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Edmund Ingram brushed rain from his jacket as he entered Whites, a gentleman’s club he favored in St. James. The club presented a hotbed of Tory debate, and he could often use the political bets there to gauge his own father’s mind. Though of late, that determination seemed to be a full-time endeavor. A footman waited at the door and greeted him while Edmund removed his hat and ran a hand through his rather disheveled hair. It had been a long and grueling day.
“It is still a bit brisk out for the season, isn’t it?” Edmund commented to the footman as the man took his hat and overcoat. Edmund realized he did not know the footman’s name. He had once known the names of all the footmen at Whites. The man was a pale blond with paler skin, probably in his mid-twenties.
“Indeed,” the footman agreed with Edmund’s sentiment about the weather. “We have the fires lit to take off the damp and the chill,” he said.
“Good,” Edmund said. He glanced towards the dining room. “Is Harry Westlake here?” he inquired. “I am a bit late.”
The footman answered directing him with an elegant long-fingered gesture to where Harry and a few of his other friends had congregated in the dining room. Dark had fallen and the lamps were lit. He was surprised they were not already at supper. That would have been deuced embarrassing.
Edmund hoped to have a relaxing evening of card playing and comradery. After the dizzying rout his father had run him through with papers on current events and workings of parliament, he was overdue for a break. What he really wanted was a drink, but he knew he should imbibe carefully. No doubt his father would have him up at the crack of dawn for some new problem that the bloody little Frenchman had begun.
“Ah! The Honorable Edmund Ingram will be joining us for dinner after all!” Harry called raising a glass. He gestured to the footman to bring more wine.
Edmund sat at the table to a round of laughter, waving off the applause and accolades led by Harry Westlake, whom he usually considered to be among his very best friends. Usually. “Don’t be a fool,” he admonished.
“Oh dear,” Harry said with mock horror. “Your father truly is rubbing off on you.”
“He is not,” Edmund said decisively as he snapped open his napkin. He waved away the offer of brandy.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the gesture. “Next you will be saying you can’t drink with us,” Harry admonished.
“Of course not,” Edmund said. “Only, I haven’t eaten and spirits will go to my head.”
“That is the right of it,” Harry said. “Although a glass of wine? That is hardly spirits.”
Edmund opened his mouth to object, but Harry’s brother, Andrew, interrupted gesturing to the footman to bring a bottle of wine to their tastes. “You haven’t been here for an age,” Andrew commented.
“Oh, and Alexander has?” Edmund replied, when he saw the Duke of Bramblewood at their table. “I vow, my sister must not let him out of the house,” he commented in a loud whisper to Harry. “Has she released you then, Alex?” he teased.
“She has,” Alex said without rancor.
“You are hen-pecked already,” Andrew said.
“I am not,” Alex said sipping his wine. “But when I have feminine attributes to enjoy at home. I find no need to seek companionship elsewhere.”
“Ho! Ho!” Harry laughed.
Edmund grimaced, holding up a hand to forestall any further comment. “I do not want to hear more,” he said. “Remember your wife is my sister.”
“You brought up the topic,” Alexander said with a smile.
“I did not,” Edmund remarked sounding somewhat like a petulant ten-year-old, and his friends laughed again.
Edmund noticed the other gentlemen held dinner, but they had all been drinking while waiting for him.
“Have I truly been absent from the club as often as all that?” he asked, with a wry look at Harry who had started counting on his fingers at the question.
“I daresay you were here, Tuesday last. Or was it Wednesday? I could ask the staff, but I am doubtful whether you have been in often enough in the past month for them to remember your face!”
“I do not think that is so. My face is remarkably memorable,” Edmund smiled and scrubbed his hand over his features.
“You look tired,” Alex commented.
“And hungry,” Edmund added.
“Well then,” Harry’s brother Andrew replied with a wicked gleam in his eye. “It is a good thing we took the liberty of ordering the chestnut stuffed quail,” he said.
