“No. No, none of that, old friend.”
“But, Jack—”
“But, George,no. I thank you. I esteem you. I scarcely deserve you, but no. I’ll not take a penny off you, loan or not. I can and will fix it myself.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing these last two weeks.” He gave Jack another assessing look. Did guilt leave physical marks? Were shame and longing twin tracks all over his face? They felt physical enough on the inside. “I did wonder.”
“I’m well on the way to recovery already. Now don’t give me that look. I’m aware everyone thinks me a careless fool, and I have been, but believe me that I’m able to fix my own mistakes.”
Unless, it seemed, they involved Lucy. But he pushed that thought aside.
George nodded slowly, expression speculative. “I do believe it, Jack. I believe you could do a great many things if you put your mind to it.”
Jack let out a humourless laugh, and he obviously hadn’t pushed the thought of Lucy very far from his head at allbecause, picking again at a seam in the leather upholstery, he found himself saying, “George…you know Lucy. It seems you now know her better than I. Why…why has everything gone wrong? Every time I meet her, it seems to end in some…some kind of disaster.” A score of memories flashed through his mind, leaving him cringing. “Ever since that first night at Almack’s. And I don’t understand it. We used to get along so well together. Everything was always easy and fun…and…and joyous. That’s what I remember, George, when I think back to my childhood with Lucy. Nothing but joy. And now everything is so damned difficult. And I don’t understand what’s changed.”
He stopped abruptly, aware of saying far more than he’d intended—and in far warmer tones than one should probably discuss a friend’s fiancée with the man himself. He couldn’t meet George’s eyes, but shifted in his seat, uncrossing his legs and tugging the window curtain back as though it would grant him a breath of fresh air. He should never have got in this damned carriage.
“Don’t you?” asked George quietly.
“Don’t I what?”
“Understand what’s changed. It seems obvious to me.”
“Then tell me!”
“You’ve both grown up. Lucy is a woman now. But you insist on treating her like a child.”
He scowled. “I don’t—I’m very aware she’s a woman, believe me.”
George merely regarded him steadily, no hint of jealousy, but Jack still flushed, guilty and hot. He twitched the curtain back again, muttering, “This damned traffic…”
If George knew Jack’s feelings… If he just said,“Look, George, I’ve made the worst damn mistake of my life and it’s killing me…”If he said, “She’s everything, I adore her to the point of pain…”or,“She lives in the root of my damned soul, and shealways has done, God help me, there’s no one else…”She was his, she washis…
If he said any of that. Or, hopefully, some saner, less mortifying version of it, then…then George would probably step aside. If Lucy wanted him to. He’d release her from her promise and hand her over, just as he’d so readily offered up his own fortune for Jack’s use.
But Lucy didn’t want that. Lucy had made her choice, and it was a wise one. The kind, temperate,wealthyGeorge… Jack could hardly foist his bankrupt self upon her. He was in no position to marry anyone.
So why was he thinking of it at all?
Because it was terrifying to let go, give her up…
Because he could tear the upholstery of this carriage with his bare hands at the thought of it…
Because…because in his heart of hearts, Jack found it hard to believe George truly loved her.
How could he sit there so calmly if he did, when another man was practically frothing at the mouth with ardent…ardentsomethingtowards her? Yearning… Regret…
Hecouldn’t have sat there so calmly. He couldn’t even stand this now, sitting across from Lucy’s soon-to-be husband. George’s parents came to town next week. The engagement would be public. Lucy would never cry off then. But why would Lucy ever want to? Jack didn’t know, only knew he was suddenly in danger of disliking the man sitting across from him, one of his dearest friends, and the sensation was horrible.
His hand was on the door latch even as the carriage jerked forward into ambling motion. He bid a hasty goodbye to the surprised George and jumped down from the moving carriage, narrowly avoiding getting run down by an irate tradesman driving a mule gig.
He stepped blindly from the road but turned with a wince as the gig took the paint off the wheel of an extremely smart coach further up the queue. The shouts of the coach driver mixed with the cursing of the tradesman, and Jack winced again in sympathy, recognising the coach as the stiff-necked Lord Cotereigh’s. Someone was in for a very bad night.
Though not as bad as his.
He didn’t stay to look, but left the snarled vehicles and swearing behind him, heading he knew not where.
“You insist on treating her like a child.”
