Lighting thelamp at his bedside, he made his way to the desk piled high withplans and papers. Pushing all memory of the nightmare aside, heinstead immersed himself in schematics and strategies and tried toforget again that awful night his best friend had died.
Chapter Five
SINKING ANOTHER BALL INTO the billiard table’s pocket,Stephen straightened and reached for the cue chalk. He’d been atthe 1810 Club for over an hour, sinking balls and perfecting histechnique. Outside the door, he’d heard it slowly become rowdier,the club becoming busier as the night grew later and gentlemenarrived in pursuit of pleasure after familial obligations had beenmet.
Moving aroundthe table, he lined up his next shot. The cue was unbalanced in hishand, the shaft too short and the weight slightly off. He couldhave brought his own cue, tailored to his height and weighted tohis grip while sporting the very finest leather tip, but hepreferred to employ this inferior cue on occasion if only to forcehim to employ greater skill to compensate.
Just as he wasabout the execute the shot, the door banged open. His shot wentwide, bouncing off the cushion and careening wildly across thebaize.
“Told you he was hiding here,” the Honourable Charles Montfordannounced.
“Yes, yes, you’re very clever.” Viscount Pinet pushed his wayinto the room. The viscount wore one of the most absurd waistcoatsStephen had ever seen and that, as Pinet regularly garbed himselfin truly horrendous waistcoats, was saying something. “Were youhiding yourself, Farlisle?”
Leaning on hiscue, he scowled. “If I were, I did a piss-poor job ofit.”
Pinet sniffed ashe flopped into the room’s sole armchair.
“Please, do make yourself at home,” Stephen said.
Hooking his legover the arm, Pinet flicked at an invisible piece of lint on hislapel. “Thank you, I shall.”
Montford,meanwhile, was chalking his own cue. “Are we playing foranything?”
“Iwas playing to enhance my skill. Alone,” he saidpointedly.
“Howfortunate for you, then, that I should arrive to assist you,”Montford said, blithely unconcerned by Stephen’s ire.
“Iwished an evening to myself, Montford.”
“Allyour evenings are to yourself. If you truly wished that, you wouldhave stayed home.”
“Youwould think the fact I didn’t seek any of you out would have been ahint that perhaps I wanted to be alone.”
Montford smiledblandly. “You would think that.”
Stephen lookedbetween them. A sinking feeling began in his stomach. “So if you’rehere, does that mean—”
The door swungopen. Mr Connor Fairfax entered, quickly followed by the Earl ofAshburton and—bloody hell, that was half his luck. Bringing up therear was the bloody Duke of Sutton. “Excellent. You’re all here,”Stephen said sourly.
“Kind of you to reserve a room for us, old man,” Fairfax said,clapping him on his bad shoulder.
Stephen winced.“As I was saying, I aimed for solitude—”
“Lucky you have us, then, to break it for you.” Ash scowled atFairfax. “Don’t clip him on that wing, Fairfax. That’s the onethat’s broke.”
“Brok-en.” Sutton shook his head. “Bloody hell,Ashburton, anyone would think you were raised in the gutter withthe way you speak.”
“Ibeg your pardon, your grace. Not all of us can be as perfect asyourself.”
Sutton, prigthat he was, declined to answer.
Stephen lookedamong them. Somehow, these five disparate men had become hisclosest friends, all because of Harbor and his Will. Well, all werehis friends bar Sutton. He doubted anyone would call Sutton theirfriend.
The six of themhad not really known each other prior to Harbor bequeathing themthe 1810 Club. They attended Rugby together, and then Cambridge,but Stephen would have only ever accounted them as acquaintances.Harbor was the one who had been friendly with them, and his Willhad bestowed joint ownership upon them all, stipulating they mustmeet at least monthly to discuss the stewardship of the club. Atfirst, they had met for those monthly meetings only, but slowlythey had met outside the meetings, and then they had met foramusement. Now, it seemed they were determined to plague him withalarming regularity, ruining his tendency to solitarypursuits.
“Tell Montford he’s bloody terrible at billiards and shouldhang up his cue.” Pinet said, examining his nails.
“I’mnot terrible,” Montford protested mildly. “I’m merelydiscerning.”
