Richard closed his eyes and breathed, trying to overcome the ache in his chest. He had hoped, prayed even, that after all these years, he would be able to finally harden his heart against his brother, for hatred would have at least taken away the sting. Still, he could not. He could still remember the older brother who had doted on him, played with him, and taught him how to wheedle pasties out of the kitchen maids. Culfrey was the same brother who had teased Richard over the perceived affections he had had for this or that pretty young girl, and who had protected him from a frantic horse in the family stables when he was a boy, earning himself a nasty scar on his forearm that was visible to that day.
It wasn’t until later that the truth had begun to sink in and alter Culfrey’s affections. It had been bits and pieces at first, all of which had come to a head that horrible night three years ago. Richard had had too much to drink at Lady Bolling’s annual ball and had allowed a handsome Scottish cavalry officer to kiss him in the garden. He had thought they were far enough away from the mansion, hidden in the dark and cover of the trees, but Culfrey had been looking for him for some reason or another. He had seen everything. It had not been until the next day that Culfrey had told Richard in direct terms that he was no longer welcome to live at home.
“If you don’t want it spoken,” Richard said slowly, “then perhaps you should stop bringing it up. I do not bring my
sinful
affairs into this house any more than you do. How is your mistress, by the way?”
Culfrey rolled his eyes and did not bother to reply. Like all self-righteous prigs, he seemed to have no qualms with the notion of setting up some young doxy before the ink on his marriage license was dry. He tossed the letter he was holding back on the desk and rested his hands against the ledge.
“There is something else. Father had arrangements for Anne with old Viscount Kenly years ago for his son. The man will be at the coming-out ball, of course, and I want you to assist in making certain that she is steered in his direction.”
“What?” Richard said, outraged. “Father arranged a marriage for Anne?”
“He was forward thinking. It’s better to have someone reliable picked out ahead of time. The damn ton has become expert these past years at hiding debts, madness, and all manner of things. The last thing I need is to have Anne attaching us to some spendthrift dandy who has already pissed away everything that wasn’t entailed. Kenly’s boy will do, most likely. Though I hear he’s very high in the instep, and you know how Anne gets carried away.”
Anne was joyful and exuberant, which by modern standards meant gauche and unrefined. Richard scoffed. He could just imagine the shock if the ladies of the ton had any idea how ridiculous they looked all bridled up, affecting a constant look of mild disgust and boredom. Anne was nothing like that.
“If she likes him,” Richard said firmly. “I won’t see my sister forced into a marriage with some obscure country lord merely because his father knew ours.”
Culfrey’s sneer deepened. “You do not need to ‘see’ anything, since it is hardly your decision to make. Anne will meet him, and if she is not outright repulsed by the man, I will make my desires known. Anne knows what family duty is and what is expected of her.”
There was no point in arguing, for it would not go anywhere. Richard glared at his brother and remained silent. Culfrey could control many things, but he could not control Richard’s access to their sister. Not without the whole ton becoming aware of a rift. It was that fear alone that had kept Culfrey from cutting Richard from the family entirely. Appearances needed to be maintained.
“I remember old Kenly,” Richard said suddenly. “A dry, moralizing old stick, if I remember correctly.”
“I would be shocked to know how liberal-minded a man would have to be for you to not think him a dry, moralizing old stick.” Culfrey snorted. “Everyone must fall short.”
“Oh, no, brother,” Richard said, forcing a nasty smile to his lips. “Not everyone. Not by a mile.”
“I believe we are done here,” Culfrey said coldly. “You will be in the receiving line for Anne’s ball. None of this fashionably-late nonsense. And you
will
conduct yourself appropriately.”
Go to hell, Thomas.
“We are done.” Richard turned and headed for the door. Damned if he was going to wait for a dismissal from Culfrey! Richard would have liked nothing better that to slam the door behind him, but the decorum training of a duke’s son was too ingrained. He closed the door quietly without looking back and was nearly barreled down by a flurry of white muslin.
“Oh! Rich!” Lady Anne cried. She stood on slipper-covered toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I haven’t seen you in an age! I wish you would visit more often.”
