‘Plans which, as they are in their fragile beginnings, I cannot share, old friend. You will learn of them when the time is right.’
‘The counsel of friends can be most illuminating.’
Liam nodded tersely, still refusing to take his eyes off his plate, though at the rate he was devouring the meal upon it, tasting none of it, the distraction would be short-lived.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to confide in his friend, didn’t want to trust him with everything—only he couldn’t. There was no telling what either of them would say or do, what would be left of their friendship if he revealed it all.
The table fell into silence again, the delicate tinkling of cutlery and refilling of wine glasses the only sounds.
‘Well, whatever your plans,’ Spencer said finally, wiping the corners of his mouth delicately, ‘society will be enthralled when you finally decide to grace it with your presence. Already the mamas and debutantes are working themselves into a frenzy to ensure they are thoroughly prepared for the Disappeared Earl. Why, when we were in town before Christmas, you were all that was on anyone’s lips—isn’t that right, Freddie?’
‘Indeed,’ Freddie agreed warily, eyeing both friends, careful not to put himself in the midst of what he sensed was a conversation verging on less than amicable. ‘I expect you will have a most entertaining Season.’
‘That is an understatement, Freddie,’ Spencer chuckled. ‘Novelty is all that keeps those creatures entertained, and you, my dear Reid, are the most novel thing to happen since Napoleon escaped Elba.’
‘Are you not one of those creatures, then?’ Liam said coldly, his irritation growing. He had managed to avoid talk of the future, and his plans so far; he would not be taken in now. A flash of hurt shone in his friend’s eyes, but he forged on. ‘As for the Season, I have absolutely no reason to take part in that dreadful occasion. I have quite enough to satisfy me here at Thornhallow.’
The silence which followed was painfully tense but thankfully short, as Liam nodded to Thomas and then began the dance of clearing the table, and setting it for dessert.
‘Yes, well, I do hate to notice, Reid, but comfortable though you may be,’ Spencer drawled, swirling the vintage red Liam was now sad Thomas had unearthed from the cellars, ‘there is a lack.’
‘A lack,’ Liam repeated, raising a brow.
‘The servants, Reid. Indeed, the whole management of this house. I know you are accustomed to much more savage conditions than these,’ he forged on.
Liam clenched the arms of his chair so tightly he might have torn them off. Better that than unleash the well of anger inside him at Spencer, who was still his friend, and a guest, even if he couldn’t quite see hisfriendat the moment.
‘But, truly, you need a proper hand here.’
‘Mrs Hardwicke has everything well in hand,’ Liam managed to say evenly enough, through gritted teeth. ‘She keeps things as I wish them to be.’
‘I’m sure she does.’ Spencer smiled. He paused, just long enough for everyone to think they might make it out of what was quickly becoming a dreadful evening, alive. ‘But this house—as do all grand houses—requires a mistress to guide it.’
That was it.
The last of Liam’s patience snapped.
He could endure an interrogation—indeed, he’d expected one. It wasn’t precisely Spencer’s fault that every plan Liamhadmade was now shattered into a million pieces. He could endure the vague insinuations about his lifestyle. What he couldn’t, he found, was any insult on Rebecca, or his household, paired with an overt if subtle attempt at matchmaking.
He’d never thought his friend would succumb to the business as his mother had, but here they were.
And he’d had enough.
‘As far as I’m concerned, Mrs Hardwicke is mistress of this house,’ he said, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them, pinning Spencer with a stare to shatter ice.
The entire room froze.
From Freddie, who had just reached for his glass, to Gregory, who was laying out terrines of jellied fruit on the sideboard.
Spencer matched Liam’s stare for a moment, then his eyes flicked to the doorway at Liam’s back, and a smirk grew on his lips. Only too late did Liam realise what precisely Spencer had fixed his attention upon.
No... What have I done?
‘Well, then, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Spencer said congenially, though there was as much ice in his tone as there was in Liam’s eyes. ‘It seems you are to be complimented indeed for all your efforts.’
Liam’s voice died in his throat as he turned just enough to see Rebecca standing in the doorway, frozen just like the rest of them, as she handed Thomas a coffee tray.
He felt her shame and her hurt radiating off her in waves, and it kept him silent even as he wished to salvage what he’d done. Her duty, her pride—he knew how important those things were to her. How much a part of her they were, and now... He had shamed her—before guests, before a peer, before her own staff—all but announcing to the world what they’d done.
