“She has more godchildren than Napoleon had mistresses. Did your sister just kiss my brother?”
“And he kissed her back. Such is the nature of the institution, Dorning. Gratuitous affection, liking, babies. You mustn’t be jealous. Perhaps Lady Wentwhistle can fix you up with one of her goddaughters.”
“I am willing to take that risk, which tells you how worried I am for my brother.” And for Della. Not even the champagne could pry that admission from him.
Tresham took another pair of flutes from another passing waiter. “Ash has married an agreeable and intelligent female, Sycamore. He hasn’t bought his colors to join a regiment in India. Della appears smitten, and all should—”
Sycamore took the second glass of champagne and waited for Tresham’s brain to catch up with his bloviating mouth.
“You’re worried about the melancholia,” Tresham said, peering at his drink. “I am too.”
Tresham, as silent partner and former sole proprietor of the Coventry, still had the run of the premises. He’d seen Ash’s bad days as few others outside of family had.
“Ash is doing better this year,” Sycamore said, “and marriage ought to have a salubrious effect on any fellow’s humors,”—marriage to Della Haddonfield, anyway—“but Della hasn’t seen him at his worst.”
“If he’s violent…” Tresham’s gaze promised that Sycamore, having allowed this union, would pay as high a price as Ash should Della come to harm at her husband’s hands.
“He’s not violent, not like that. He loves a good boxing match—a little too much—but when the sadness is upon him, it’s as if all spark, all energy has departed. You could beat him to flinders, and he’d barely notice.”
“You’ve tried?”
“I tried slapping some sense into him once. The lack of reaction from a man who prides himself on the use of his fists was eerie.” Terrifying, in fact, as if Ash were already dead, and his body couldn’t be troubled to climb into a coffin.
“What’s to be done?” Tresham asked.
“I will attend Lady Wentwhistle’s house party,” Cam said. “You will keep an eye on the Coventry for me.”
Tresham’s posture radiated offense. “I promised Theodosia I wouldn’t…”
Sycamore held up a hand. Mrs. Tresham took a very, very dim view of gambling, having seen how that activity could pass from recreation to obsession. Tresham’s decision to sell the Coventry was entirely the result of Mrs. Tresham’s opinion on the matter.
“You need not be visible,” Sycamore said. “We have good managers, and I won’t be gone more than a fortnight. I want to tell the staff that they can consult you should something untoward arise. You are still an owner, and you know the business intimately.”
“I must ask Theo.” Tresham did not appear ashamed to be asking his wife’s permission, not in the least.
“I already did,” Sycamore said, swilling the whole glass of champagne at one go. “Your lady wife made no objection. She understands that I am concerned for my brother and you are concerned for your sister. Now hand over that glass. I have yet to congratulate the happy couple, and the task requires fortitude.”
Tresham passed over his champagne. “Tell me something, Sycamore. Were you in love with Della, perhaps a bit inconveniently smitten?”
Sycamore held the glass. He did not drink from it. “With Lady Della? Don’t be ridiculous. I am in love with myself, or so the family lore goes.” He saluted with his champagne and sauntered off in the direction of the newlyweds.
Della had spoken her vows confidently, but as Ash had recited his, her chest had gone tight. He was promising to forsake all others and cleave only unto her, for better or for worse. The magnitude of his oath, offered with such a gravely affectionate smile, had threatened her composure sorely.
“How quickly do you suppose we can leave?” Ash murmured when they had a break from the well-wishers.
He had a way of bending near, of almost nuzzling Della’s ear while whispering to her, that made her knees go unreliable.
“Not for another thirty minutes,” she said. “Some guests are still at the buffet.”
Sycamore approached, holding a champagne glass like a royal orb. “Ready to flee out the nearest window?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ash replied, just as Della said, “Don’t be silly.”
“With me,” Sycamore said, “you will soon learn to be honest, my lady.” He took a deep drink of his champagne, while gazing at her over the rim of his glass. The gesture came off more accusing than flirtatious. “I am known in the Dorning family as the sibling who ferrets out all secrets.”
“You are known in the Dorning family,” Ash retorted, “as the pest who can’t mind his own business. That’s champagne, baby brother, not the last of the summer ale.”
“And excellent champagne it is too. Why don’t you fetch a glass for your bride?”
Della did not want Ash to leave her side. “I’m not—”
“Shoo,” Sycamore said, waving his free hand. “If any dragons should happen by, I am more than competent to protect the damsel in your absence.”
Ash kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry. The family tree boasts a half-dozen more much like him, but we need only deal with them on holidays.”
He wove away through the milling guests, leaving Della to smile at her new brother-in-law. “This is the part where you tell me I’m looking radiant, and you would envy your brother terribly, but for the fact that you are now blessed to count me among your family connections.”
“You were among my family connections before this wedding,” Sycamore said, “and you look a bit knackered, to be honest.”
Sycamore offered that observation in a less than kindly tone, which made the tight feeling return to Della’s chest. She studied her hands rather than meet Sycamore’s gaze.
Her left hand sported a sparkly gold ring, which Ash had somehow purchased and had sized to fit her finger. She’d taken off her gloves to make a pass through the buffet, then set her plate aside, untouched.
Perhaps that accounted for a vague heaviness of spirit, much like an impending crying spell.
“I am tired,” she said. “Preparing for a wedding on short notice was taxing. If you have something to say, Sycamore, say it.”
He nodded. “Better. Here is what I have to say. Don’t hide the truth from me, Della Dorning. I’ll eventually figure it out anyway, and you are family now. We are supposed to trust one another.”
An awful weight settled in the pit of Della’s belly. William Chastain had frequented the Coventry. He’d bragged of his wagering to her, laughing about losses that would have sent many a man off to the country to hide from creditors.
What else had he bragged about and to whom? “What do you think you know, Sycamore?”He took another speculative sip of his drink. “I know my brother has frailties and that you are a new bride who has not enjoyed a long engagement. If Ash should run into difficulties, you won’t try to manage on your own, agreed? His siblings know him, we love him, and we won’t let any harm come to him. If he falters, you will call for reinforcements. Your word on that, please.”