Before The Scandal by Suzanne Enoch

priority at the local granary, but that had been twenty years ago. He didn’t know of anything more recent, but he preferred to keep on the side of caution until he had more details about what was going on.
    “You still haven’t introduced yourself, friend,” Lord Charles commented. He dipped his right hand into the right pocket of his greatcoat.
    He was probably armed, then. Phineas wasn’t, except for the knife stuck into his right boot. As far as he was concerned that made the odds about even, but he didn’t know nearly enough to push for a confrontation. Not yet. “Phineas Bromley,” he said, intentionally excluding Gordon from the introductions. The less the others thought about the sergeant, the freer he would be to make a first move unopposed.
    Lord Anthony blinked. “Bromley? Are you a relation of Lord Quence?”
    Phineas couldn’t read anything more than surprise in his expression. “His brother.”
    “The army fellow?”
    “I’m on leave.” As he supplied that, he noted that despite the fact that they were standing beside an overturned coach with the Quence coat of arms clearly emblazoned on the door, no one had asked anything other than the most general of questions about it. Did any of them have reason to be less than surprised to see the aftermath of the accident?
    Lord Charles strolled closer, his gaze taking in the yellow horse and the old jacket Phineas had donned for their investigation. “The army, eh? You look more like one of those gypsies who wanders the countryside, robbing people.”
    “Charles,” Lady Claudia chastised again, though she sounded more amused than troubled on his behalf.
    “I meant no offense, Sergeant,” Smythe continued.
    “Colonel,” Gordon burst out, his face reddening.
    “Lieutenant Colonel, actually,” Phineas said easily. “No offense taken, Lord Charles.”
    “Well, Colonel Bromley,” Lady Claudia said, flicking the ends of her reins against her thigh, “I hope to see you at the public ball tonight. It’s been rather dull here.”
    “I shall do my utmost,” he drawled. “My coach does seem to have suffered an accident.”
    Lord Charles Smythe swung back onto his horse. “And we’ll suffer an accident if we don’t return to Beaumont in time for breakfast.”
    Phineas watched until they vanished behind the hedgerows. Then he dismounted, moving over to the undercarriage of the coach and squatting down. “Take a look at this,” he said.
    Gordon moved in and bent down beside him, resting a hand on one of the airborne wheels. “That’s a terrible clean break,” he observed.
    “Yes, it is.” Phineas had seen malicious destruction before, and this looked like it. Nothing he could prove, of course, but he added it to the list of bad-luck items he’d compiled thus far.
    “So what d’ye plan to do about it?” his sergeant asked.
    Phineas straightened, wiping his hands on his thighs before he clapped his valet on the back. “What we’re going to do, Thaddeus,” he said smoothly, “is ride into town and see what we can do about getting another carriage. I want to go to that ball tonight.”
    “I should’ve stayed in bloody Spain. It would’ve been safer, I’m beginning to think.”
    “You’re likely correct. But this is turning out to be much more interesting.”

Chapter 8
    Phineas hired the resident blacksmith and a team of heavy work horses to pull the Quence coach upright and render the broken vehicle capable of limping into Lewes for more permanent repairs. While Gordon oversaw that, Phin rode to a local coach house, where he rented a curricle. He would have preferred a coach, but most of the gentry had returned to the country from their Season in London, and none were available. And he needed to attend the public ball.
    He drove back by the blacksmith’s to collect Gordon. “What are the damages going to be?” he asked, as the Scotsman tied his horse to the curricle and climbed onto the seat beside him. Never mind that a servant