“I would, puss, but I hear you have become so popular that I fear Reynolds will always say you are not at home for the likes of me.” He sighed theatrically. “After your come-out ball, I will be lucky if you do not give me the cut direct in the street.”
“Argh!” she scoffed playfully, for Anne found it amusing that he continued to speak to her like a little girl who needed to be entertained and set to the blush. She took his arm, and they meandered in the hall with no real destination.
“What have you been about lately?” Anne said excitedly. “I heard you raced your curricle against Lord Darnish week before last. Is it true, Rich? And did you win?”
Richard smiled at her girlish enthusiasm. She was a slender thing, with silky golden curls and sparkling blue eyes. As he looked down at her, he had a sudden flash of a very different head of golden curls and blue eyes, though those eyes were even more beautiful.
“Afraid not, my dear,” he said, shaking the memory away. “I was a fool to even attempt it, for no one ever beats Darnish.”
“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “Madeline Cross told me about it, since she heard it from her brother, and I told her that you would win for certain. She said I was daft and that Lord Darnish would win.”
“Really?” Richard chuckled. “I wonder if Mrs. Cross knows how closely her daughter follows the racing rounds.”
“Oh, no!” Anne laughed. “She knows not a thing about it. Madeline just has a
tendre
for Lord Darnish, so of course she said he would win.”
Richard rolled his eyes and leaned in close. He knew his little sister lived for tiny bits of innocent gossip since she had not yet done her come out and was not really in society. He winked at her and said, “Half the young ladies of my acquaintance have moon eyes for Darnish.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, blushing. “I saw him at Gunter’s when Lady Ford took me and Lizzy for ices, and he is such a fine gentleman! So tall and handsome!”
“Anne, please. Think of your brother for once, won’t you?” He pressed his hand to his chest as if pained. “I can bear much, but not listening to my little sis moon over gentlemen.”
“Moon!” She stuck her tongue out and gave him a truly childish expression. “I merely said he was handsome. Do you think he will dance with me at my ball? Wait. Will he even be there? I can hardly remember the guest list, I'm so tired of looking at it.”
“I have no idea, but if he is, he would be a fool not to write his name on your card,” Richard said diplomatically. In truth he was sure Darnish would dance with her. He was a well-known ladies’ man and a consummate flirt. He was also one of the finest male specimens Richard had ever seen. Though, perhaps, that had been more true four days ago, before he had met Henry and seen just how beautiful blue eyes could be on a man…
Good God! Get your head together, man.
“Are you all right?” Anne said politely, for Richard had been staring off over her head.
“What? Yes, of course. My thoughts are just elsewhere.” He stepped back and placed his hands on her shoulders. He looked her over and smiled. “You are not going to break any hearts are you, sis? Gentlemen may play rough and careless, but we have a heart in here too. Be kind.”
“Oh!” Anne stomped her little foot, but she was still grinning. “You are ridiculous! How you still talk to me like a silly girl.”
“What? I don’t talk like a silly girl. My voice is quite deep.”
“Oh, you know what I meant!”
He laughed soundly. “When you are sixty and I am a tottering old man pushing seventy, I will still talk to you like this. I’m too old to change now.”
She smiled brilliantly, and Richard saw that little girl all over again. He would miss her when she was married and probably no longer residing in London.
“You will lead me out, won’t you? Thomas said you would.”
“I could hardly allow any other gentleman the honor,” he said. “Just don’t step on my toes. They are sensitive.”
“Bah! But won’t I be an envy? You know ladies always look better on the dance floor if they have a handsome partner. At least that’s what my dance master says. All my friends will be short with each other and trying to get me to push you onto their dance cards.”
Richard smiled indulgently and said nothing. He sometimes wondered if Culfrey had ever said anything to Anne, even the most subtle hints, to make her wonder why Richard was not yet married. No. He would not do that. But Anne had a sharp mind, for all her girlish ways, and was no doubt curious about his life.
He took the opportunity to change the subject.
“Anne, listen,” he began. “Has Thomas spoken to you at all about who you might meet at the ball this Thursday?”
