Anthony gave him an appraising look. “My point was just that…I find the engagement curious. Louisa is an intelligent, beautiful woman, and Rotherfeld is…”
“Don’t call him handsome.”
“As always, your jealousy is unbecoming, Lark. And uncalled for, under the circumstances.”
Lark crossed his arms and scowled. Anthony knew perfectly well how Lark felt.
“I have always found Rotherfeld to be timid and prudish, if you must know,” said Anthony. “He’s uncomfortable with himself and his proclivities.”
“Do you think he offered for Louisa on false pretenses?”
Anthony frowned. “I found out about this engagement thirty seconds ago, and I can’t know what’s in Rotherfeld’s head. Who knows why men do anything? Maybe he genuinely likes her. The news just surprised me because Rotherfeld is youngerthan we are and no one would have batted an eyelash had he postponed the inevitable and sown a few more oats first.”
“All right.” Lark looked Anthony over. “But let us speculate.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Very irresponsible of you.”
“Well, now I think Rotherfeld’s motives are not pure. It hadn’t occurred to me to doubt his intentions until you shared this bit of information with me, but now I’m turning this over in my head. If he’s ashamed of his own proclivities, he could be forcing himself to marry to prove something to himself. He could be marrying to save face.”
Anthony nodded. “Indeed. I imagine, like us all, he has chosen Louisa because he must marry and wanted an intellectual equal and one thetonwouldn’t see as surprising, although I suppose she is on the older side.”
“Not like us all. I am not marrying.”
“No?”
“Have we learned nothing? How could I pretend to love a woman when I am so obviously besotted with someone else.”
“Besotted?”
“Anthony.”
“You are too conspicuous with your besottedness. In the hour I’ve been here, do you know how many men have welcomed me back to the club and in the same breath mentioned how deeply you mourned my company, that you practically live in a bottle now because you are so miserable? Fortunately, everyone is too naive to suspect the true nature of our relationship, and they seem to think you are sad because you’ve lost all your friends to matrimony, including me.”
“I did lose you to matrimony.”
“You lost me because you left me,” Anthony whisper-shouted. There was a harsh note to his voice.
“I do not anticipate that you will forgive me, and what’s done is done, and I may have regrets and misery and all of it, but I cannot change it. And I have made you even more miserable than I could have anticipated, and Idoregret that.”
Anthony looked into his glass.
The thing was, Anthony’s brightness had dimmed. Anthony had always been this beacon, a man who reveled in his fortunes in life, someone always funny and clever and practically glowing. It was one of the things that had attracted Lark to Anthony to begin with. And although Anthony was starting to come out of mourning—he wore all black tonight, granted, but he didn’t seem as sad as he had been when Lark saw him a few weeks ago—much of that brightness was gone.
Lark had done that. Lark had pushed Anthony away and was thus the catalyst for all that had come after.
“I’m sorry,” Lark said. “This is… I should leave.”
“No, don’t.”
“It’s all my fault. What happened to you.”
Anthony shook his head.
“It is. And I can’t…that is…” Lark looked around. No one was near them. The crowd was thin tonight. “I am responsible for your…present state, and I have been miserable without you, so your unhappiness must be compounded, and I caused that, and I hate that I have made you so unhappy. And I’ve been wasting my time trying to drink away my memories, but I have made everything so much worse for you, and I…I cannot believe how much I’ve buggered everything, and I just don’t…”
“It’s all right, Lark.” Anthony’s tone was oddly comforting, and Lark hated it, becauseheshould have been the one comfortingAnthony.
“It isn’t. It never will be.”
