“What do you mean?”
Henry went to sit behind his desk. He waited for Yates to claim one of the chairs opposite before saying. “I’m not really a rake.”
Yates snorted. “You know I’ve never judged you for your affairs. You’re good company and an excellent friend. How you choose to divert yourself is your business.”
“But it’s all lies.” Christ, if it was this hard convincing his friend of the truth, Society would never believe him. “A deception I crafted to keep the debutantes away.”
Yates went utterly still. He raised an eyebrow and slowly leaned forward. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”
“God no!”
Yates looked only marginally apologetic. “It is a logical question considering what you just said.” He took another sip of his drink. “Are you really being serious?”
“Absolutely.” Henry glanced at the amber liquid in his glass. “Problem is, it’s ruining my chances with Viola Cartwright.”
“I knew it!” Shifting his gaze, Henry stared at his friend. “I knew you were interested in her.”
“Very well,” Henry agreed, “you’ve found me out. The problem is I don’t know what to do about it.”
“As a member of St. Agatha’s committee, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know her since the hospital opened.” When Henry scowled, Yates raised one hand in surrender. “As colleagues, Lowell. Nothing more.” He lowered his hand and proceeded to drum his fingers slowly against the armrest. “Her dedication toward the hospital cannot be denied. Are you sure you’re up for competing with that?”
“My hope is to marry her, Yates, so that would be a yes.”
“I see.” Yates seemed to consider. “Then why not let the world know that this is your intention?”
“That I mean to marry Viola Cartwright?” Henry scoffed at the idea. “She values privacy and discretion, Yates. I don’t think she would appreciate me placing her squarely in the gossipmongers’ line of fire.”
“I didn’t mean for you to name your intended, just merely to let it be known that you’re looking to marry, settle down, set up a nursery and so forth.”
Henry frowned. “I’d have every desperate young woman and her mama banging my door down.” Which was why he’d refrained from making a public announcement about his intentions. He’d seen firsthand how all the debutantes had reacted last year when his brother, Florian, had become a duke. But when Uncle George, the Marquess of Riverton, had lain dying, he’d asked the king to elevate him to duke. The request had been granted and since George had no children, he’d been able to add a Special Remainder to the new letters patent, naming Florian his heir.
An ordinary physician one day, capable of walking down the street without anyone taking notice, chased and fawned over the next. Henry shuddered at the very idea of encouraging such attention.
“Looks like you have a choice to make then, Lowell.” Yates tilted his head and allowed a smile to slide into place. “You can either continue guarding your secrets and keep your duchess at arm’s length forever, or you can take the risk of making yourself available for marriage by announcing your new eligible state to the world.”
Yates’s words made Henry contemplate everything that mattered to him long after his friend had gone. He wanted Viola to be his, and in order to do so, he would have to be the man she knew him to be, not just to her, but to everyone else as well. He would have to make it clear that his days as a rake were over.
With this in mind, he finished writing up the advertisement for his club and slipped it into an envelope along with a longer letter to theMayfair Chronicle’s editors. Handing the missive over to one of his club’s errand boys, Henry departed with a new sense of accomplishment. The days ahead would probably be difficult, but he also knew they’d be worth it if it meant convincing Viola to have him.
Reaching his house, Henry unlocked the door briskly and stepped inside. His manservant, Mr. Andrews, came to greet him. “I require a change of clothes,” Henry told him while peeling off his gloves. Helping Viola decorate had left him feeling a little dusty.
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Andrews took the gloves. “But first, you ought to know that Carlton Guthrie is waiting for you in your parlor.”
“What?” Henry couldn’t hide his surprise or his curiosity. What the hell was the crime lord of St. Giles doing here in his home and what the devil could the man possibly want with him?
Mr. Andrews’s expression grew increasingly apprehensive. “I hope you’ll forgive me for admitting him, sir. I honestly wanted to turn him away but he insisted the matter he wished to discuss with you was of great importance and urgency.”
Henry glanced toward the parlor door. “You did the right thing then.” He turned back to Mr. Andrews. “Did you serve him any refreshments?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Very well then. Please ask one of the maids to bring up some coffee and I’ll go see what my unexpected guest wants.” Henry crossed to the parlor door without another moment’s hesitation. Opening it, he found the flamboyant man that was Carlton Guthrie reclining in an armchair.
He stood as soon as he saw Henry, his purple velvet coattails falling back into place as he did so. At his neck he wore an extravagant cravat from which an amethyst-tipped pin protruded. His vest was silver damask, his trousers cut from black and gray plaid with purple accent lines woven into the pattern. Close by, on an adjacent chair, sat the top hat that matched his jacket.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lowell.” Guthrie applied a firm tone that brooked no nonsense. “I ’ope ye’ll forgive the intrusion.”
Still apprehensive about the purpose of Guthrie’s visit, Henry eyed him carefully. Guthrie’s gaze was steady, his lips a rigid line beneath his curling mustache. If Henry were to wager, he’d bet the man was younger than his choice of clothing and grooming made him appear.