“You mean Kenly’s son,” she said, nodding. “Yes. Papa and he must have been good friends.”
“I suppose. You will remember that you don’t have to do anything you don’t wish. All right? Thomas may have his preferences for family connections, but he isn’t the one who would have to marry the man.”
Anne giggled. “What a thought! You don’t need to worry. I know what I’m about. I would rather be a plump old spinster with my spectacles and my romance novels hidden in religious covers than marry someone I didn’t like. I won’t.”
“Good,” he said, then added, “But I’m not telling you to turn the poor man off either. Just look with clear eyes.”
“Oh, I do hate this ‘market’ nonsense so much. I feel like I’m being sent out to shop for hats, only the hats can talk and want to stay on my head forever and ever.”
Richard laughed raucously. “Anne, if you do choose not the marry, I suggest you take up your pen and write comedies for the stage.”
“Rich!” she gasped. “It’s considered vulgar for ladies to write and publish.”
“All the more reason for you to do it if you don’t marry.” He shrugged. “I must be going, Anne. I have quite a busy day ahead of me.”
“All right.” She sighed. “I will see you Thursday, anyway.”
He kissed her cheek and said good-bye once more before heading off. He had told a white lie when he said he had a busy day. Truth be told, he wanted to avoid any further words with his brother while he could. He was thankful that Anne had not invited him to dinner.
It was a chill, foggy day and still quite early. As he mounted his chestnut mare and directed her toward Park Lane, he allowed his thoughts to wander. They had been doing that a great deal in the past four days. And being honest with himself, he acknowledged that those thoughts wandered in one general direction. Henry.
Try as he might, he had been unable to forget about the man or the night he had spent with him. Aside from forgetting, he had also been unable to savor the memory as little more than a pleasurable distraction. That was, after all, the way he remembered many of the evenings he spent with whores, and he could not bring himself to class Henry with them. Instead, he remembered the night with a sort of ache and a rueful disappointment that Henry had rejected his offer to see him again. He understood why. Fear was a powerful thing, the thing that kept many men like him frozen in passionless marriages, wherein they came to despise their wives almost as much as their wives came to despise them. He hated the idea of Henry directing himself toward that sort of life.
Richard decided that it was a lazy day, and his unpleasant encounter with Culfrey gave him leave to indulge in pleasant fantasies. He set his horse toward the park and allowed himself to ponder who Henry might really be, and what he could possibly be doing right now.
* * * *
Henry had never understood why so many people complained about the fog. He loved it. It gave one the freedom of the outdoors coupled with a dreamy sort of anonymity. It was so thick today that people were hardly able to recognize one another past a few yards. It also kept the lanes open, as most chose to stay indoors. Pair that with the fact that it was well before five o’clock, the fashionable hour at which the ton descended on Hyde Park, and he was virtually alone. He directed his white gelding, Bogs, onto the serpentine path and brought him to a canter.
He passed several other riders along the path and nodded in greeting. He recognized no one, which was not a surprise. Almost everyone he knew in London had been an associate of his father’s, either too old or too surly to have much interest in pleasure riding. It felt good to take in the landscape around him and let his thoughts wander. If he had come at the fashionable hour, he would have had an ache in his neck from all the craning and staring, making greetings and struggling to remember names and faces.
He was so unaccustomed to it all. His society in Lancaster was rather narrow, as his father had always liked. There were some local gentry, including a baronet, and the next closest peer was a viscount in his fifties with a gossipy wife and half a dozen children. This was not to say, however, that Henry was a rustic. He was the Earl of Brenleigh, trained in every refinement expected of a gentleman and a high-ranking peer. Uncomfortable he might be, but no one would know it. Lord Brenleigh never showed discomfort or gaucherie.
Well…almost never.
His lips twitched up in a smile. He
had
been terribly awkward that night, hadn’t he? Oddly enough, it did not bother him now. He had too many other pleasurable things to remember and replay over and over again in his mind. It had been his plan all along to keep that night with him always, to go back to it whenever he needed it for the rest of his life, like a well-worn book with dog-eared pages. Yes, he had planned to remember, but he had not planned on it all feeling so bittersweet.