Andrew was a connoisseur of good food and his physique showed it. Of the group, he was the only one with a bit of an early paunch, and rounded cheeks covered with sideburns. He looked almost nothing like his brother Harry, who took after their willowy mother rather than their rotund father.
“Have you tried it?” asked Harry. “It is marvelous.”
“I have not,” Edmund said.
“What has kept you from our company?” Andrew asked. “Is it one of the fairer sex? Do tell all.” Andrew took a bite of the quail and closed his eyes in bliss.
“It is not,” Edmund said with a sigh. “My father has kept me quite engaged,” Edmund settled in and smiled. It felt very good to sit on something. It seemed he had been running all day from one appointment to the other on a series of pointless errands. “It seems that there is always something that needs to be done, and usually required to be completed several hours before I am even told to do it! It has been a great deal of cat and mouse, I fear.”
“Your father likes the game,” Alex commented.
Harry grinned and picked up his glass. “And are you the cat or the mouse?” He sipped his wine as the footman brought the next course of their repast.
Edmund dug in and regarded his friend as he chewed. Andrew was right. The quail was excellent. It was good to be back in the club and to spend time with his friends. Harry always had the ability to make a man feel more at ease. He lightened the burden of day-to-day obligations just by being himself. “Sometimes the cat,” Edmund smiled, finally relaxing, “sometimes the mouse.” He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. “Most often the cheese.”
“Ho! Ho!” Harry said. “Is your father still trying to turn you into a Tory?”
“Hush,” Edmund said conspiratorially. He looked around at the club which did have its fair share of conservatives, no matter the opinions of the younger set.
To this, Andrew’s stomach began to shake with suppressed laughter. He raised his glass in a toast to Edmund and drank heavily from it. “That is the nature of politics, I think.” He said around the cup. His bright eyes twinkled with hidden mischief.
Edmund sipped his own wine. The white paired with the quail was cool and dry. It suited him fine. He nodded his thanks at the footman. Lud. He didn’t know this one’s name either. Had they turned over the whole place? He wondered. “Excuse me,” Edmund said with a question in his glance.
The footman turned back. “Will there be something else, sir?”
“I haven’t seen Berks,” he said inquiring after the footman who usually served dinner. “I do hope he is well.” Edmund liked Berks. The man was perhaps a generation his senior, but he was jovial and always had smile for the patrons, even though some of the older gentlemen frowned at Berk’s levity.
The new footman smiled heartily. “Oh, yes sir. He has retired. Bought a cottage north of here and married one of the cook’s daughters. Expecting their first child, any day now.”
“A little shy of the required time,” Harry confided and the pale young footman blushed to his ears. “Hey then, Patton,” Harry continued. “Bring us another bottle of sweeter wine. This is too dry for my taste.” Harry had always been particular about the wine he drank and was even worse with brandy. He was a near connoisseur of the spirit.
“Right away, sir,” the footman said and hurried away.
Edmund took a long sip of the aforementioned wine and then proceeded to cut his quail.
“So how is parliamen
t?” Harry asked.
“A lot of work,” Edmund said, “but I am finding it to be most invigorating, or I would find it so if I did not have to suffer my father.”
“Lord Kentleworth can be exacting,” Alex put in between bites of the fowl.
Edmund nodded. “He is most skilled in the art of politics,” Edmund confessed with a tone of reluctance. “It is ungodly difficult to get anything done. The constant give and take is alike walking a labyrinth backwards while blindfolded.”
“With the proper company, that rather sounds like a delightful way to spend a Saturday afternoon,” Harry said as they finished their meal and retired to leather wingback chairs near the fire. The pale footman brought brandy. Patton was his name. Edmund committed the thought to memory.
The four gentlemen sat in companionable silence, while watching the fire banked in the great stone fireplace.
“Well, at any rate, my boy, you have been sorely missed in the local nightlife. Such as it is.” Harry lamented.
“Such as it is?” Edmund said. “What no news? That surprises me.”
“Well, you heard about our cousin David, did you not?” Andrew asked nodding at Harry.
“Lord Firthley?” Edmund asked for clarification although David was the only Firthley that was near their age.
