A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(10)

Ouch.

Finn crutched his way over to join them. “Well, my lords?”

Colin could tell the youth was struggling not to look too hopeful. That was Finn. Whether he’d lost a game of darts or his whole left foot, he always put a brave face on disappointment. He was stronger than he let on, had more ambition than anyone guessed. This boy would truly be someone, someday. And he deserved better than bloody Flintridge School for Boys.

“Finn, there’s been a change of plans. We won’t be going to London this week.”

“W-we won’t?”

“No,” Colin said. “You’ll be going to Town with Lord Rycliff instead.”

Bram turned to him, stunned. “What?”

“As we agreed would be best.” Colin shot his cousin a pointed look.

In return, Bram threw him a gaze that would pulverize walnuts in their shells.

“But . . . I thought I’d be staying with you, Lord Payne.” Finn looked to Colin, confused. “We were going to set up bachelors’ lodgings in Covent Garden.”

“Yes, well. My cousin and I agree you need a wholesome family environment. For a while, at least. Isn’t that right, Bram?”

Come on, man. You can’t refuse. Don’t be an ass.

His cousin finally relented. “We’ve just moved into the new town house, Finn. Susanna will be glad to have her first houseguest.”

Colin drew Finn aside. “I’ll be along this summer, don’t worry. Just in time for boating on the Thames.” He leaned in to murmur, “And the boxing, never you fear. There are tickets to a prize match in your future, if I hear good reports from your tutors.”

The youth smiled. “All right then.”

Bram said, “Get your things, Finn. Meet me at the mews, and we’ll see them stowed in the carriage. We leave at dawn.” The two of them walked off together, making plans that didn’t include Colin.

He tried to tell himself it had all worked out for the best. If he’d taken Finn to London himself, Colin would have found some way to c**k it up. Bram was right. Every time he tried to do something good, it had a way of going bad.

Strolling away from the tavern and onto the green, Colin brought out the flask from his breast pocket. He uncapped it and tossed back a quick draught. It burned going down—as did the knowledge that it would be the first drink of many. Already, night was drawing her purple spangled veil over the cove. How he’d survive the next few months without pickling his brain, he didn’t know.

A group of ladies approached, walking across the green on the path that led from the Queen’s Ruby to the tavern. No surprise that the rooming-house residents would be enticed by the strains of dancing music. Colin faded into the shadows of the chestnut tree, feeling unequal to polite conversation at the moment.

As the ladies drew closer, he recognized them.

The Highwoods. The widowed matron took the fore, and her three daughters followed. First Charlotte, then Diana . . . finally, the lagging Minerva, her face predictably buried in a book. The evening breeze flirted with their skirts and shawls.

If he wanted to leave Spindle Cove, he did have options. Here came two of them now.

He could marry Diana.

Or he could run away to Scotland with Minerva.

Fine options, those. Would he prefer to destroy one sister’s reputation, or ruin the other’s future happiness? To be sure, he wanted to leave this place. But he’d rather do so with some shred of decency intact.

Colin tossed back another swallow of liquor.

Diana Highwood would make some man a lovely bride. She was beautiful, elegant, refined, good-hearted. She could hold her own in the ton, no question, and she’d tolerate Colin’s excesses better than most. Which meant her sharp-tongued, bespectacled sister was absolutely right.

Diana deserved better.

As for the bespectacled sister in question . . . As he stared at the group crossing the green, Colin scarcely recognized her as the girl who’d visited him last night. The bold, witty young woman who’d let down her hair by his hearth and spoken with such captivating self-assurance. Where had that girl been, all these months?

More to the point, where was that girl now? The sprigged muslin gown she wore was neither flattering nor hideous. It could best be described as wholly unremarkable. As she walked, her shoulders were hunched, as though she could curl into herself. Taken together with the book shielding her face, she’d done her level best to disappear.

Mrs. Highwood barked, “Minerva! Posture.”

Colin shook his head. Considering the constant abuse she took from her mother, was it any wonder she wanted to hide?

Last night, she’d ventured out of that shell. She’d slogged all the way to the castle in the rain, pounded on his door until he let her in, and then offered to ruin herself to protect her sister. And what reward did she get for her pains? Humiliation. Derision. And more scolding from her mother.

He’d never dreamed he’d say this about the bluestocking who’d spent the past several months skewering him with sharp glances and cutting remarks. But it was true.

Minerva deserved better.

Colin capped his flask and jammed it in his pocket. He might have to wait a few months to make his amends to Finn Bright. And even then, he’d never be able to replace the youth’s foot.

But he was going to settle this business with the Highwoods.