Steeling my nerve, I stepped inside and handed off my hat and coat. I made to slip past the dining area and go upstairs to the reprieve promised in the library. But it was not to be.
A cry of “Rosehill!” rang out from the window as I passed.
Damn.
After screwing my face into an estimation of surprise, I turned. “Beaumont, wonderful to see you.”
“Come, come, sit with me. You know Parker, I trust.” He gestured at the dark-haired man seated across from him. Wesley Parker had moved up in the world—to be afforded such a seat.
“Parker.”
“Rosehill,” he nodded with a poorly concealed sneer.
Beaumont was an unpleasant enough prospect, but something about Parker had always set my teeth on edge in a way Beaumont could never manage. Parker ran in my late brother, Gabriel’s, circle, a world of secret dealings and ill-considered wagers I had never been admitted to.
I did as bid—there was nothing else for it. Beaumont was not to be cut. At least not by anyone wanting to avoid notice. And avoiding notice was my raison d’être.
Restraining a sigh, I settled beside him in the final chair facing the window. I pressed my left hand under my thigh once seated. Only the right remained to be managed.
“How are you, gentlemen?” I asked.
“Better than Parker.” Beaumont chuckled.
I raised a brow at the man in question.
He sighed performatively. From the ruddy flush of his cheeks to the glazed expression in his eyes, Parker appeared to be more than a few drinks into his afternoon. Slumped with his legs sprawled out to the side, he was well on his way to soused. The man had alwaystriedfor fashionable, though he usually came up short in some small way or another. Nothing anyone would notice save myself and possibly Beaumont. This time it was the fabric of his trousers; the buckskin was worn dark in the inner thighs. Low on funds then.
“I’ve a strumpet insisting to all and sundry I got her with child. As though she hasn’t fucked every man south of Newcastle.”
I resisted the urge to mention that there was at least one man south of Newcastle that she had not fucked.
“Is that why her father ended the courtship between you two, Rosehill?” Beaumont asked in a tone of false conviviality.
“Who?” I asked, only half listening as I signaled a passing barkeep for my usual drink.
“Charlotte James.”
Damn.
I hummed. It was the sort of vagary I employed often in town, and my use of it now made my stomach turn. Lady James hadn’t deserved my treatment of her years ago, and she didn’t deserve the false implication now. But her father had caught wind of a rumor and that was the end of a perfectly acceptable courtship.
The barkeep brought my usual claret and a refill for the other men. Parker downed his in one swig. Christ, he was going to retch all over the floor. It was a wonder he’d managed amembership in the first place—they’d certainly revoke it for such a display.
“So, Rosehill, I haven’t seen you in an age. How have you been, old chap?” Beaumont asked, apparently finished with Parker’s predicament for the moment.
A comment about his—more advanced—age hovered at the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. “Oh, you know. There is always much to be done.”
He hummed and opened his ever-present snuffbox, grabbed a pinch, and inhaled before offering it to me. Unthinkingly, I shook my head. Beaumont raised a suspicious brow, but he returned the box to his pocket without comment.
Today, he’d donned a simple navy coat and tan trousers paired with an elaborate cravat. Beaumont was often praised for his style, which emphasized the quality and cut of his garments.
I had always dressed in simple, elegant lines. My coats were impeccably tailored and made with fabrics of unmistakable quality.
When Beaumont wore fine linens and silks with elegantly considered designs that emphasized his form, it was considered fashionable. When I began doing the same, years before he did, thetonwhispered that it was odd, off-putting.
“Such as?” He drew out the two words, enunciating. He always had an audience here at his table. And he knew how to play to them.
My sister is determined to drive me to an early grave, and my mother is one fabulous gown away from social ruin.