Harry nodded and Alex groaned.
“Caused quite a stir. He married a Hawthorne girl,” Harry confided.
“It’s all anyone is talking about,” Alexander said glumly.
“Why should it matter to you, Bramblewood?” Harry asked.
“Have you forgotten that Em was nearly engaged to Robert Hawthorne?” Edmund asked.
“Well, she was deuced lucky to avoid the ponce; I must say,” Harry added. “You are a much more congenial chap to add to our supper table,” he said to the duke.
“Thank you,” Alexander said dryly.
“Lud,” Edmund said shaking his head. “It is a wonder the old patriarch did not have an apoplexy. A Firthley and a Hawthorne. I thought the two families hated one another.”
“They were attempting to elope,” Andrew confided.
“Attempting,” Edmund said. “You said they married. That seems to imply they succeeded.”
“Yes, but not before shots were fired.”
“Shots?” Edmund said, surprised.
“That was after Robert Hawthorne laid the man out at the Keegain’s winter ball. Their footman saw all,” Harry said.
“Such a gossip,” Andrew said sipping his drink.
“It runs in the family,” Edmund said dryly and Alex chuckled. “But seriously, shots fired?” Edmund said, “and all without my knowledge.” He shook his head.
“You were busy at parliament,” Harry said.
“Ah, but it gives you a fair shot at the ladies, then, Harry.” Edmund’s grin widened. “After all the busier I am, the less competition you have, my friend.”
Harry laughed again. “You are no competition for me, mate,” he said with a hearty laugh that faded to a jocular grin.
He seemed not to mind that the rolling echoes of his mirth were technically a faux pas in the elegant club. Oddly enough no one seemed to mind. The noise was so infectious that even the oldest and most rigid of members smiled as they tried to shoot him quelling looks. Harry had that effect on people. “The ladies adore me,” Harry said.
“As if, young bucko,” Andrew teased him. “As for me, I welcome the competition. There are too many eligible ladies already. I trip over them whenever I leave the house.” He looked down at his belly. It wasn’t as large as some indolent men with good appetites, but he was working on it all the same. He began life as a stout boy and grew into a large man, intent upon growing even larger. “I believe I am cursed with a physique that makes me irresistible,” he said patting his belly.
Edmund and Harry chuckled. It felt good to laugh again. After the cut-throat halls of Parliament and the vicious backstabbing of politics, the ability to let down his guard with someone capable of good humor was a priceless treasure.
“Oh bless me!” Harry suddenly broke the silence and sat upright. “I had nearly forgotten!” He reached into his pocket and produced an envelope that was somewhat the worse for wear. To Edmund’s surprise, it was addressed to him. Harry handed it to Edmund with a flourish.
“It is from my cousin, Anne,” he announced. “Though why she gave it to me, I have no idea. Had she used the post you could have had it delivered ten times over. I daresay she must think you spend a great deal more time with us here at the club than you do.”
Edmund took it gingerly and stared at the precise cursive handwriting on the front. The sight of it gave him pause. He thought of the girl with whom he had spent so many joyful summers, riding the country trails and playful winters on Brackenbrush Lake ice skating. He smiled in spite of himself, but did not open the letter.
Edmund considered tucking it into his pocket to read later, but that was silly.
“I daresay, I have had that letter in my possession for long enough to where I feel it safe to assure you, that it will not bite,” Harry said.
Feeling somewhat self-conscious, Edmund opened the letter and began reading silently. “You said it would not bite,” he chastised Harry, “but, in truth, this missive has teeth.” He saw his friend’s eyebrow rise, but Harry said nothing, letting Edmund take his time to detail the contents. “I am chastised for missing so many balls. Well, there is only one detailed herein, but Anne is somewhat…vexed with me.” He folded the letter. “I expect it was a rather important function.”
Edmund tucked the letter into his pocket and regarded Harry. “Is this a familial complaint? You and your cousin both calling me to task for missing social engagements?”
