Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  Monty winced. She would not be permitted to stay long, not with that high-pitched wobble in her voice, it was enough to drive a man to drink.

  Almost absentmindedly, he poured a glass of the brandy and took a gulp. The fiery liquid did make his bones feel on fire, but it was not enough to warm the chill in his heart.

  “I will go where I please, madam, and will thank you for not raising your voice at me!”

  A gentleman replied to Mrs. Miller with a determined air that said the speaker always got what he wanted, even if he did not receive it immediately.

  “Not in there!” Mrs. Miller’s voice seemed closer. “No!”

  Monty sighed. It was inevitable, was it not, that he would be interrupted on tonight of all nights by a stranger when all he wanted to do was wallow in his emptiness.

  “Move out of the way, woman.”

  Now the voice was closer, and it sounded familiar. What was someone doing, coming here at this ungodly hour and shouting at his new housekeeper? Did the ruffian have no manners whatsoever?

  Before Monty could even start to think about what he would do or say to get rid of this unwelcome intruder, the door to his study burst open. A man was standing there with Mrs. Miller behind him. The man was smiling grimly.

  Josiah Stanhope, Earl of Chester, strode into the room. “I want to talk to you, Devonshire.”

  Mrs. Miller rushed toward him in the corridor, her hands flapping. “Sir, you simply cannot—”

  Her words were cut off as Josiah slammed the door in her face. Her muffled shouts of protest and shock came through the door, but Josiah calmly lowered his hand to turn the key sitting in the lock.

  He glared at Monty.

  Monty sighed. He should have expected this of course, and it was foolish to pretend he did not know why his friend was here.

  It was what he would have done if he had a sister. He should have mentioned it to Mrs. Miller, told her to be on her guard—perhaps to not allow admittance until the morning. The brandy he had already drunk swam in his mind.

  “Evening,” he said, surprised his tongue was able to form words.

  Yes, there was Chester, like a knight in shining armor. And Monty had thought he had been the knight in shining armor, moving in to rescue Harry like the damsel in distress she was.

  And her honor, like any damsel in distress, had been destroyed. Even if the world had never known, even if people looked at the filth Mrs. Bryant had published and agreed it could not possibly be true.

  He had ruined her. No second thought had been given to her character. He had been selfishness itself.

  If only he had proposed then, lying together in each other’s arms on that wonderful night. That night when everything had been right between them, and they had utterly understood each other.

  But then, he had not known then what love was. Had not recognized it when he had felt it looking at her, loving her, touching her.

  If only, if only. Well, no one could turn back time.

  “Do sit, Chester, you make me feel awkward standing there,” said Monty with a wry smile. “I suppose you are here to force me to marry your sister?”

  Josiah strode across the room and threw himself into the armchair opposite him. Without saying a word, he reached for the bottle of brandy and raised an eyebrow.

  In equal silence, Monty pulled a glass from the dresser beside him and handed it over. Josiah helped himself to a large glass of the amber liquid.

  Then he put his feet on the table between them. “No.”

  Monty blinked. He could not have heard the word correctly. “No?”

  Josiah shook his head. “You poor idiot. Do you think I have nothing better to do than run around the two of you fools and solve all your problems?”

  This was not how Monty had expected this conversation to go, and he glanced at the glass in his hand to check he had not already consumed the second portion. It was still there, golden and glistening in the dying firelight.

  “No, I am here to tell you your best friend is upset.”

  Monty’s head jerked up. Josiah was staring with no anger in his eyes, but they narrowed as their gazes met.

  “You do remember your best friend, don’t you?” he said quietly. “My sister.”

  It did not make sense. Perhaps Josiah did not understand, and perhaps he had not heard the full story. Yes, that must be it. How could he just sit there and stare if he knew?

  He had heard brothers calling out gentlemen for duels, pistols or swords, for far less.

  “After what has happened,” Monty said heavily, “I do not think you want me to marry your sister, Chester.”

  Josiah raised an eyebrow quizzically, and Monty sighed. Well, there was no going back from this conversation. He may as well be honest.

  “After what we have done, after what…we shared,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands, unable to look in the eyes of a man whose sister he had brought to pleasure.

  Josiah’s fingers tightened around his brandy glass. “I am going to ignore that remark, Devonshire, not because I judge you for it, but because my sister is, and always has been, an innocent in my eyes. She could have fifty children, and I would still not want to know.”

  Monty laughed. “Well, you can be sure there will be no child, Chester. We took…precautions.”

  “Well, good on you, you bastard, because I did not. Honora will be confined in about three months. You see, I married someone I could not live life without, and she has become my best friend.”

  There was silence as Monty looked at him uncomprehending.

  Josiah sighed. “God’s teeth, man, you are dense. You have a best friend in my sister, and now you have discovered you cannot live life without her. Do you not see there is a rather simple solution to this problem?”

  Monty gritted his teeth. “I do not need to be lectured on the potential solution to my problem in my own home, Chester.”

  “Well, I think you do,” Josiah said bluntly. “That you are daft enough not to marry a woman you bedded and who incidentally is the person you are closest to in the world.”

