Julian scanned it quickly and raised his head. “Why on earth are Walcott and Lady Brenton on here?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I might be willing to take a guess.”
CHAPTER10
Julian drank his third brandy and stared into the fire at his club. He had eaten at White’s with a group of friends and politely declined their invitation to join them at a discreet brothel, which had caused some good-natured ribaldry. He had enough trouble managing one woman’s needs without adding any other’s.
He’d always imagined Carenza was the perfect wife for Hector. She appeared calm and in control. Hector’s constant dalliances and appalling lack of judgment had never seemed to ruffle her composure in the slightest. Julian had thought, God help him, that bedding her would be easy. That she understood the game and would engage in a pleasant affair that meant nothing to either of them.
Except she wasn’t willing to play by the rules and, as he’d foolishly allowed her to set them, he was heading rapidly toward hell alongside her. He’d been stupid to underestimate her. As a child, she’d shown great courage and a fierce determination to outdo all the boys on the estate next door. They’d often tried to dissuade her from tagging along with them, but she’d been dogged in her pursuit. He remembered her brother, Dorian, tying her hair ribbons to a tree once to stop her from following them.
He smiled as he remembered her indignation when she’d finally caught up with them, sans hair ribbons and her hair down her back.
“What ho, brother.”
Julian looked up as Aragon patted his shoulder and took the chair opposite him. A waiter paused by his side, and Aragon ordered two more brandies.
“You’re looking very thoughtful, Julian.”
“Just contemplating how the best-laid plans are certain to fail.”
“Very true.” Aragon nodded vigorously. “That’s why I avoid ’em like the plague. Mother is far better at organizing my life than I’ll ever be.”
Julian fixed his brother with a patient stare. “And that is why you’ll never find a lady willing to marry you.”
Aragon studied him for a long moment, his brow creased in obvious thought. “Ah, you think I allow Mother too much control over my life.”
“Yes.”
“And if I take a wife, she won’t like that, because she’ll want to tell me what to do instead.”
“Well done.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” Aragon said. “What if I made it clear they canbothtell me what to do?” He looked hopefully at Julian.
“What if they ask you to do totally opposite things?”
Aragon frowned. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Can you imagine living in a house where our esteemed mother was at constant war with your wife?”
“Well, that’s easy to solve. I just won’t go home.” Aragon sat back with a satisfied air. “Leave ’em to it.”
Julian considered ending the conversation there, but some perverse desire to hear what Aragon would come up with next made him continue. “If you never go home, how will you sire an heir?”
The waiter returned with the brandies, and Aragon took a moment to light a cigar and drain his glass before turning back to Julian. “That’s easy.” He paused to blow a smoke ring far too close to Julian’s face. “I’ll pack Mother off to the dower house.”
Julian contemplated that scenario as he sipped his own brandy. “If you ever do that, will you invite me to watch?”
Aragon slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. “You’re a very funny man.”
“I’m quite serious,” Julian said.
“Has Lady Carenza ever met Mother?”
“I would assume they’ve met in society at some point. Why?”
“I was thinking of inviting Lady Carenza to dine with us at home.”
