“Then he was right, Langford, and you were wrong.” Adam threw himself into a chair and looked around. “It appears not much has changed.”
“Very little.” Gabriel St. James, Duke of Langford, threw him a cigar. He grinned with delight and his blue eyes sparkled. “Damn, but it is good to see you. Word was you came back a month ago. Where have you been?”
“Getting my affairs in order. Examining the estate books.” He reached for a candle and held it to his cigar. “Sacking the steward who was robbing me. That sort of thing.”
He had been doing a few other things too. One had been investigating a woman named Clara Cheswick. He had learned some things about her that only piqued his interest all the more.
“In the country, then. No wonder the only indication of your return has been the gossip and rumors.” Eric Marshall, Duke of Brentworth, got up to get the whiskey decanter. He came over with a glass, poured Adam some, then topped off his own glass and that of Langford. No grin from him, but only a subdued smile on his severely chiseled face. No sparkle in his dark eyes, either, but rather deep scrutiny.
Both men were the epitome of fashion, but in ways as different as their demeanors. The amiable Langford’s cropped curls always looked as if he had just been in a wind, while the more serious Brentworth’s locks never dared such exuberance. Langford wore a casually tied dark cravat this evening, while Brentworth’s white linen neckpiece appeared as if his valet had starched it five minutes ago.
It was not that Brentworth lacked spirit or was a slave to convention compared to Langford. Rather he prized discretion and did not flout either his appetites or thinking. The same could not be said for Langford.
Adam appreciated how his two friends performed the old rituals and took his return in stride. He had not missed that the chair he sat in—his usual chair—had not been in use by either of them, despite its proximity to the comforting low fire. He sipped some whiskey and puffed on the cigar and allowed nostalgia and familiarity to seep through him. He had been back in England for over a month, but right now he finally felt he had come home.
“What kind of rumors and gossip?” he asked, allowing the last comment to penetrate his peace.
His friends exchanged hooded glances. “While you were gone, your reputation visited England, even if you did not,” Brentworth said.
“You mean the duels.”
“One is understandable for any gentleman. Two might be excused. Three, however . . .” Langford said.
“No man in the salon below would have allowed any of those insults to his family to stand unchallenged. I did what anyone would do.”
“Of course, of course,” Langford soothed. “The question, however, is whether you have now returned to do it here as well. There are some fellows who are remembering every small slight they may have given you, and any whispered criticism of you or your family. I am sure that within a few weeks, once you are back in society and spreading your charm, that will all be forgotten.”
“It may be better if it is not.”
That took Langford aback. “You cannot want to be thought of as dangerous. No one will treat you honestly.”
“If being seen as dangerous keeps stupid men from saying stupid things that force my hand in the name of honor, then let them think me dangerous.” He set down his glass by way of ending that line of talk. “I am glad I found you both here.”
“Where else would we be on the first Thursday evening of the month?” Brentworth said. “As it was in the beginning, so it still is. You may have abandoned us, but we are still the Decadent Dukes Society.”
Adam smiled. The three of them had been youths at school when they gave themselves that name. All heirs to dukedoms, they had formed a bond at once. The school set them apart, and the other boys did too. They had all learned fast that the only person who would treat a duke normally was another duke. Thus a long and fast friendship had formed.
This chamber, and its monthly meetings, began once they all left university and came to town to enjoy their privileges. For a long while the Decadent Dukes Society had been more than a clever title made up by schoolboys. Many times they met here but soon left to go and explore just how decadent they could be.
Langford had found his second calling in those debauches. A way of life. Decent families only received him now because he was a duke, although his considerable charm might have bought him a few reprieves in any case.
Brentworth, on the other hand, had outgrown such excess first, at least regarding behavior others might see or report. It was one more example of how he managed without effort to be the public’s notion of a duke, in appearance and demeanor. Superior, arrogant, and confident in his privileges, he towered over the world in both stature and aloofness. Adam did not mind just how ducal this one friend had become. He knew Brentworth well enough to comprehend how different the man truly was from his public persona.
“So why did you return?” Brentworth asked. “After so many years, I assumed you never would.”
“I would like to say that I merely concluded it was time, but it was not that simple. The French government also decided it was time. Complaints were made, and as a result the king also decided it was time. I received a summons to court.”
Langford laughed. “How old-fashioned. Almost charming.”
“Since it was in the king’s own hand, and things were getting a little warm in France—well, here I am.”
“Have you attended on him yet?” Langford asked.
“As soon as I arrived. We drank a good deal of wine together. He asked about the ladies in Paris. I might have been gone on a grand tour, it remained so friendly and chatty.”
“So your English half responded to the command of your English king,” Brentworth said. “If not for that—was it in fact time?”
“Yes.” And it had been. The fury that drove him away had finally eased over a year ago, replaced by more deliberate thoughts, and acknowledgment of his obligations. There were duties that could not be forever conducted long distance from France. One in particular.