  Monty raised his glass and poured the brandy down his throat. Anything to feel, not to think.

  Josiah sighed and set down his glass. “Look, I am not here to lecture you. I met my wife in a brothel, for God’s sake, I am hardly a paragon of virtue. I came here because I do not want my sister to be unhappy, and that is your fault, whether you are her best friend or fiancé. Fix it.”

  Monty dropped his head into his hands; it was all too much. He wanted to fix it, Josiah wanted him to fix it—but the only solution he could think of, he had already tried. Look how that turned out.

  “I do not know how to fix this, Chester,” he said into his palms. “I…I wanted to marry her. I went to Almack’s that night to propose to her, from…I do not know, from desperation, from the knowledge she was the one woman who had ever made me truly happy. And then that newspaper…”

  Josiah swore, using words Monty knew he would never utter in the presence of his wife or sister.

  “I panicked!” Monty saw by Josiah’s expression that he must look half-deranged. “I panicked because I had to propose to her, had to rescue her honor, and all of a sudden, that choice was taken from me!”

  Josiah grinned. “Welcome to matrimony. ’Tis an absolute bugger, and you never get your own way half the time, but for some reason, that doesn’t seem to matter quite as much as you thought it did.”

  But Monty was not listening to him; it was impossible to stem his words.

  “She hates me, Chester, there is no other word for it. Harry hates me, and…and I will never get her back. Not as a wife, nor friend, nor acquaintance if the last look she gave me was any indication.”

  Josiah was shaking his head. “Devonshire, that is what marriage is. You are wrong most of the time, and most of the time, you do not know why. But once you have found that person…once you find her, you quickly realize you do not want to live any other way. Without her, you are alone.”


  Monty swallowed. “I…I feel alone.”

  It was terrifying, admitting this aloud to anyone, let alone Josiah. They were close, but they were men. This was not the sort of thing one talked about.

  But his friend was smiling, not mocking. “No number of best friends, chums, acquaintances, brothers, can ever stem that feeling once you have found her. She is the only one who can complete you. So, marry her.”

  “She refused me!”

  “She is an idiot,” said Josiah flatly. “You both are. Christ alive, you are so full of fear, the pair of you, that what you fear what has already happened!”

  Monty smiled weakly. “You say that like it is easy to remedy, but I can no more easily go back in time to change what I said than swallow an elephant!”

  Josiah helped himself to another glass of brandy. “No, you cannot go back in time. But here’s the thing, Devonshire, and listen closely, because few heed me on this one. You have your whole future before you, and you are master of your own fate. Only you can decide what you do from now on, but you know what I think.”

  “It’s too late,” Monty said dully. “Harry is lost to me.”

  In a swift movement, Josiah rose from his chair, came around the table, and shook Monty hard by the shoulder.

  “I have already made most of the mistakes a married man will do in his lifetime,” he said urgently, “and I have had my fair share of apologies to make. It just so happens you’ve probably got to make your biggest one right now. The question is, will you humble yourself, Devonshire, to make your best friend happy?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Harry folded her arms slowly and narrowed her eyes into a glare.

  There was an awkward cough from the footman behind her, but she ignored him. What did she care if she was making a scene? This was her hallway, her home, and she could do what she liked in it. And if that meant staying in here and never having to see the outside world again, then that was exactly what she would do.

  Fury pounded through her veins, but she forced it down. She was not going to shout. She was a Stanhope, and they did not have to yell. They got what they wanted through sheer force of will.

  Opposite her was another Stanhope, albeit one by marriage, who seemed to have the same approach.

  Honora was standing in her coat and bonnet, hands on her hips, a similar glare on her face.

  There was another cough, but this time it was not Blenkins. No, this time it was from a much more pathetic source.

  Letitia Cavendish stood between them, her gaze darting about. She looked terrified, as though the shouting was eventually going to be turned on her.

  Harry sighed and tried not to allow the laugh seeping up her throat to escape. Well, this was ridiculous. If she had not wanted to win her point so seriously, she would have just turned around and retreated back into bed. They must look so ridiculous, standing here in the hallway, glaring at each other as though ready to pounce.

  “You,” said Honora firmly, “will go.”

  Harry snorted. “I absolutely will not, and I challenge any of you to make me. I am not a chit of fourteen who must obey! I am five and twenty and more than my own woman, and the two of you will not overwhelm me.”

  She cast a glare at Letitia for good measure, who visibly wilted before her.

  “Well, then,” Letitia said, looking nervously at Honora. “I think you have made your wishes perfectly plain, Harry, so perhaps it is best if you do not go tonight, and—”

  “Oh, yes, you will go,” interrupted Honora fiercely. “You may not be a child, Harry, but you are certainly acting like one, and so, I will thank you to act your years.”

  Harry shook her head in disbelief. “It is not your role to lecture me, Honora, so go talk to your husband if you feel the need to shout at someone! Just because you are soon to be a mother, it doesn’t make you mine!”

  Letitia gasped, but Harry did not allow herself to be distracted. There was no venom in either of their words, and she was not angry with her sister-in-law.