Harry chuckled. “For entirely different reasons, I am sure.” He shifted and perched on the edge of the chair. “Tell me, old man, are you avoiding my cousin?”
“Of course not!” Edmund couldn’t contain his surprise at the suggestion. “Why ever would you think so?”
“She seems to think so.”
“Oh, well. It is not so. Quite the contrary. As I said, Father has kept me most occupied,” Edmund huffed. “Although it is to our mutual displeasure, I shall be most grateful when parliament is at a close and we may return to Northwickwhire for the summer holiday.” Edmund stared into the fire, suddenly wistful. “If there were such a thing as magic, our time in Northwicksire would have been such a place and time.”
“Magic?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised in speculation.
“”There is no better word for it,” Edmund insisted. “Northwickshire is a very congenial place and any memory involving your cousin remains a pleasant one.” Edmund leaned back, letting the soft leather conform to his body. His thoughts drifted to the long summer days spent in each other’s company. Truth be told, as a youth, Edmund had ever been up to some mischief and Anne was not one to be left out, especially not for the excuse of her gender. No. She had always been right in the thick of it with him, side by side. He smiled at the thought and endeavored to see her smile in his mind’s eye. Her laugh was like a song to his ears, even when it was at his expense. “Your cousin was the best of company. We shared nearly everything,” he said.
Harry hummed in amusement and Edmund turned to look at him. Harry was still seated on the edge of his chair, looking as though he hung on every word Edmund spoke. “Everything is it? Should I be worried for my cousin’s virtue?” Harry asked jokingly.
Edmund laughed aloud. Harry was the last person to be protecting anyone’s virtue.
“Not at all. We were only children, but we were very close friends. We all were,” he amended glancing at Alexander. “Alexander, Emily, Anne and I.”
“Yes, but what we treasure as children does not always remain in adulthood. A man’s interest changes,” Alexander offered unhelpfully.
Edmund suddenly realized his explanation was not so innocent as it had been before Alexander had married Emily.
Edmund did not reply.<
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The fire spat, and an ember rolled free to burn on the grating. He watched the glow and sighed, lost in days gone by. “I look most fondly on those times, and on Anne,” Edmund said. “We shared secrets, Anne and I. We shared laughter and fears and scared each other by climbing tall trees and daring each other into further adventures. That is until Anne became a young lady; then we saw much less of one another. Although when we were both on holiday from school, she allowed me to practice the dances we both had to learn for polite society.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” Alexander said. “I seem to remember that you nearly crippled the girl after Emily declared you hopeless and refused you as a partner.
“That is why I needed the practice,” Edmund quipped.
Alexander had to chuckle. He knew Edmund had grown into a passable dancer thanks in no small part to Anne.
“I never understood how someone so skilled at fencing could be so terrible at dancing,” Andrew wondered aloud.
“Ah,” Harry replied, “but the purpose of a bout of fencing is to injure your partner.”
The men all laughed heartily at that.
Edmund smiled into his glass. He had enlisted Anne as a fencing partner on more than one occasion as well until her governess found out and put a stop to it.
He remembered one occasion vividly. They were both very competitive and intent upon their sport. They had grown careless in their exertion. With his longer reach, Edmund had given her a scratch and rent the sleeve of her gown, quite by accident. Enraged Anne had dropped the rapier and launched herself at him. Edmund had been taken so fully by surprise that she knocked him flat. His foil skittered across the floor lost in the melee. He flushed at the memory. Anne’s governess had found them in a most indecorous position; limbs tangled on the floor. With Anne’s torn dress and rumpled state you would have thought he attacked the poor girl, although it was Anne who sat astride him rather than the other way round. That thought brought a rush of heat which Edmund quickly squelched taking a sip of brandy as if it would cool him.
A smile formed on his lips. He remembered, Anne’s governess had been in a grand temper over the whole affair, and they both had received a very serious tongue-lashing. Still, it had not curtailed their fun. The pair had simply become more surreptitious in their practice.
The Viscount's Wayward Son: A Regency Romance (Ladies of the North Book 2) Page 4
