“I know. Don’t remind me.” He looked up. “How old are you now?”
“Too old. But nice try.”
“Damn.” Brent finished the last lemon tart. “Who was the unlucky miss?”
“Emmeline Southwick. And she’s quite lovely. But not my style, I’m afraid.”
“I remember her as small.”
“She’s grown up.” He shrugged. “As I said, some would consider her the ideal wife. I don’t.”
“Ah. Getting picky in our old age, are we?”
“Are you married, Brent?”
“Me? No.”
“Then shut up.” Reid stood. “And I’m about to throw you out because I have to go and transform myself into something markedly green in preparation for my appearance as the Mistletoe Marquess at the Fête.”
Brent stood as well. “Oh right. The presents. You get to hand them out.”
“Actually I don’t mind that part. The children are always a handful, but they’re genuinely thrilled to receive something from the Marquess. It’s fun.”
They reached the door and Brent accepted his cloak from a servant. “Well I’ll certainly be there. Wouldn’t miss it. Oh…” he turned back to Reid. “D’you think it would be all right if I brought my cousin along? First time and all that. We’re traveling together for convenience and since I needed to stop here, we both took rooms at the inn.”
“Of course. The more the merrier. It is almost Christmas, after all.” Reid smiled and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’d love to meet your cousin. All are welcome.”
Brent’s smile was a thing of beauty. “We’ll see you there.”
