William did not notice Luke’s cider, ordering his own ale, and Luke decided to explain after hearing about his friend’s more important challenges.
William described his father’s last failure, a poorly managed shipping investment with his cronies. The shipment had been ruined, a total loss, and William would likely have to release some employees. His frustration showed in his deep frown and deeper gulp of ale. He’d told Luke and Nate months ago that he’d lost all respect for his father once he’d seen the state of the earldom and the man’s ongoing lack of attention to it.
Nate shook his head. “’Tis horrid, like one last slap from the grave, if I may say so.”
Luke swung a hand with a glass and a cheroot in it. “Well at least ’tis the last. Hear, hear.” He raised the glass, and they all toasted.
Will sighed. “He’s undone over a year of work. I am just thankful I had gained enough ground that we aren’t begging on the street.”
Still unsure how his friend had invested so successfully, Luke felt a stab of jealousy. Recalling what Belle had told him about Charlotte teaching young women, he realized William had also benefited from her knowledge. He half-joked, “Yes, well done, chap. I confess I must have missed that class at university, I’ve had nowhere near the returns on my investments that you have.”
“Perhaps you drank more of them away?” Nate murmured.
Luke elbowed him, faking joviality. In reality, the dig hurt. He’d been obvious in his lack of control, and he was trying to face that head-on. Reminders of both his friends rescuing him from gaming hells in the past and pouring him into bed shamed him. He glugged more cider, which reminded him to enlist his friends’ support in his ongoing recovery.
William smiled, although the curve of his lips was tinged with sadness, and confirmed Luke’s suspicions. “’Twasn’t Oxford, South. ’Twas Charlotte, Lady Peterborough to you. The lady you doltishly addressed as a wench in her own home.”
Of course. The person William and Belle had in common.
He raised a hand to the serving girl, gesturing for another round and rolled his eyes. “I apologized for that, old chap. Are you ever going to let me forget it?”
William snickered.
The other two ordered another round. Concerned about William’s reaction to Charlotte’s rejection, Luke also wanted to distract them from the fact that he wasn’t adding his own drink. He asked, “You know, we haven’t seen you here much these past months. You’ve been at the ever-so-lovely Lady Peterborough’s. Why are you not there now?”
William shook his head, lips turning down. “She won’t see me. As far as I can tell, she is not even home.”
“Wait, do you mean she found you inheriting an earldom awful enough that she hied herself off somewhere?” Luke joked, trying to keep things light so his expression would not give his knowledge of Charlotte’s whereabouts away.
“What, was her first marriage to an earl so horrible it put her off for life? Or is she wealthy enough to want to keep a string of young men to play with, but never wed?” Nate added.
“Watch it!” William sat up. “I’ll not have you speak of her like that. Do you really think I’d be someone’s plaything?”
Nate shrugged, muttering almost to himself, “If the sex was good...”
Luke roared with laughter a little too hard and loud for the topic, preoccupied with the need to confess his sins to his friends.
William glowered, and Nate changed the subject to a funny interaction with a customer, reminding Luke of the point of the evening—to cheer his friend.
When the evening ended without Nate asking him about the cider, he took it as an excuse to delay the inevitable. His lips twisted in derision. Perhaps they were enjoying not having to pour him into his bed too much to question it.
Luke walked Williamback to his house as though headed to his own townhome, then changed course to Belle’s, hoping she had avoided drinking sherry all evening with Charlotte. He wanted to celebrate. He’d conquered the pull of the bottles of liquid gold behind the bar, and was more than ready to return to her preoccupation with his chest hair.
As he rounded the house to the kitchen door, he grew excited about the potential of her following thatT.
Luke crept up the servants’ stairs, the candle in his hand casting eerie flickers. The heels of his shoes clicked against the wood despite his best efforts to be silent, so he bent to unbuckle them and slip them off. No point in waking up the entire house. Turning to continue up with them clenched in one hand, he lifted his candle to find Belle standing at the top of the steps in her red nightrail and wrap, hands on hips.
“Hallo.” He grinned at her, happy she was awake so they might revisit the prior night’s conversation.
“Clodpate. You’re louder than a herd of elephants. Get up here and into my room.”
“I am at your service, milady.”A chap could hope.He bowed when he reached the top of the stairs. “How do you know what a herd of elephants sounds like?”
She shoved him into the room and clicked the door shut. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “How many drinks?”
For a moment he flashed back to standing in front of The Earl, being reprimanded about grades when he’d tried his best. He’d long ago stopped trying to earn his father’s respect, however, so this hurt worse. He wanted Belle to be proud ofhim, and her doubting his self-control pierced his balloon of happiness.
Reminding himself he had to do things because he wanted them, not to impress others, he straightened. Glaring, he answered, “Not even one, but gee, thank you for the trust.”
