‘And Jake is a duke now and far too proper,’ Oliver mocked. ‘The pair of you are younger than me…’
‘Barely,’ Fred reminded him.
‘And yet, lately you act like old ladies. If I am to go to Paris and speak to the fellows at Club Plaisirs Nocturnesabout new entertainments for this place only to have the pair of you sell your shares and bow out of management, I would rather not make the trip.’
Though they had been close since childhood, they were grown men with responsibilities. Change was inevitable. Perhaps Oliver felt it more keenly and was worried about the loss of his old friends. ‘Do not fear on that account,’ Frederick said, to set his mind at rest. ‘I am still as committed as ever to see the place run smoothly.’
‘So that others might have fun where you refuse to.’ Oliver shook his head in disgust. ‘What will your wife say to the time you spend, here? Does she not fear you will be tempted?’
‘What can she say?’ Frederick said. If she uttered a word, other than profound thanks for getting her out of the mess she’d made, he had no wish to hear it. ‘I have no intention of allowing her to rule my life and set my schedule.’
‘But if she grows bored…’ Oliver said, giving him a significant look.
‘Then she can take up needlework, or whatever it is that women do when their husbands are not at home,’ Fred finished.
Oliver was shaking his head again. ‘Did you receive a blow to the head in battle that has knocked all the sense of out of you? Or do you really know so little about women, after all this time?’ He pointed towards the ceiling. ‘The bedrooms above us are full of bored wives and they are not painting watercolours. When their husbands are not home, they come here to find other men, or sometimes other women.’
‘But Georgiana is not like that,’ he said. ‘She is still an innocent.’
Oliver raised his eyebrows in surprise.
‘Mostly innocent,’ Fred corrected. ‘Certainly too naïve to go behind my back to spite me.’
‘Because you have been married for a day and a half,’ Oliver finished, then grinned. ‘And yet, she has already found a way to get around you.’
‘She did what?’ Fred leaned forward in his chair.
‘As I said before, my well-wishes were tepid at the ceremony, for I could not see what you would want with a milk-and-water miss. But now that I have got to know her better, I totally understand the attraction.’
‘You do.’ If he had not been honest enough to admit to his own friends the reason he was marrying, he had expected they would form some conclusion on their own. But did they seriously believe that it was a love match?
‘Indeed. If I were in any way inclined to marry, I might have snapped her up myself.’ Then he held up a hand to dismiss the idea, hurriedly pouring himself another drink. ‘Not that you need have any worries about my interference in your marriage. But knowing her as you do, you should realise that she is far too spirited to sit at home alone waiting for you to return.’
‘You think so, do you?’ Fred said, annoyed. The idea had not entered his head at all until Oliver had put it there.
‘A few more exploits like the one today and you will be the envy of every man in London. The girl is magnificent, Challenger.’ Oliver’s eyes were wide with admiration, as was the grin on his face.
‘Georgiana?’ Fred’s eyes narrowed as he poured another glass of brandy for himself, drinking deeply. ‘She is pretty, of course…’ Which was quite understating the case. From the first moment he’d seen her, he had decided to avoid her lest her beauty blind him towards her quite obvious faults. But what had his friend meant by ‘exploits’?
Oliver shook his head. ‘I will not deny that she is a looker,’ his friend agreed. ‘I am not blind, you know. But even though she claimed she could drive, I did not think she’d be such a dab hand with a whip.’
‘A what?’
‘A skilled driver,’ Oliver repeated. ‘This afternoon…’
‘She was shopping this afternoon,’ Fred said.
‘Not for long,’ Oliver said. ‘She drove my curricle back from Hounslow Heath,’ he continued, oblivious to Fred’s shock.
‘Drove, or raced?’ The road he was describing sounded like the Hounslow Road towards Colnbrook, a notorious straight that young men used to test the wind of their horses.
‘She tracked me down in Bond Street,’ Oliver admitted. ‘She was burdened with packages, so I offered her a ride back to your town house, and the next thing I knew…’
‘You gave her the reins,’ Fred said, shaking his head.
‘She bet me a guinea,’ Oliver added helplessly.
‘Oh. Well, then…’ he said, sarcastically. But Oliver could hardly be blamed. The girl was a corrupting influence on the best of men. ‘What were you thinking? She might have broken her neck. Then you could have taken your winnings from my dead wife’s reticule and bought me a funeral wreath for the front door.’
