Louisa was surprised Fletcher was being so obstinate. “Yes, but you and I do not have a relationship that Rotherfeld need worry about.”
“You and I know that. Rotherfeld doesn’t.”
“Are you acting odd because you think once I’m married, we won’t be friends anymore.”
Fletcher let out a breath and let his tense posture go. “I’m not acting odd, but yes. You are one of my dearest friends, and while I understand that a man and a woman being friends is perhaps unorthodox, we are like siblings. I knew this day would come because some handsome lord was bound to snatch you up, and while I truly am thrilled for you and hope you have all the happiness life can afford, I suppose I am sad that you and I will not spend as much time together.”
“I shall endeavor to ensure that is not the case.”
Fletcher gave her a wary look, but Louisa could not speak on it more because Daniel returned.
“Greystone,” said Daniel.
Fletcher gave him a curt nod. “Rotherfeld.”
“I suppose you were just congratulating my fiancée.”
“I was,” said Fletcher. “Congratulations are in order for you as well. You will soon marry one of the best women in theton.”
Daniel beamed at Louisa. “Yes. I agree.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Fletcher stepped away. Louisa wanted to grab him and pull him back, explain to him that her betrothal changed nothing, but she knew that wasn’t true.
Daniel leaned over and kissed Louisa’s cheek. “Come, my love. I’d like to introduce you to a few of my other friends.”
Louisa followed, but she looked around for Fletcher. He was tall and easy to spot; she saw him walk out of the ballroom.
She knew, deep down, that he’d been right, that Louisa’s obligations to Daniel would preclude spending as much time with Fletcher as they usually did during the Season. But she hardly thought that should mean their friendship would end. Surely there would be nights when Daniel was busy, and she needed an escort to some event. Daniel didn’t care for the opera, so Fletcher could still attend with her. Nothinghadto change, at least not drastically.
So resolved, Louisa focused her attention on her future husband and allowed him to introduce her to his friends. She tried not to think about why she should feel so sad about Fletcher.
Chapter Two
Lark was in the middle of writing letters of apology to anyone he might have offended by his drunken behavior of late when a footman knocked on the doorframe of his study and said, “I have today’s papers.”
“Thank you, Johnson. That will be all.”
“My lord, if I may. There is an item on page three that may interest you.”
Lark sighed. “All right. I will look later. That will be all.”
Johnson looked like he wanted to say something more, but he nodded, placed the newspaper on Lark’s desk, and left.
Lark continued writing for a few more minutes, but then curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the paper and scanned the headlines. Nothing dreadfully interesting. Parliament was out of session, the Prince Regent was clearly counting down the days until his father finally succumbed to whatever odd illness was plaguing him, wheat prices were fluctuating. Yawn. Lark turned to page three. Someone, probably Johnson who had been with him for a long time and knew him well, had taken the time to circle the relevant square of text.
It was a birth announcement. The Marquess of Beresford and his wife had welcomed a baby boy.
It was like a knife to the heart.
For two years, Lark and the Marquess of Beresford—Anthony to Lark—had been lovers. The year before, Lark had ended it, because the pressure on Anthony to marry had become overwhelming. Anthony had talked constantly as if this was not an issue at all, that he could simply pass on the title to a cousinand continue his secret relationship with Lark indefinitely without marrying. And yet, two months after Lark had ended it, the announcement had appeared in the paper that Anthony had married the sister of the Earl of Clairbourne.
What Lark should have done was move on. He should find a wife of his own. He should do everything in his power to forget all about Anthony. He told himself this at least once a day.
He had thus far utterly failed to adhere to this plan.
Instead, apparently he was currently trying to determine how much drink was needed to obliterate his memories of Anthony. He had yet to find a sufficient amount of whiskey.
Now he stared longingly at the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room.
