Silas tilted his head to regard his finished cravat in the mirror. “Then I retract my statement. I am coming.”

Frederick grimaced.

Silas turned toward him and gripped him by the shoulders. “Fear not, little brother. I will take measures to ensure I am not recognized. Your political career is safe.”

“You think my concern is my career?”

“Is it not?”

“No!”

Silas’s mouth quirked up at the side. Their gazes held, Silas’s amused, Frederick’s mulish.

“Of course I do not wish for scandal to be attached to my name,” Frederick finally said, “but such a consideration pales in comparison to the prospect of my brother meeting his end at Newgate.”

“I have no plans to become acquainted with Newgate, Freddie. Nor shall I sully your name any more than I already have.”

Bence would be key to both of those aims, however.

That was why Silas would attend the party. Not for Miss Easton.

He could explore investment opportunities with Mr. Easton and gain an introduction to Sir Walter Bence while maintaining a polite and shallow acquaintance with Miss Easton.

Those things were well within his abilities. They had to be. For if they were not, he stood no chance at all of clearing his name.