“Desperately,” she said. “And that whisky looks lovely, but why don’t you make it madeira? Might as well play at being a lady if you are going to be a gentleman.”
“Youarea lady,” he said, and poured her drink. “There could never be any playing about it.”
She shook her head. They were both fooling themselves if they believed that. She took a sip of her drink just as Poole reappeared.
“Lord Pentaghast and Lord Reginald,” he intoned before he stepped away and let the two men into the room.
Of course, Arabella had met Lord Reginald recently, during their unpleasant encounter in this very parlor after her first night with Silas here. But she hadn’t seen the marquess out in Society in many months, perhaps even a year. His illness had thinned him, aged him. He looked far more than fifteen years older than Silas.
“Charles, Reginald,” Silas said, extending a hand to each of them in turn. Arabella was pleased that both men took the offering. That was something. Silas faced her now. “May I present Miss Arabella Comerford. Arabella, the Marquess of Pentaghast, and you already know Reggie. I’m sorry, Lord Reginald.”
“My lord,” she said with a small curtsey to the marquess. “And my lord. A pleasure to see you again.”
Reginald appeared uncertain but he returned her nod briefly.
“Would you like a drink, either of you?” Silas asked. “We have the whisky you used to like, Reg. And you were always a brandy man, weren’t you, Charlie?”
“Yes on both accounts,” the marquess answered for them both. “I think we’ll both have a drink, won’t we, Reg?”
Arabella let her gaze fall to the middle brother. Just as when she’d first met him, she could sense his irritation with this entire exercise. But he nodded. “Thank you.”
As Silas prepared the drinks, Arabella motioned the men to the chairs across from the settee. The marquess raised an eyebrow slightly at her playing of hostess, but he took it and even returned her smile when she gave it as she settled onto the settee.
“I wanted to inquire about your health, my lord,” she said. “There has been worry amongst a great many of your friends. You look well tonight, though.”
“I look like I feel, which is old,” the marquess said with a little laugh. “But I am recovering. The worst has passed, I’m almost sure of it. And I’ll survive.”
“That is good,” Arabella said, and meant it. It was clear Silas had suffered a great deal after the death of his father six years before. She didn’t want him to have to go through that again with his brother. Especially given their estrangement.
Silas joined her and the conversation was stiff and awkward. They spoke of nothing of importance and yet all the important topics still hung in the air between them.
When supper was announced, Silas rose and offered her an arm. She looked at him in surprise. They weren’t in an arrangement and she certainly did not count as a true lady. But he still treated her like one.
She took his arm and they led the other two gentlemen to the dining room. As they took their seats and the first course was laid before them, it seemed Lord Reginald could no longer hold back his feelings.
“I do wonder why you called us here tonight, Silas,” he said. “Our last encounter was anything but pleasant. And given what we requested of you, the fact that you are flaunting your mistress—forgive me, Miss Comerford, but I must speak plainly—could be perceived as an act of pure defiance.”
“Reggie,” the marquess said softly.
“No. He has dragged you from your rest to do this.” There was the slightest crack to Lord Reginald’s tone and then he schooled it away. “I truly wish to know the answer so we can determine if everything is a waste of time.”
Silas was seated at the head of the table and Arabella was to his right. She was close enough to feel the pulse of his emotions roll through him at that directness. It appeared like anger when one looked at his face, but she knew it wasn’t that. Well, not only that. There was still a part of him that was that lonely child, pushed out behind the glass so he could only look in on his family. The boy who’d been stolen from a troubled mother, only to be isolated by a cold father.
“Can’t even have a polite supper with me, eh, Reg?” he asked.
She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Silas,” she said.
He looked toward her and that hurt was even more reflected in his green gaze. She squeezed his hand, wishing she could transfer all her own strength to him in this moment. Wishing she could build a shield with her love that would keep him from all harm for the rest of his days.
When she broke her stare from his, she found the marquess and Lord Reginald were not looking at him anymore, butthem. Her. She slowly removed her hand from his and nodded toward him, encouraging him to speak.
“As you two well know,” he began, the anger in his tone metered now, though it was still there. “I’ve been spending a great deal of time with Arabella. I’ve met her sisters. She’s met Phoebe.”
“You introduced acourtesanto our sister,” the marquess gasped.
“The woman I am spending time with came to my home when our sister was calling. And yes, I introduced them, at her insistence. Because unlike you two, Phoebe can see past the layers of propriety this world has forced upon all of us. Unlike you two, she seems to actually care about my happiness. About who I am, not just who you want me to be.”
There was a long moment of silence and the marquess took a long drink before he said, “I know things have not gone well since your return. Our last conversation, especially, ended poorly and for that I’m sorry.”
