The Sleeping Partner by Madeleine E. Robins Page A

sir. Come tell this—woman—that your wife don’t require her services.”
    Miss Tolerance heard footfall behind her and turned to see in the doorway a prosperous looking gentleman of perhaps thirty years. He was dressed well but without pretension to high fashion; his hair was cropped, but not too close, his neckcloth and shirt points were of moderate height, and the buttons on his coat were no more than an inch in diameter. He was a little taller than average, of unremarkable build—in fact, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the man at all. He might have been a prosperous squire from any county in the nation.
    Miss Tolerance took a sharp breath. The unremarkable man was known to her; his name was Adam Brereton, and he was her brother.
     

Chapter Five
    Miss Tolerance was so surprised that she neither spoke nor heard what her host was saying. As she watched him, Sir Adam entered, closed the door behind him, and stood before it with arms crossed, as if to bar the way. He did not regard her with any surprise or recognition; either he had known before she arrived that Sarah Tolerance was Sarah Brereton, or he did not recognize her at all. Should she reveal herself? Not here and now, certainly—she doubted that Sir Adam would want his ruined sister to declare their relation before Lord Lyne, who was—his father-at-law?
    Lyne, turned back to the fire, was speaking.
    “I beg your pardon?” She turned back to him. “I am afraid—I did not hear what you said.”
    “What part did you not hear?”
    “I apologize, my lord, but I must ask you to repeat the whole of what you said. I beg you will forgive a moment’s inattention; it is rather close in this room.” There, let him think the heat had her close to swooning.
    “I said that you were to cease insinuating yourself into my household affairs,” Lyne said.
    “Yes, sir. So you did.” Miss Tolerance could feel her brother watching. Resolutely she put the thought of him from her mind and concentrated on Lord Lyne. “What I do not understand is the reason for it. Has Miss Thorpe been found? Is there dissatisfaction with my work? I have not had much time to complete the task I—”
    “If I say you are to stop, you baggage—” Lyne looked at her over his shoulder; his thick brows were drawn down in a scowl and his lips were pressed thin. Light glancing off his spectacles hid his eyes.
    “My name is Tolerance, Lord Lyne.”
    “I know that!” the man barked. “D’you think I do not know that?” He turned away from the fire and, without inviting her to sit, took a chair himself. Miss Tolerance knew well that no great courtesy was due to her as a Fallen Woman, but she believed the baron’s rudeness licensed some brusqueness on her part.
    “That you are angry, sir, does not authorize you to speak to me as if I were a fishmonger’s drab.”
    Lyne’s eyebrows raised a fraction. His mouth moved, as if it were seeking something devastating to say.
    “You have taken it upon yourself to go hunting for the girl,” he said at last.
    “Taken it upon myself, sir? No. I am a businesswoman, I cannot afford to go seeking runaway girls unless I am hired to do so.” She turned to include Sir Adam Brereton and recognized his expression from their childhood: he believed that there was trouble, that he might be in for his share of it, and that he might be able to lay the whole of it off upon her. As for the source of the trouble, his eyes kept returning to Lyne. He had not recognized her. “Surely your—wife? Lady Brereton must have told you as much.”
    “Lady Brereton has no authority in this matter,” Lyne said flatly.
    Miss Tolerance gave no sign of her anger; half a dozen years in business had taught her to maintain the illusion of composure. But she took a seat, all uninvited, and smiled pleasantly.
    “My dear sir, if you have washed your hands of your younger daughter’s fate, it becomes a matter for any other person who has the kindness to concern