If it weren’t for Bromswell and that bitch, Josephine, the Countess of Windchester, Amelia would still be alive. He poured himself another drink from the decanter of whiskey on the table. He needed to forget all his troubles. The only way he could do that was to drink and find a warm body.
He groaned and covered his face with his gloved hands, trying not to think about lying with Julia.
He had been back in London a sennight, and in that time, Julia had ignored him completely. He kept reminding himself that her behavior was to be expected. But every glimpse of her at the breakfast table or playing with the children stirred up the fire burning inside of him. Not to mention the constant visits from that bastard St. Clara.
Julia had matured in his absence, had learned to care for others more than herself. She had always cared for her cousin, but now that love expanded to her cousin’s children, including his niece.
“I see you’ve seen the paper as well.” William Middleton, the Earl of Windchester, sat in the empty chair across from Henry.
Henry’s gaze snapped to the man that had betrayed his trust by having an affair with his sister behind his back. The crux of the situation was that he married another soon after the affair, abandoning Amelia and the baby to their own fate. Henry tried to remember that Windchester was not aware of Emily until Amelia returned to London after having the baby in France, but that simple knowledge did not assuage his temper.
Windchester was a shadow of his former self. His jubilant manner was subdued and melancholic. He was disheveled, the wrinkles in his tailcoat looked as if he had just pulled it off of the floor from the previous night. His dark green eyes were dull, not filled with their usual mischief.
“What are you doing here?” Henry’s voice was harsher than intended.
“Karrington demanded I come to the dinner party tonight, but first he thought we should have a talk.” Windchester reached over and grabbed the decanter and empty glass in front of Henry. The earl filled the glass nearly to the top.
“I have nothing to say to you. You used my sister for your own pleasures and lied to me for two years.” It had been years since Henry had learned of his friend’s betrayal, but seeing him again renewed his anger.
“Seems to me you have a lot to say about it.” Windchester reached over and took hold of the paper, scanning it with a look of hatred etched on his face.
“There you two are,” Karrington said as he made his way into the private room with Elijah. They took the empty seats around the table.
“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” Windchester growled.
Relaxing in his seat, Karrington smoothed out his coat. “I saw no need to warn him. He’s been a tad volatile lately.” He turned to Elijah who had taken the chair across from him. “Mr. Edwards, allow me to introduce the Earl of Windchester, the third of our little trio.” The duke waved his hand back and forth between them.
Elijah offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Lord Windchester.”
Shaking the offered hand, Windchester nodded to the man before taking a drink of the amber liquid. “I apologize in advance for whatever you witness here. We’re usually not so rude.”
“He’s fine. He’s been staying at my home for an entire week. He’s well acquainted with wild unruly children and an angry Lady Julia. He’s even wooed the grandmothers.” Karrington poured two drinks and passed one to Elijah.
“Yes, there is never a dull moment at their house. I hope I will be so blessed in the future. I can do without the scowling Lady Julia, but it is only at Henry.” Elijah tipped his glass toward Henry.
“Sod off,” he muttered, not enjoying the taunt.
It was impossible for anyone not to notice Julia’s loathing for him and his indifference toward her. Or so he hoped he was showing, but when he was sure that no one was watching, his gaze explored the long span of her neck. The pout in those pink, rosy lips he remembered kissing. The sound of her begging him for more when he stopped for fear of getting caught.
He would give it to her now, if she only asked.
Karrington laughed at his friend’s expense before he looked at the gossip sheet Windchester held. His expression became deadly. “The day they hang Bromswell can’t come soon enough. My only prayer is that they hang your ex-wife beside him.”
Henry’s head jerked from Remington to Windchester. “Ex-wife? When the hell did that happen?”
One of O’Brien’s sons came in holding two decanters of the owner’s finest whiskey and set them in the middle of the table. They joined the near-empty one.
“Thank you, Griffin,” Karrington said to the red-haired boy.
Windchester poured himself another drink. The whiskey was disappearing faster than water. “It was a long bloody process that nearly sent me to the poor house. We all know I had no funds, which was why I married the trollop in the first place.”
“It wasn’t that difficult with my duchess as an eyewitness. He was granted a parliamentary divorce. Now you are free to marry for love.” Karrington patted Windchester on the back.
“The only person I’ve ever loved perished in that fire.” Windchester’s voice was full of sorrow, his gaze searching for answers in his glass.
“Yet, I’ve been in London seven days and not once have you come to visit your daughter.” Henry slammed his open palm down on the table.
“Heartford,” Remington warned him.
