Page 43 of Lord Hartwell’s Refuge

“There is perfectly adequate seating, Kettlewell.” Roman put his paper away, patiently reconsidering his entire evening.

“Indeed, I had noticed,” Kettlewell agreed, without moving.

Phineas straightened up, Athena thoroughly greeted. “Congratulations, by the way. Miss Mayweather. An excellent choice for a wife, by all accounts.” He said it with the simple warmth of someone who meant it and hadn’t thought to frame it any other way.

The sincerity took Roman aback. “Thank you.”

Thaddeus, who had taken the chair nearest the window without making a fuss of it, looked at Roman steadily. “Congratulations,” he echoed his brother, his single word just as sincere.

“Thank you, Thaddeus.”

Holly had found himself a position near the bookcase, apart from the others, a glass of Roman’s brandy somehow in hand that Roman had not poured nor noticed him pouring for himself. The solicitor said nothing. He was watching Roman with an attention that he had learned, over years of friendship, meant Holly was enjoying himself.

“Holly,” Roman said.

“Hartwell.” Holly smiled. Yes, he was amused.

“You were there from the beginning,” Roman pointed out. “At Sycamore Lodge.”

“I was.”

“You knew this was coming before I had even asked her.”

“I did.”

The others looked between them, and then at Holly without surprise.

Indeed, Kettlewell grumbled. “He is a soothsayer! The man always knows what we will do before we do it. It is most irritating.”

Roman waited for more. Holly offered nothing, and took a small sip of brandy. “And? Have you nothing more to say on the matter of my engagement? I would think, given that you helped to draw up the marriage agreement, you would have more to add to our friends’ good wishes.”

Holly considered this with every appearance of genuine deliberation. “She asked good questions,” he said finally. “About the accounts. About her family’s situation, and about yours.” A pause. “I thought at the time she was wasted where she was. I think she will make an excellent baroness. Perhaps even an excellent wife, if you allow her to be such.”

Roman stared for a moment, the words turning in his mind. If he allowed her? That made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He looked away.

“Right,” said Kettlewell, still on the desk, apparently a permanent fixture. “Someone find me a drink. We are here to give Hartwell a difficult time before he becomes entirely respectable, and I for one intend to be thorough about it.”

“He is already entirely respectable.” Phineas shook his head. “You are the one we are concerned about.”

“Me?” Kettlewell feigned shock, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. “I am deeply respectable. Always have been. It is something of a burden, in all truth—which reminds me. Hartwell, did you actually propose in a gig?” He turned the topic swiftly away from himself and back to his victim. “Lyness said you proposed out in a gig. On your first outing with Miss Mayweather.”

Roman looked at Lyness. His brother looked at the ceiling, tightening his lips over a grin.

What could he say but the truth? “It was practical.”

The men in the room immediately burst out laughing. Roman looked at his displaced papers, his commandeered brandy, and his brother examining the plasterwork with great interest, and felt, without quite accounting for it…contentment.

His friends would not be so genial if they withheld their support. As much as they made jests, they approved of his decision. Their good-natured ruckus meant he need not defend his choices to them, which gave him leave to relax.

“Kettlewell.” He stood and went to the decanter on the shelf. “Get off my desk.”

“In a moment.” Kettlewell, obviously in no hurry to move, heaved an enormous sigh. “By the by, I am thinking of settling down myself. Thought I should mention it, actually.”

Every head whirled round to him.

“You?” Lyness repeated. “Married?”

“Thought it was relevant to the conversation at hand.” Kettlewell shrugged, his smile turned crooked. “Given the theme of the evening.”