Most of all, she looked forward to seeing Stephen at dinner this evening with an alarming level of anticipation.
Her anticipation was greater still, for the night that lay ahead.
After cleaning himselfup and then checking in on Flavion to see him fast asleep, Stephen returned to the study. Here, amongst the books, papers and old leather of his uncle’s office, matters made sense. One could tally columns of sums, or untangle a troublesome contract without any of the chaos that had peppered the unlikely few days he’d spent since arriving home. More calming than a snifter of brandy was the contentment Stephen found completing self-imposed tasks methodically and checking them off one at a time.
He proceeded to ease himself thusly for the few hours that remained before dinner, and so was only partly annoyed when Mr. Sherman reminded him that the countess had invited guests for the meal. It would be necessary for him to dress formally.
A mere quarter of an hour after the unwelcome news, the butler knocked again, opened the door, and informed him that he had a visitor. Just as Stephen was about to release a long string of expletives, he looked up to see the familiar and welcome face of Marcus Roberts. Marcus, who went by the courtesy title of the Earl of Blakely, was the heir to the Esteemed Duke of Waters. Something of a rebel, his old friend refused to live the life of the privileged. Since graduating from school, Stephen had chanced upon him occasionally while transacting business in India and China. Their friendship went all the way back to their boyhood days at Eton. Marcus was one of the few people who knew of Stephen’s history with Flavion.
He’d often urged Stephen to stop pandering to Flave. Marcus had most likely seen the right of it.
Today, he was a sight for sore eyes.
Stephen rose enthusiastically before stepping forward and grasped his friend’s hand in a hearty greeting.
“I heard you were back in England, and I’ve taken it upon myself to call upon you uninvited,” Marcus said sardonically, forgoing the normal exchange of polite inquiries. “Having heard you requested assistance in the way of Salaam, I presumed you might be in need additional support. If the rumors are true, Flave and his countess are brewing more scandal than the gossips can manage.”
Stephen gestured for Marcus to have a seat before pouring some of Flavion’s best scotch into a couple of tumblers. He didn’t normally imbibe before evening but had been making quite a few allowances for himself lately.
Not one to share his burdens, Stephen, nonetheless, reluctantly told Marcus of some of the events of the past few days.
He did not discuss what had occurred between himself and Cecily.
Marcus interrupted only a few times to have Stephen briefly clarify a few facts, but withheld his assessment until Stephen finished.
His analysis aligned perfectly with Stephen’s: Flavion had made a hash of his life, his marriage and all of the responsibilities that came with inheriting an earldom. If the title was going to be preserved, Stephen must continue interfering.
On that note, Stephen asked Marcus to stay for dinner, and even join them at the theatre that night. Marcus accepted outright. As Stephen poured out more scotch, he delved a bit into Marcus’ present circumstances.
“Is your father’s house opened up to you for the Season then?” Stephen asked to assure himself that his friend was not in want of a place to stay. Last time they’d spoken, Marcus had told him he’d been cut off financially. Although Marcus was the heir, he and his father’s relationship had come to a stalemate over Marcus’ refusal to marry a bride of the duke’s choosing.
When he’d first been informed of the betrothal, Marcus had been twenty-two and the girl all of sixteen. Stephen did not know for certain whether it was still in effect. Marcus was never keen to discuss it.
His friend’s jaw clenched. Ah, so matters were still unsettled then. “I’ve taken lodgings at a house on Curzon Street. I will not apply to my father for anything.”
Stephen nodded his head. “How long have you been back in London?” He wondered how long such a feud could continue. He now found himself wishing he’d reconciled with his uncle. It was too late for that now. As cliché as such a sentiment was, he felt it strongly, nonetheless.
“Too long, my friend. Too long.”
“Does your father still consider you… betrothed?” The girl must be about Cecily’s age now. But he knew Marcus Roberts. He was not a man who would be told how to live, and that included being told who to marry.
“I refuse to abide by an agreement made while I was still in the nursery. My father’s marriage was an arranged match, and I spent much of my childhood trying to avoid their bloody silences.”
Setting his half-empty glass down, Stephen sighed. “It behooves a man to remember marriage is forever. Flavion’s wife certainly regrets her decision to marry, and I can’t say that I blame her.”
He wondered what Cecily had been like before all of this. Had she been as fearless and intense? It would have been lovely to have met her as a shy debutante. He would not have minded drawing her out for himself…
And yet, she was lovely as she was. He knew he ought to see all that was wrong with her plan to ‘cuckold’ her husband. She would become an outcast from Society for the rest of her life. And yet, he could not help but admire her conviction. Her unflagging determination reminded him of himself when he’d first set out to make his fortune.
“Till death and all that, forsaking all others…” Marcus said into the bottom of his glass. “If more fellows took their vows to heart, there would be considerably fewer dynastic marriages.” And then, as though a novel thought struck him, Marcus looked over at Stephen. “What of you, old man? Any females in your sights?”
Stephen allowed a very sensual image to drift into his memory. “Not since Zelda,” he said wryly. Zelda had been his mistress for much of the time he’d been in India. Their on again, off again relationship had been passionate but lacking in any real affection. She’d been the widow of a wealthy embassy official and had chosen to remain in Mumbai after her husband’s death. Stephen had taken her with him for a very memorable holiday in Ceylon. It had been nearly a year since he’d wished her farewell.
“Aside from the obvious, being her stunning beauty, I never took her to be your type,” Marcus said. “You have always been so… self-contained… and she, well, Zelda was something of a hell cat.”
Stephen flashed Marcus a grin. “She was, wasn’t she?” Upon a few moments of reflection, he added, “I suppose when I met her I was looking for somebody… different.” At the time, he’d sworn off both marriage and all English women. She’d been the perfect cure.
Before Marcus could comment on this, the dinner bell gonged. Stephen looked over at his friend. “The countess expects formal dress for dinner. Would you care to borrow something from my wardrobe?”
