Lark pulled Anthony back into his arms. “I’ve been miserable without you. I don’t think I was wrong to send you away, but every day without you has been brutal.”
“Let us not dwell on that now.”
“All right.”
“Just…hold me a while longer.”
“I can do that.”
Chapter Seven
After Fletcher explained to Owen in some detail what had happened at the opera—omitting a few salient details about the question Louisa had asked him in the carriage and the information he had volunteered—Fletcher concluded, “I felt out of sorts afterward, but I am not sure why.”
They sat at the club. Lark was absent tonight, and Hugh was currently tied up in a conversation with Devonshire, so it was just Fletcher and Owen sitting by the fire.
“Let me summarize,” said Owen.“Louisa has been your friend since before you understood the key differences between boys and girls.”
“Yes.”
“You are fond of her but in a friendly way.”
“Yes.”
“She is now engaged, and you feel out of sorts about that.”
“Perhaps, but only because—”
Owen held up his hand. “You find her fiancé boring.”
“Right.”
“I don’t think it is so much that you are worried Rotherfeld will take away your sisterly friend. I think you have feelings for Louisa, and you are worried about him marrying her when it should be you.”
Fletcher scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Itshouldbe you.”
“What are you talking about?” But somewhere deep in his chest, Fletcher knew. In the same way he couldn’t stop lookingat Louisa on their night at the opera, he knew his feelings for Louisa were not, in fact, entirely friendly. But what was he to even do about it?
Owen rolled his eyes. “You and Louisa speak the same language. You have similar interests and enjoy each other’s company. You’ve been good friends for most of your lives. You confide in each other and care about each other. The only missing component was a physical spark, but I reckon that, since before Louisa became betrothed to Rotherfeld, you’ve felt that spark.”
“I will admit to…admiring her figure.”
“Fletcher, you are being foolish. You love this woman. I know you do. You keep making all this noise about her being like a sister to you, but she’s not. It’s all there. You know her better than most men know their wives, and you love what you see. You find her attractive. Maybe her betrothal to Rotherfeld is the kick in the head you needed to realize that. You feel out of sorts because you’re in love with her and don’t know what to do now because you’re an idiot and she’s engaged to someone else.”
“I’m not…”
But he stopped talking abruptly. Of course, Owen was completely correct. Fletcher loved Louisa. Itshouldhave been him marrying her, not Rotherfeld.
Louisa washis. She was his friend, yes, and he understood their friendship was a bit unorthodox for theton, but it worked for them. And no, he did not like that Rotherfeld was taking her away from him. That was what had bothered him since her engagement was announced.
Because Louisa was beautiful. She had a laugh like a bell that had always charmed Fletcher. She was smart and funny, and she loved art, and she understood Fletcher well enough tocall him on things when he was acting like an idiot, just like Owen was now because Fletcher had, indeed, been acting like an idiot for months.
“Devil take me,” Fletcher said.
“There it is,” said Owen.
“I love her.”
