“They insulted Juliet,” Rafe murmured under his breath.
“Everyone insults everyone.” Simon brushed it off. “You’ve heard of the ton, right? All women and men are like cats in a street fight. They’ll lash out at anything if they think it makes them look like the top cat in town.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose, it’s just…” Rafe cursed and walked on down the river, forcing Simon to hurry to chase after him. “The same thing happened the other night with my father.”
“What? Your father?” Simon muttered in shock.
“I was at a gambling hall when I overheard three gentlemen saying that I must have gotten my wild ways from my father, Marcus Fitzroy. My father was a good man.”
“I know that.”
“No. You don’t, Simon. He was the greatest of men and had always been respected as such, up until then. No matter what I’ve done with my life, I do not want him disparaged. His reputation should stay intact. The Fitzroy family name should stay intact.” Rafe sighed heavily, realizing what the last eight years had done when it came to gossip. “My intention to drive myself into oblivion these last few years is now damaging all of those around me. I expect you have been dragged into the gossip too, though you have never openly complained about it.”
“Nor would I,” Simon said simply.
They reached a bridge over the river, and both stopped there, halting to look out at the red and yellow leaves that were falling from the trees.
“Rafe, are you hinting at something here?”
“Perhaps.” Rafe leaned on the side of the bridge. “Maybe it’s time I changed, a little. If I cleaned up my reputation, then people would not disparage my father, or Juliet, or you, so much.”
“Do not change on my account, old boy.” Simon put his back to the railing and folded his arms.
“The fact you would never ask me to do so is even more testament as to why I should.” Rafe shrugged a hand at his friend. “I do not want you damaged by association to me.”
Simon smiled rather ruefully, turning and looking out to the river once more.
“I find it rather hard to believe it is possible for a man to turn over a new leaf just like that.” He caught one of the leaves that had fallen from a nearby tree and had been taken by the wind. He turned it over, resting it on the railing across the bridge. “No man is that simple. Besides, you were three sheets to the wind just last night!” With that, he crunched the leaf flat beneath his palm.
“I know, I know,” Rafe sighed, “it was a sort of farewell to my past life this time though. Besides, I did not say it would be easy, but it’s time, Simon. As you said, I can’t drink myself into an early grave. What would my father say if he greeted me on the other side so soon?”
“Knowing your father, he’d clip you around the ear,” Simon said with a chuckle.
“And send me hurling back to earth,” Rafe replied with his own little laugh. He’d had the best of fathers in the former Duke of Ravensworth. A good, stern man, who was not afraid to point out the foolishness of Rafe’s actions when everyone else flattered him for his title.
And he was one of the few people who supported my courtship with Juliet at the time. I owe the old man this much.
“It’s time, Simon,” Rafe said in a more somber tone, firmer this time. “I need to change.”
“Well, we shall see what happens.” Simon gave a small smile. Then, a thought seemed to light up his features and he pushed himself off the bridge’s railing. “Actually, thereisa masked ball tonight if you are truly serious. Come, and dress up in a mask so great no one will see your face. You can attempt to improve your life for a short while, what do you say?”
“Tonight? Hmm. Yes, I suppose that could work.” Rafe nodded and leaned on the railing beside Simon, his mind working quickly. It could be a good chance to act the perfect gentleman all evening, then surprise the company he had been in by taking his mask off at the end of the night. Yes, something like Vindice from The Revenger’s Tragedy.
Though I may have taken the wrong message from that.
“Don’t look now, but someone wants you.” Simon pointed down the riverbank which they had just walked up.
A young errand boy was running toward the pair of them, waving a letter in the air.
“How do you know he’s for me?” Rafe asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Simon.
“Because my correspondences wait at home for me on a card tray. Only you are so difficult to find that message boys have to chase after you.”
“Thanks, Simon,” Rafe said wryly, turning as the message boy reached him.
“The Duke of Ravensworth?” the boy asked, bowing once.
“In the flesh.”
