Page 91 of Hearts of Briarwall

Spencer’s heart pounded, and he pushed his hands in his pockets to keep himself from wrapping them around the man’s throat. “What makes you say so?”

“Come now, you can’t say you haven’t witnessed her propensity for the ridiculous. Everyone knows she is brash. Outspoken and wild.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, recognizing those particular words. “Who has told you this?”

“Nobody. I have always said so. Granted, in my pursuit of Miss Wooding, I used the phrase to discourage other men from seeking her out, but now that there is no need, her reputation will do the job. Shame, really. Such a fetching girl. Mother always said her father did her such an injustice getting himself and his wife killed and leaving Miss Wooding’s upbringing in the hands of strangers. My pursuit of her was an act of charity.”

Spencer’s fists clenched hard in his pockets, but his masked fury must’ve shown on his face, because Sir Lawrence stepped back from Spencer. “It is my understanding that her upbringing was left in the hands ofyourparents, and your mother—a dear friend of Mrs. Wooding—took no more interest in Lydia than she would a housefly. Thank heavens for your father’s steady hand at teachingAndrewwhat he could before his demise, and for a flurry of loyal servants, tutors, and friends.”

“Of course,” the man said, removing his handkerchief, “I mean—who wouldn’t step in in such a dire situation?” He patted his forehead.

“Indeed,” Spencer ground out. “Who wouldn’t?”

The beep of a horn sounded behind him. He found the Burke brothers had pulled up alongside the edge of the park, George standing and waving his arms.

“Come on, Spencer,” the younger man called. “Give him a kiss and let’s be off!”

Oscar reached up and pulled his laughing brother back down in his seat.

Spencer couldn’t help admiring the lack of decorum. He’d take real and brash over this pompous giraffe every time.

Brash. Outspoken. And wild.

He tipped his hat to Sir Lawrence. “I’ll send your notes along, and you can tear them up. A pleasure, Piedmont.”

He turned and trotted to join the others.

“It’sSirLawrence,” the blighter called after him.

Spencer waved a hand without looking back. Poor Miss Jasper. He slid into the back seat next to Oscar, who watched him with concern.

“Sorry about George, mate,” Oscar said.

As Cyril pulled back out onto the road, Spencer inhaled deeply and let it go. “Not at all. Your brother likely prevented a murder.”

“That bad, eh? He withdrew his money?”

Spencer nodded but anger roiled up inside him. “That. And he’s all but ruined Lydia.”

The three brothers exchanged looks.

“What?” Spencer said. “What do you know?”

Oscar shook his head. “If you’re referring to that ‘brash and outspoken’ nonsense, that hasn’t ruined Lydia.”

He lowered his chin. “It hasn’t?”

“No.”

George turned around in his seat, his arm looped over the back of it. “It’s Andrew. Nobody can get past Andrew.”

Spencer let that sink in and sat back in his seat.

That made more sense than anything he’d heard all day.

Dinner at Kinthwaite Park was ... unique. To Spencer’s dismay, Mrs. Whittemore had set him at the head of table. “So as to better address all present and be heard,” she’d said.

Which also meant he had an unobstructed view of Lydia Wooding, though she’d been placed at the far end of the table between Oscar and George Burke. Next to George, Violet sat to Spencer’s right. Opposite her, Mrs. Whittemore, then Florrie, Cyril, and Ruby finished out the side of the table to his left. A servant sat next to the sideboard, taking notes, and to whom Mrs. Whittemore would dictate additional thoughts as the discussion progressed.

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