“I’ll bring some glasses over,” she said, giving Henry a flirtatious smile. He was so tired. More wine was the last thing he needed, but he was too late in saying anything, and perhaps it was better he hadn’t. Markham needed to believe he was a drunken fool—and perhaps he was. He felt beyond sharp commands, close to the state of liberal goodwill that his father always found himself face-up in. A sense that the world had righted its injustices just for him, that he could do no wrong and lose nothing. That he was basking in the warmth of fate’s smile.
Fate, in Henry’s experience, had been nothing but fickle and rarely smiling. Still, he did his best to loosen his limbs and slump in his chair.
“Let’s finish this game,” he said.
Henry had not been to Louisa’s house in Arlington Street before, and it was with his head tipped back that he contemplated the elegant Grecian-style front and the steps that led to the front door. The flickering lamps cast indifferent light, and he still felt grimy from the tavern.
He raised his hand and knocked on the door. After a few moments, he knocked again. And again.
Eventually, a bolt was drawn and a portly, bushy-browed butler stood with a lamp in his hand.
“I’m here to speak with Lady Bolton.”
The butler stared him down impassively. “Her ladyship is asleep.”
“Already?” Henry frowned.
“It’s past two in the morning, sir.”
“Ah.” Later than he’d thought. The world swayed alarmingly. Somehow, the cold air had only served to make his inebriation worse. “Then I suppose you won’t grant me entry?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well.” Disappointment curdled in his gut, but he concealed it by thrusting the sealed tube under his arm at the butler. “Would you be so good as to present this to her ladyship when she arises?”
The butler stared down his nose at the offering before accepting it. “Very well, sir. Would you like me to convey a message?”
“Tell her that Lord Eynsham has . . .” There was the oddest lump in his throat. He cleared it and spoke through the obstruction. “Tell her that I came to see her.”
The butler’s face remained utterly impassive. “Is that everything?”
“In fact,” Henry said, finally alighting on an idea. “Perhaps you would like me to write a note? It would be easier than expecting you to remember.”
“My memory is impeccable, sir.”
“Even so, I think it would answer admirably.”
With an expression of great patience and forbearance, the butler stepped back to allow Henry into the house, directing him to a small morning room where there was a bureau containing writing paper and ink. After handing his package carefully to the butler’s care, he bent over the writing desk and dipped the pen in the ink.
Dearest Louisa,
I hope this may bring you a measure of relief, and will convince you of the depth of my affection.
Tomorrow, I leave for the country, and do not expect to return to London for the foreseeable future.
You have, as always, my heart.
Yours,
Henry
He signed with a flourish and stared stupidly at the words for a few moments, wishing they would stay in place rather than spinning so helplessly.
“Have you finished your note, sir?” the butler asked from behind him, and he started, rising from the chair.
“Yes. Indeed yes. Thank you for your time.” Remembering his manners at the last minute, he executed a crisp bow that was only marred by the fact he tripped over his own feet.
The butler blinked. “Would you like me to call a cab for you, my lord?”
