The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Twenty-One

"So the two of you have met." Tony looked between Byrne and his blasted brother, delighted. "Why didn't you say, Browning?"

Byrne turned away, taking a moment to collect himself as he poured that damned whiskey. He needed it even more now. He tossed it back before pouring another. At least it wasn't Reginald. Byrne would have knocked him flat the moment he saw him. Oliver only avoided such a fate because he'd been but a child back then. Though he'd certainly willingly played his part, hadn't he?

"I didn't think it signified," Oliver Browning said. "We've not seen each other much."

That much was true. Byrne had turned him away every time he attempted it, though it didn't seem to stop him. Every once in a while, the fool would turn up at his offices, his home, or other times he'd shown up at parties Byrne happened to be attending or even attempt to accost him on the street.

Oliver cleared his throat. "I am, however, looking forward to speaking more, Mr. Byrne."

Byrne didn't even grunt in response. He'd never believe a word a Browning spoke... or wrote. He'd written as well, honeyed words about how they were brothers, how he wished to know him. According to the good doctor, Browning knew a lot more than Byrne wished, likely from the papers. While Byrne couldn't very well help that, he could keep him from knowing any more. He had no way of knowing what he would do with what information he got, after all.

Or perhaps ruination wasn't his aim. Perhaps he was so relentless because he expected something. As Byrne had grown richer, the Brownings had grown poorer. Perhaps the younger Mr. Browning thought Byrne might take pity on his "family." And why should he? They had shown no kindness and certainly no mercy to him.

"B-but we know some of the same people," Oliver was saying. "Do we not, Mr. Byrne?"

"Aye, that we do," Byrne replied as he turned back, wondering if Oliver was trying to intimidate him, remind him of that night.

It wasn't working, if so, though Byrne did note that, when Oliver took his seat again, taking up his own glass, it shook slightly. Perhaps it was the cold as he was still looking rather damp. Or was he the one who was intimidated? If so, good. He had no right to intrude this way.

He'd not changed much since the last time Byrne had spotted him, or avoided him, more like. Really, it seemed he hadn't changed much since the very first time Byrne saw him, cowering behind a pillar as their father had Byrne tossed out. Oliver might have gotten taller through the years, but he was still a round young man. There wasn't much of his father in him, except perhaps the color of his eyes, a very grey blue, but without the sharp brow that his father, brother and, unfortunately, Byrne shared. His face was chubby, with a youthful appearance and an open, almost innocent, countenance, which he probably used quite artfully. It was likely why Tony took pity on him.

"What a small world it is!" Tony enthused, blind to the tension. "I'd never met young Mr. Browning here, but I am acquainted with his older brother. A year below me at Eton. He was a... fine fellow."

Byrne could tell when Tony struggled to find something nice to say of someone. If they were alone, he might know how Tony really felt about Reginald Browning.

"Shame we didn't keep touch," Tony went on, another falsehood. "But he went on to Cambridge, poor man, while I chose Oxford."

Oliver tore his eyes from Byrne and back to Tony, struggling to smile. "I wonder why. Oxford is so much farther from your family home."

"You've answered your own question there," Tony said with a laugh before turning to Byrne. "Anyhow, this one showed up and wondered if he might come in out of the rain for a spell. He was going home from Cambridge with all his trunks in a curricle, of all things."