Gentlemen Formerly Dressed by Sulari Gentill

be lenient.
    George Allen gave the matter his personal attention, impressing all and sundry with his extraordinary command of legal maxims in their original Latin. He made representations to a variety of people and eventually the poet was released. As a special favour to the younger Mr. Sinclair, Allen also secured the release of a certain Cecil F. Buchan. Resigned to the follies and indiscretions of young men, and financially invested in retaining the business of both Sinclair brothers, the wily lawyer mentioned nothing of Buchan to Wilfred.
    Having been formally charged, Milton was required to present before the courts the following month. Rowland would not hear ofreturning to Sydney without him no matter what Wilfred directed or threatened. And so the Sinclair brothers were at odds, but that was not unusual.
    The sun had risen by the time Rowland finally escorted Allie Dawe to her Belgravia residence. On the doorstep she’d started to cry. “It’s all ruined,” she wept. “My career is in tatters and you’ll never speak to me again for inviting you to such a place. First Uncle Alfred and now this… Whatever must you think of me, Mr. Sinclair? Do you hate me for inviting you to that den of inequity and vice?”
    â€œTo be honest, Miss Dawe, I was having rather a good time until the constabulary arrived,” Rowland said kindly and quite sincerely. “But I do think that chap Erroll might have warned you.”
    â€œYou’ve been so understanding, Mr. Sinclair.” Allie took the handkerchief he offered her and wiped her eyes. “I’ve been quite frightened since Uncle Alfred died. I’m not sure what to do. I thought if I could sing, I’d be able to look after mother and myself even without Uncle Alfred’s help.” She broke down again. “I’m not sure how things could be any worse.”
    Rowland wasn’t entirely sure what to do himself. He’d run out of handkerchiefs.
    Allie clutched his arm. “Will I ever see you again, Mr. Sinclair? I could not blame you for wanting to leave me and my troubles to whatever cruel fate has in store!”
    Rowland smiled. Despite what he sensed was a genuine panic, Allie Dawe had quite a flair for the melodramatic. “I’d better come in and explain to your mother, don’t you think?”
    The housekeeper opened the door and, overjoyed to see Allie, shouted for the lady of the house. Mrs. Dawe came slowly down the stairs wearing a sky blue matinee jacket of chiffon and feathers over a matching floor-length nightgown. Briefly, Rowland wondered ifLord Pierrepont had ever tried on this particular ensemble—it was at least, as far as nightgowns went, more appropriate for a man of his age than the revealing negligee in which he’d been killed.
    Mrs. Dawe paused mid-stair, throwing back her head and placing her hand limply against her forehead. She held the pose for several seconds before she resumed her descent.
    â€œAllie darling,” she said, allowing the girl to kiss her offered cheek. “I haven’t slept a wink worrying about you—I have the most dreadful headache. Oh, where have you been? I expected you home hours ago.”
    Rowland waited as Allie explained. Quite predictably, Mrs. Dawe gasped, stumbled towards a convenient chaise lounge and fainted.

    â€œDrink this.” Edna handed him a steaming cup from the tray that Beresford had placed on the sideboard.
    Rowland was less than enthusiastic. He wasn’t sure he liked malted milk. Still, he drank it obediently.
    Edna curled up on the settee beside him.
    Milton was already stretched out asleep on the other couch, and Clyde snored softly in an armchair. Their dinner jackets had been tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, their ties removed and the collar studs undone, but that was as much preparation for sleep as they could manage. Rowland had dozed off for a few minutes but had woken soon after into a