  It was the whole damned situation. She did not want to leave the house, and society’s rules demanded she did. But who should they all listen to—society’s pathetic terms or her own heart?

  “The best way to show the gossips who is in charge,” Honora was saying firmly, “is to go tonight. Take the fight to them, show them how little you care. Show them you are not afraid of them.”

  Harry’s shoulders slumped. There were few things she was truly afraid of, few people who could cow her into submission.

  But the thought of a repeat of Almack’s two nights ago, the entire room turning to face her, the laughs from the corners of the room and those shouted comments…

  She had been there again last night, in her nightmare. She did not need to repeat the feat again in person.

  “I have lost my reputation,” she said bitterly. “It does not matter anymore whether you want me to come with you this evening or not. Do you think Lady Howard will admit me to her home?”

  Letitia swallowed nervously and looked again at Honora, who looked deflated.

  “Well, I—”

  “And even if she does permit me to join her guests,” Harry persisted, “none of them will wish to speak with me. No one will want me speaking to their sons or daughters, ruining their own reputations, no one will stand up with me and dance, and so I may as well not be there.”

  Honora opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it again.

  Harry nodded. “I would be an embarrassment to you, to Lady Howard—and I know you think it should not matter, and I would agree with you. But do you think our opinions truly count? Honora, you are married, you are safe from slander through Josiah’s reputation and his name. But Letitia…”

  Harry swallowed.

  “You are unmarried,” she said gently to her friend. “With a reputation still intact, and you risked that two days ago already when you approached me at Almack’s. Do you think I wish you to risk it again?”

  Letitia nodded. “Unmarried, and likely to remain so until I somehow find the courage to talk to someone.”

  Her words rang out into the silence, broken by further awkward coughing from Blenkins.

  “Well then,” she said as resolutely as she could. “We are agreed then. I am not going.”

  Relief swept over her. She did not have to leave this place of sanctuary; she could remain here and pretend the rest of the world did not exist.

  But Honora was shaking her head. “You say the problem would be that no one would talk to you, and I agree, that would certainly make things…uncomfortable for you.”

  Harry rolled her eyes and made to return to the stairs, but Honora reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Honora, my reputation is ruined. No gentleman worth his salt is going to want to be in the same room as me!”

  “I knew that, and so I have solved the problem for you,” said Honora smoothly, releasing her hand but Blocking the stairs.

  Harry blinked. “What do you mean, you have solved the problem for me?”

  Honora cast a glance at Letitia, who blushed when Harry twisted around to stare at her.

  “What have you done?” Harry asked quietly, her heart racing.

  Honora jutted her chin. “I have found you a companion and dance partner if you wish to stand up tonight. He is relatively agreeable and is already waiting outside. In the cold, mark you, which is why I think we should get moving as quickly as possible.”

  Harry almost laughed as Honora swept past her toward the door. “You—you have already—oh, no, Honora, who in God’s name have you found?”

  “He is a nice man,” Honora said from the door. “Which pelisse would you like to wear tonight, the blue or the—”

  “Nice?” Harry snorted, striding toward Honora and pulling both pelisses from her hands. “Neither. I am not going to be escorted by a damp young man who is so dull no one else wishes to talk to him in the first place. I am not yet ready to scrape the bottom of the barrel!”
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br />   Honora was utterly unfazed by Harry’s rudeness. “Well, I would not describe him as the wittiest of men, would you, Letitia?”

  The two Stanhopes turned to stare at Letitia, who shook her head.

  “But, on the bright side, he comes from a relatively good family and has found himself utterly disengaged for this evening,” said Honora breezily, stooping to pick up one of the pelisses. “I think the blue, with that gown, the brown will be too dark.”

  “I would much rather stay here.” Harry had not intended her words to sound so pathetic. But she could not bear to think about leaving the safety of her home. Its walls protected her from the world.

  Honora thrust the pelisse into her arms with a fierce look. “I was a lady of Mercia, and now I am the Duchess of Chester—and I, too, have to stare down the taunts of the world, Harry, for what happened to me. I did not have any choice in the men I bedded, and I was held accountable for them. You chose yours. You live with that decision.”

  Harry stared, open-mouthed.

  “I married into this line,” Honora said, breathing heavily, “but you were born into it. The noble blood of the Chesters flows in your veins. So, you will hold your head up high, Harry, as a daughter of Chester, and go out there and prove society wrong.”

  Harry found she could say nothing. How could you argue with that?

  “You are good society, Harry,” said Letitia quietly.

  Harry jumped. She had not realized Letitia had walked down the hallway to join them and was so close behind her.

  “If society is too foolish to see that,” she continued, “then society is no longer fashionable.”

  “I know I must uphold the family name as much as I can,” she said quietly. “But…but what is the point if it is already ruined?”

  Harry turned to Letitia, who was watching her. “What would you do?”

  Letitia blanched. “Me?”

  Harry nodded. “You are a daughter of…of the Devonshire house.”

  “The junior branch,” Letitia interjected quietly. “Not the house itself.”