The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

So Robert had relented—and thus brought upon himself an entourage of servants and maids and dressers, of messages sent to reserve rooms in a hotel, as Violet could not stay in Robert’s bachelor establishment. It was more than forty-eight hours before Robert found himself, his cousin, the Countess of Cambury, nine separate servants, two cats, and one owl on the platform at Euston Square in London.

The servants were engaged in wrestling the luggage into the proper compartment, and Robert took the time to walk with his cousin. There was a bit of a breeze, enough to keep the air along the platform crisp and pleasant. The tang of burning tobacco—that was Robert’s excuse for not sitting in the station proper alongside Violet—made an acrid counterpoint to the smell of autumn leaves.

He walked beside his cousin, and all his myriad worries seemed to grow smaller.

“So,” he said to Sebastian, “they’re actually taking steps to make some sort of position for you at Cambridge. Given what they said of you when you were a student there, I would imagine that was the last thing you’d expect. Are you dying of shock yet?”

Sebastian gave him a long look. “I’m not a student any longer, you know.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve grown up.”

That got him an impish smile. “Wait until I turn it down,” his cousin said. “That will shock everyone.”

Robert blinked and looked at the man more closely. Sebastian was a known prankster, but he took the work he did now very seriously. “You’re going to turn it down?”

“I’m afraid I have to.” Sebastian put his hands in his pockets. “Even Newton had to get a dispensation from Charles II because he didn’t believe in the Trinity. Oxford has become more liberal, but Cambridge…” He shrugged. “Still the Dark Ages there. They insist on adherence to Church of England doctrine. Half the natural scientists want me because they think I’m doing interesting work. The other half believe that appointing me a Fellow will force me to shut up.”

“Would it?” Robert glanced at him. “I’ve never known you to shut up, not about anything. And are you an unbeliever? I’ve read all your papers, even the ones that are well over my head, and I don’t recall you taking a position.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a godless scientist, an apostate follower of Darwin.”

“Even Mr. Darwin isn’t an unbeliever.”

Sebastian didn’t answer the question. Instead he gave a resigned shrug. “I not only think that the species evolved, I can prove that characteristics are transmitted from parent to offspring in a dependable, scientific manner. Not by the grace of any divine being. By the operation of simple, natural principles.” He gave Robert a look. “That makes me an unbeliever in half of society’s eyes. Who am I to argue with them?”

“I take it that’s a rhetorical question, as you argue with them at every opportunity.”

Sebastian smiled in pleasure and shook his head.

“I think you just like being an outcast.”

“That must be it.” Sebastian shrugged.

“And you’ve managed to distract me. You never did answer my question. Do you believe in God?”

“I’ve given you as much an answer as I’ll give anyone. I think it’s a shame that Mr. Darwin must account for his religion on the basis of the work that he does. A man’s beliefs should be between himself and whatever deity he does—or does not—worship. Nobody asks a cooper whether he believes in God. Why should I have to answer? Why should anyone care?”

It had come on so quickly, Sebastian’s fame. So much that it was still rather a shock to discover that Sebastian—quick-minded, foul-mouthed Sebastian Malheur, his cousin and onetime coconspirator—had become a famous scientist. Not that Sebastian didn’t have the brains for it; he’d always been quick and clever. It was just easier to see his cousin as the prankster he’d been as a child, rather than an actual serious-minded adult.

“Besides,” Sebastian said, “it’s loads more fun tweaking everyone. Refusing to answer the question has all the old biddies hem-hemming and striking me from their guest lists.”

Possibly this was because Sebastian had not become an actual serious-minded adult. Robert had missed him.

The conductor sounded his whistle, and people began to board. Robert and Sebastian waited at the end of the platform for the first crowds to dissipate, and then walked back. They passed the luggage cars, then the second-class cabins, on their way to their seats.

But as they walked past one car, Robert blinked. He couldn’t have seen… He quickly turned and walked back.

“Oy!” Sebastian called. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Robert waved him off. He’d had the strangest illusion when he’d walked by—that the woman he’d seen out of the corner of his eye was none other than Miss Pursling.

It couldn’t be.

When he came abreast of the window, he saw his eyes had not deceived him. The woman lifted her head from contemplation of her book to stare out the window on the other side. The sun spangled through the dust collected on the window, illuminating that nose he knew so well—and those lips.