“James,” Tristan said, crossing the room and pulling his friend into a strong embrace. “It has been too many years. You’re quite dark now.”
“My hair is lighter, too. So many days on a ship will do that to a man.” James flashed his nearly straight teeth.
“Come in. Take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
He swaggered across the room and lowered himself in a plush yellow chair. “I wouldn’t refuse a bit of fortification.”
Tristan glanced at Miller, who gave a slight nod of acknowledgment before leaving to fetch refreshment. He was a good butler, had been ruler of this house for as long as Tristan had been alive, and knew the undercurrents within Marblegate as well as in London as a whole.
James let out a long sigh. “Where is Charles these days?”
“Leg-shackled, actually. He’s found himself a wife.”
James pulled a face, his blue eyes disappearing as he shook his head. “Too many good men have succumbed of late. My mother would like for me to join their ranks.”
“Is there any mother who feels differently?” Tristan asked.
“Perhaps not. It’s why I’ve been summoned to London. Father remained behind in Antigua, but I was no longer able to postpone matrimony.”
“It is an understandable request, is it not? Your parents should like you to give them heirs.”
“Do not remind me.”
Miller returned with a decanter of amber-colored liquid and two glasses on a tray. He poured a small amount in each and carried them forward. James accepted his glass and brought it to his nose.
“To finding wives,” Tristan said, lifting his glass.
James choked on a laugh. “Not you, as well?”
“It would be wise for me to settle down, I think.”
“Too many flirts on your trail?”
Since James wasn’t agreeing to the toast, Tristan lowered his glass and took a sip. It lit a fiery path down his throat and warmed his stomach. “Just the right amount, actually. No…” He looked in his glass, his mind smoothing over the turbulent thoughts jumping about. Flirts? He didn’t have any of those, not truly. “I suppose there has been no one serious. No woman I would take home to Surrey.”
“No one worthy of the great Tristan Shepherd?”
He scoffed. “You know very well I do not esteem myself above my station. I need only to find a woman who will happily pass an afternoon at my side, adores horses, and will not tire after one dance.”
“Then my sister is not an agreeable choice.” James tipped back the rest of his drink and signaled Miller to fill it again.
Sister? It took a moment for the girl in question to come to mind. Miss Whitby was too young for matrimony, was she not? She certainly could not abide riding, always finding the horses too smelly and the activity to be a waste of time. If Tristan recalled correctly, Caroline Whitby had preferred reading alone and painting her watercolors to any outdoor pursuits with the men. She’d been pale as a result, her dark hair highlighting the lack of color in her face. When shedidjoin them, she would merely follow them about, climbing trees or playing in the fields.
The woman would do far better with a bookish man.
“I hope to find someone at the ball tonight,” Tristan said. “I’ll know I’ve the right woman when she dances a set without tiring and laughs despite modish coquettishness being the norm.”
James sat up, holding out his glass while Miller poured in another dram. “That was the very reason I dropped in. I thought I’d have to convince you to come along with me tonight. The very idea of being shoved into a stuffy ballroom and playing coy to all the blasted mothers is enough to make me drink the entire decanter.”
“Don’t,” Tristan warned. “Or you shall be sleeping it off here instead.”
James lifted his drink in tandem with his eyebrows. “Precisely.”
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. “Which ball is it you want to attend? I’d finally settled on Miss Longren’s debut.”
James wrinkled his nose. “Don’t know the lady, but a debutante sounds far too…young, I suppose. We’re for Lady Petunia’s affair.”
“Will it not be full of stuffy aristocrats?” Tristan asked.
