Reginald reaches out for his own scone with a frown. “Your mother won’t be happy.”
“I went, didn’t I?”
Reginald gives him a disapproving look. James crushes a bit of scone between his fingers, agitated.
“There’ll be other balls,” he says.
Reginald bobs his head. “Of course, of course.” He takes a bite of his scone and chews thoughtfully. It almost lulls James into a false sense of security. “And Mr.Mason?”
James groans again and drops his head. “Stop it.”
“You’ve got to give me something,” Reginald insists. “Allthose summers when you were home from Oxford, waxing poetic, and you never even talked to him. Surely,surely, you spoke tonight.”
James squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, before looking up to meet Reginald’s rampant curiosity. “He’s fine.”
“Fine?” Reginald huffs. “That’s all I get? My years of loyalty, my sympathy biscuits, my words of wooing wisdom—”
James shushes him, his shoulders going up as he glances back toward the foyer. But all is quiet, which means, for better or worse, no one is coming to save him.
“Tell me you at least plucked up the courage to talk to the man now that you’re tangentially connected.”
James blows out a breath and looks back at Reginald. “We talked.”
Reginald glowers at him. “Out with it, Viscount.”
The title makes him wince and straighten his shoulders all at once. He’s a viscount now. He can face his cook’s teasing. He danced, he rubbed shoulders, he... made possibly the world’s least charming impression on blasted Bobby Mason—
“Well?” Reginald prompts.
“He’s nosy,” James decides, returning to picking at his scone so he won’t have to look Reginald in the eye. “And Lady Gwen says he’s a poor dancer. My cousin likes him, but it seems he’s truly just a pretty face.”
He trails a finger through the remains of his scone in the ensuing silence, hoping perhaps Reginald will take that as enough truth for the night and leave him be. Instead, when the silence has lasted long enough that it’s uncomfortable, James raises his eyes to find Reginald waiting, entirely unconvinced.
“That’s it? The great Bobby Mason, wonder of Oxford, protagonist of half your stories, is just a stuffed shirt? Surely not.”
James shrugs. “Don’t know what else to tell you,” he says,playing at nonchalance. “He’s gotten pretty muscular since school.” Reginald’s mouth twitches and James hurries to add, “And all he wanted to talk about was the Medical Act.”
“That’s not enough substance for you?”
“And the clubs,” James says quickly. “He kept telling me I’d need to learn to gamble.”
Reginald furrows his brow and James works to keep his face blank. He probably didn’t need to lay it on quite so thick about the gambling, especially given what Lord Havenfort told him about how the late Viscount Mason wasted away the Mason fortune before his untimely death. But he doesn’t want to talk about the clubs, doesn’t want to think about having to hobnob with more of these men in small, crowded spaces. Doesn’t want to consider them judging him and finding him as lacking as his stepfather does.
And since he doesn’t like to frequent the usual clubs, he hardly thinks he’ll get along with Bobby Mason, who seems to be all about them. Better that he never discovers how little Bobby Mason could care for him.
Not that he’s been dreaming of meeting the man since school, only to find himself tongue-tied and anxious to the point of rudeness in the face of his beauty up close. No. He just simply doesn’t care what Bobby Mason thinks. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. It’s easier that way.
“Well, if Bobby Mason isn’t the catch we thought, were there any other pretty faces to consider?”
James glances back toward the hallway to the foyer again and waits, listening. But they’re still safely alone.
“Not really,” he says, turning back to Reginald. “Wasn’t a lot of time to look or talk to anyone outside of Lord Havenfort’s lords, and they’re...”
“Not who you’re looking to meet,” Reginald agrees. “Well, Thomas’ standing invitation is still there. He would love to have you at the club, introduce you to some nice gentlemen.”
James feels his shoulders coming back up. “Right.”
Reginald’s eyes soften. “It’ll be just like back home, only fancier. You’ll see.”
