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together.
    Phineas stopped. “At the moment, Mr. Gordon, you are not a member of my military staff. You’re my…valet.”
    “Well, don’t that sound elegant,” the Scot chortled.
    “Valets eat with the household staff in the kitchen. And they don’t make trouble, drink, or gossip.”
    “Bloody ’ell! Who would ever want t’be a valet, then?”
    “You, apparently, since you followed me here. Take the back stairs down to the kitchen. No trouble, Sergeant.” He hesitated. “Find yourself some civilian clothes, as well. Anything you might hear about Quence Park in general, I would appreciate knowing.”
    Thaddeus Gordon straightened, offering a crisp, precise salute. “Ye have my word, Colonel.”
    Phineas could only hope the sergeant meant it. His own presence was bad enough. He didn’t know how William would react to a rather unorthodox part of his younger brother’s life making an unasked-for appearance. Frankly, Phin didn’t want to find out. “I’ll hold you to it.”
    The morning still lacked a few minutes of eight o’clock when he started down the main staircase. From the sounds around him the house was well awake, though he hadn’t seen or heard either of his siblings yet. A wheeled chair sat empty at the foot of the stairs, and he paused.
    His brother, who’d loved to go fishing and ride horses, was confined to that straight-backed cloth and wood and wicker trap—because of him. And that complicated everything. Delving into his brother’s affairs would be difficult enough, but to do so when he owed a debt he could never repay—he needed to be two people. The one with whom William could comfortably be at odds, and the one who could uncover Beth’s mystery without ruffling his brother’s pride or walking all over his responsibilities.
    A heavy tread sounded on the stairs above him. Startled, he looked up. Andrews descended, William cradled in his arms. The viscount had one arm around his valet’s shoulders, the other holding up the loose blanket tucked around his legs. Being carried like that, William looked broken and frail, much older than the thirty-four years he had to his name.
    “I—”
    “Not planning to stay long, then?” William interrupted, as Andrews carefully settled him into his chair.
    Phineas shook himself. He couldn’t ask for forgiveness. It had to be offered. “Beg pardon?”
    “You’re still in your uniform.”
    “Ah. Nothing else I own was quite…shipshape this morning,” he said, brushing at his sleeve.
    “Andrews tells me you have a valet after all.”
    Andrews apparently knew everything that went on in the house. Phin would keep that in mind. “Yes,” he said aloud. “Gordon. My sergeant-at-arms. He…followed me here.”
    “Are all your soldiers so well disciplined?”
    Damnation . “Gordon’s hardheaded, and he worries about me. If you don’t want him here, I’ll knock him over the skull and ship him back to Spain.”
    William looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “If you’re here as a gentleman, you should have someone attending to you.” As he finished speaking and on some unseen signal, Andrews turned the chair and rolled the viscount into the breakfast room.
    Phineas fell in behind them. “I thought I might go into Lewes today, if you’ll lend me some transportation.”
    “Bored with Quence already, are you?”
    Swearing again under his breath, Phineas went to the sideboard and looked over the selection of breakfast items. The spread seemed less lavish than he remembered, but after ten years of stale bread and meats of uncertain origin, he wasn’t about to complain.
    “Yesterday when I arrived I expected to see you bedridden,” he said slowly, choosing his words as carefully as he could. He’d become used to taking action, to making a quick assessment and reacting. Feeling his way without knowing any of the pertinent information necessary for even a conversation—he wasn’t accustomed to it, and he didn’t like it.