“Oh, I’m certain that won’t be necessary. There’s nothing in the response that implies that Augie will attend either. All that besides, he’s just an old friend. I don’t know why I’m in such a state over it.”
“A handsome old friend, I suspect?”
“Am I that obvious?” She buried her face in her hands and the words were muffled but clear.
“You’re the picture of subtlety.” I propped my chin on my hand, fixing her with wide interested eyes. “Tell me everything.”
Her head popped back up, unable to hold back a grin. “He’s so handsome. And kind. And funny. And smart. And wonderful.”
“Handsome, kind, funny, smart, and wonderful? He would have to be all that and more to deserve you. It’s settled. Mary will attend to me tonight.”
“Oh, but what if he doesn’t attend at all?”
“Then I shall make it clear he is to attend the next week.”
“Next week?”
“These suppers will be weekly. At least until you’re wed to your handsome, kind, funny, smart, wonderful gentleman.”
Her face was alight with hope, even as she attempted to decline my offer. I would personally drag the man to the house by his ear if necessary. If anyone deserved to experience the hopeful delight clear in her countenance, it was Anna.
* * *
If I forgotto let Agatha know that her stepson was dining with us tonight, it was entirely accidental. If I hovered by the window, eagerly awaiting the arrival of an unfamiliar carriage, it was entirely coincidental.
When said carriage—a fine carriage indeed—pulled up just outside, my heart stopped for a moment. It started again when not one, but two gentlemen descended from inside.
Biting back an unbearably pleased smile on Anna’s behalf, I was entirely able to ignore Agatha’s berating of Timothy. Michael had brought his friend for Anna. That, alone, was enough to endear him to me.
I could make out little in the way of detail in the dim lamp light. The two men wavered outside, the taller one gesturing toward the alley toward the kitchens. After some discussion, that gentleman lifted his hat to straighten his hair before righting it again. Then he scampered to the alley, the other man calling something after him. Now alone, he stared at the door with a sigh. The shorter one was Michael then.
I hovered just outside of Agatha’s vision, barely suppressing the instinct to pace. Because I was listening for it, I heard the sounds of Weston opening the door and greeting the man. Hugh and Agatha gave no indication they noticed anything out of the ordinary in the slightest.
When I could stand it no longer, I made my way to the hallway. There I saw Weston with his arms around a man, I had never seen Weston be anything other than implacably professional. I could not stop the, “oh,” that escaped at the sight of the warm familiarity between the men. The gentleman—Michael—turned to me at the sound.
He was shorter than my husband by at least a few inches, and his build was smaller and wiry. The way he carried himself… It was easier, freer than Hugh’s precise perfection. His complexion was a shade or two darker than his brother’s, with an olive undertone. His hair was dark, like my husband’s, but warmer, a mahogany to Hugh’s walnut. Where Hugh’s eyes were that slate gray, Michael’s were a melty chocolate. In every way my husband was cool, unapproachable; a stark contrast to his brother’s welcoming warmth.
Michael was more like Tom in countenance, easy and loose-limbed in his bow, though he lacked the eager energy of youth that Tom brought to every interaction. He turned slightly, moving more fully into the light, I bit back a gasp at the state of his eye. I hadn’t noticed in the shadows of the hall, but one eye was dark and swollen heavily with injury.
It was clear now, in spite of how approachable this man appeared, there was an edge to him. A confidence filled his frame, born of trials and tribulations I know nothing of. There was a weariness too, likely born of the same. He sized me up with the same intensity that I examined him. I wondered where I measured. If I was as much of a disappointment to him as I was to my own husband.
Suddenly, I felt a large hand land possessively on my lower back, hot and hard; my husband staking a claim. I should feel irritation at the gesture, Hugh had never felt the need to mark me before. Why would his brother bring out that instinct?
Finally, Michael spoke, “Hugh, good to see you.” His voice was honey warm, higher in pitch than Hugh. There was an amusement in the tone, buried deep. He found Hugh’s possessiveness entertaining. Hugh must have read it as well. His hand slid from my lower back around to tighten his fingers around my waist, his arm branding a strip across my back. Michael shifted on his feet, leaning back slightly, bringing his eye back into the light.
Instead of greeting his brother, Hugh spit out a flustered, “what on earth happened to your eye?”
Michael winced, as if only just remembering the injury himself. It seemed unlikely to me, it was severe, if he could see out of the eye at all I would be astounded.
At first, he offered only a crooked smirk in answer. When he spoke, there was a teasing lilt to his voice. “Do you know, it was the strangest thing. I was promenading in Hyde Park, as I like to do. Out of nowhere, this enormous swan dove straight from the sky at me. Beak first! Went right for my eye. Honestly, it’s a miracle I wasn’t killed.”
I could no more restrain my giggle at that speech than I could stop the sun from rising in the morning. It was an effort to restrain a full snorting laugh. I knew he was mocking my husband. And I knew Hugh would not appreciate my amusement. But really, who could blame me?
Reminded of my existence, a person rather than a lamp he was claiming for his own, my husband replied. “Katherine, this is my brother Michael. Michael, this is Katherine Grayson, my wife.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Grayson,” he answered with a proper bow.
Buoyed by his joke, I corrected him to Kate. With Weston’s pointed cough, I directed everyone back to the drawing room.
