“Samantha, you idiot.”
“Oh, of course not.” Heathcliff gave his friend an irritated glare. “Though she may be having second thoughts about me.”
“You’re far too hard on yourself. The girl clearly adores you, but why, I haven’t a clue,” he teased. “But to be honest, you’re well matched, and she does have a deep regard for you, which is more than encouraging.”
Heathcliff gave a thoughtful nod.
“And you care deeply for her, so what is there to be concerned about?”
“Not being enough.” Heathcliff spoke the truth before he thought better of it. That was the rub when with a longtime friend; the walls that were usually fortified were nowhere to be seen.
“I thought we’d discussed this,” Lucas said.
“That would imply I listened to you,” Heathcliff responded, then took a seat on the edge of his desk.
“Blast it all. Very well, just try. And when you do fail—because you will, we all do—be a man about it and say you’re sorry. And when she fails you—because she will—you forgive her. You don’t hold it over her head like some medieval sword. You let it bloody go.”
“A medieval sword?” Heathcliff asked. “That was the best metaphor you could think of?”
Lucas shot him a frustrated glare. “Is that the only part you heard?”
“No.”
“Good answer. And it was a metaphor that was quite apt. You have that ancient suit of armor in the hall; I see it every time I come in. It was quite poetic for me to use it in a turn of phrase.” Lucas shrugged, the gesture implying he was impressed with himself.
Heathcliff wasn’t in the mind to disagree, actually. Bastard had a point.
“By your silence, I can tell you agree.”
“Regardless, I see your point. And it is a valid one.”
“Very good. Now, Liliah is upstairs helping your bride get ready. Have you spoken to Mrs. Keyes yet? What of Iris?”
Heathcliff strode over to the bellpull and rang for a maid. “I haven’t asked Mrs. Keyes anything yet. I assumed she was quite busy with all the undertakings of the day. But I’ll ask her to spare a moment to give us more details.”
“Good,” Lucas replied.
When a maid entered, Heathcliff bid her fetch the housekeeper, and soon she herself appeared.
“Good morning, my lords. How may I assist?” she asked, her face slightly flushed, as if still bustling about with preparations.
“I’m awaiting your instructions.” Heathcliff gave a charming grin aimed in her direction.
She arched a brow. “I’ve taught you well, I have,” she teased. “Your bride is up with her sister, as I’m sure you assumed. The breakfast will be ready in perfect time, and Iris is with me, assisting with the arrangements on the table. You’ll also be pleased to know I instructed Cook to prepare treacle tart.”
Heathcliff could have hugged her, but instead, he offered her a very grateful smile, and said, “Thank you. You’re the most wonderful housekeeper in the world.”
“How well I know it,” she answered with a cheeky grin.
“Well, it sounds as if the only thing left to do is prepare the groom.” Lucas turned to Heathcliff. “After you.” He gestured to the door.
“Am I being pushed out of my own study?” Heathcliff asked.
“Yes. Now hurry up. We don’t have all day.” Lucas sounded just like a demanding mother, and Heathcliff shot him a peevish glare.
“This is far too much fun.” Lucas grinned unrepentantly.
“I’ll return the favor someday.”
