“I’mfine,” Bobby insists, tugging at his collar and staring out the window to avoid their knowing eyes.
He’s not technically required at this luncheon. Meredith was guest enough for Albie. But then Uncle Dashiell asked if he would accompany Beth and Gwen so he could focus on Cordelia’s first event out, and how could Bobby refuse?
So here he is, lurching forward when the carriage stops outside of Stationers’ Hall, heart in his throat. He’s about to spend three hours in the same room as James Demeroven for the firsttime in a week and he doesn’t know how to feel about it, let alone how to handle it.
“Well, I suppose we should—” Albie says, giving him another worried look as the door opens and an umbrella is opened for Meredith.
“Yep,” Bobby says with forced brightness, gesturing for them to get out.
Albie manages to huddle under half of Meredith’s umbrella, the poor door attendant getting absolutely soaked in the process. Bobby hurries across the courtyard after them, entering the bright, vaulted entryway with wet hair.
He brushes himself off and shuffles inside the hall with Albie and Meredith. Albie’s smiling at just about everyone they pass, and the outer hall is packed with parliamentarians and their families, everyone milling about until the doors open into the main hall for luncheon.
Bobby stays close to Meredith, eyes flitting around the room. He should be looking for Beth and Gwen. Instead, there’s a clutch in his chest at every glimpse of sandy-brown hair. He doesn’t know if hewantsto see James or not.
He hasn’t been able to decide all week whether he’s angry, devastated, or disappointed. Or some horrible swirling combination of all three. All he knows is his stomach has been sour since James ran away, and no amount of food, conversation, or whisky has made it better.
“There you are,” he hears just as a smaller hand takes his arm.
He turns, his whole body sagging in relief to see Beth beside him, a pop of color in her pale-blue gown, with Gwen approaching behind her in a darker navy. “You’re a wonder,” he tells Beth.
She smiles while Gwen scoffs. “And me?”
“You’re surprisingly hard to spot with that bonnet on,” he returns.
She laughs and raises a hand. Bobby glances to his left and smiles at Uncle Dashiell and Aunt Cordelia as they approach. Aunt Cordelia looks radiant in a deep-blue dress. Her cheeks are still round and she gives him a smile that makes him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
“You look a little peaky, dear,” she says, reaching out to straighten his collar.
“I’ll be fine once we get some food,” he assures her.
It won’t fix the sleepless nights, or the gnawing unease, but sitting safely with his family, where he can’t run into James without warning, will do wonders for his nerves.
“Damn,” Beth mutters.
Bobby turns back to her, raising an eyebrow, and then James Demeroven appears behind Uncle Dashiell. He’s in a new suit, his hair freshly cut, standing straight, his face carefully blank. Beth’s hand tightens around Bobby’s arm as he takes a step back. James is looking everywhere but at Bobby and Bobby feels like his stomach might make a break for his mouth.
James is right there, still so handsome, and wonderful, but buttoned up again. This is the man who ran from him, not the man who shared his bed. But oh, if the world could be different—
“How are you, Lord Demeroven?” Aunt Cordelia asks brightly.
“I’m well, thank you. And yourself? You look wonderful,” James manages, only a slight waver to his voice.
Bobby forces himself to look away while Aunt Cordelia talks with James, turning to Beth and Gwen. Meredith steps into their little circle immediately and begins rattling off the laundry list of events they’ll be attending in the coming week leading up to their departure to Cowes for the regatta.
Four dinners, five teas, and Albie’s arranged for at least two card games. Beth and Gwen will have to join them for everything. And Bobby will simply shuffle after Meredith, from eventto event, turning off his brain as best he can. He’s sure he’ll be miraculously out of the house anytime there’s so much as a whisper of parliamentary business.
But more strategic social separation won’t come until tomorrow. Today, Aunt Cordelia is inviting James to sit at their luncheon table and Bobby feels himself die a little inside.
“You want me to deck him?” Gwen whispers as the doors to the main hall open and they join the crowd shuffling forward. She takes his other arm and Bobby forces himself to smile through it.
“Maybe later. Would be a little conspicuous,” he says.
Gwen nods seriously. “You just give me the sign.”
Bobby squeezes her arm to his side and takes solace in her solidarity. They make their way into the room, following Uncle Dashiell, Aunt Cordelia, and James toward one of the more central round tables. The gorgeous stained-glass windows throw muted colors across the white linen tablecloths bedecked with gilded centerpieces. The dark oak paneling adds to the atmosphere, and were he in a better mood, he’d be interested in the various shields and crests mounted on the walls. But Bobby can’t admire the room, not when facing the next terrible three hours of emotional torture.
Thankfully, Gwen, Beth, Albie, and Meredith make quick work of ensuring Bobby and James are seated as far from each other as possible. But that puts them on opposite sides of the table, staring at each other for the first time in a week. For the first time since Bobby bared his heart to James, and James ran away.
