The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)(35)

Goodness. If the stories about him were even remotely true, he was an absolute reprobate. He was wildly rumored to be not only a religious dissenter, but an actual atheist. A womanizer. A rake. But Mr. Malheur simply shrugged and set two fingers to his lips in an exaggerated gesture.

“Yes,” the duke said after a slightly stilted pause. “He’s that self-same benighted fellow. All the rumors you’ve heard are true. Also, he’s my cousin.” He let out a sigh. “Well, you two might as well come in and sit down,” he finally said. “It’s not as if you could make things any worse.”

She had no idea what he meant by that, if he was talking to them or to her. But the two of them trooped into the car. Without saying a word, or even once glancing at Minnie, they took their seats.

Chapter Nine

OUTSIDE, A WHISTLE BLEW.

The train shuddered as doors rattled shut all along its length. And Robert waited in misery for what he knew would come.

For a moment, all seemed well. Violet reached into her bag and took out some yarn and knitting needles; Sebastian sat, looking straight ahead at absolutely nothing.

Miss Pursling kept her gaze on the wooden slats that made up the floor. She’d put his letter in her pocket and didn’t even touch the fabric. The train began to move, swaying from side to side, and still she didn’t speak.

It shouldn’t have surprised Robert—she did this every single time he saw her—but Violet glanced up and over at him, then over at Miss Pursling. Her brows drew down in something like confusion. She exchanged a worried glance with Sebastian.

“So,” Robert said. “Miss Pursling, are you coming from London?”

Miss Pursling glanced at him and then looked away. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said meekly.

“What brought you there?”

She tilted her head forward so that there was no chance she might meet his eyes. “I had business, Your Grace. Business of a personal nature.”

If this was pax… Robert sighed.

He couldn’t very well talk about the handbills. Neither Sebastian nor Violet knew about those, as they didn’t have the protection Robert did, and he preferred to keep it that way. Silence stretched in the car, and it occurred to Robert that banning Violet and Sebastian from speaking had not been the best idea. What felt like a companionable silence among two seemed devilishly awkward with four people staring at one another, mouths clamped shut. This had the potential to be the most painful train ride ever.

“So,” he tried again, “the Workers’ Hygiene Commission. Why did you take an interest in it?”

She tilted her head and looked up at him. Her lips flattened as if she were suppressing a smile. “Because,” she said, “hygiene is important. Don’t you think so, Your Grace?”

“Of course, but many things are important. We’ve all made different choices as to how to spend our time. Violet here volunteers her time at the Botanic Garden in Cambridge, presumably because she likes plants. Sebastian…”

Sebastian looked up, a look of interest on his face.

“Yes,” Miss Pursling said, “I would very much like to hear how Mr. Malheur spends his time.”

“Ah…” Even a clinical description of Sebastian’s work was suspect in mixed company.

“Because I heard,” Miss Pursling said, “that he threatened to institute a program for human breeding amongst the Cambridge faculty in order to prove his theories on the sexual inheritance of traits.”

Yes. That was why it was difficult to talk about what Sebastian did. Because in order to do so, one had to say “sexual inheritance” without blushing—something Miss Pursling managed abnormally well.

Sebastian fixed her with his most earnest gaze, and Robert recalled, rather belatedly, that his cousin had something of a talent for mesmerizing women. What had he been thinking, bringing the man into close proximity with Miss Pursling? By the end of the ride, she’d be smitten.

In fact, she probably already was.

But Sebastian simply shrugged once more, placed his hand over his mouth in an exaggerated motion, and then bowed, gesturing to Robert. Robert translated this as I’m deeply sorry, but having promised my cousin that I wouldn’t say a word, I must now embarrass him as best as I can with gestures.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Robert muttered, pressing his fingers into his forehead. The train squeaked as it went around a bend.

Sebastian shook his finger at him in an invocation of shame and then made a gentle back-and-forth gesture with his hand, not clearly invoking anything at all.

“Are you…injured? Ill?” Miss Pursling guessed. “Unable to talk for some reason?”

Sebastian’s face lit up, and he pointed one finger at her.

“Have you tried tea?” she asked. “With honey—it’s quite soothing on the throat.”

Another meaningless gesture from Sebastian—this one, his arms thrown up to the heavens and then quickly lowered.

“At least make an attempt not to strike me in the face, Sebastian,” Violet said. “And for God’s sake, we both know Robert didn’t mean it literally. He wanted us not to embarrass him—but you’re managing that perfectly well without words.”

Miss Pursling’s eyes darted between the two of them. If ever there was a woman to pick up on what had not been spoken, it was Miss Pursling. He could imagine her reconstructing what he must have told the two of them.