He caught sight of Edward as he drew nearer. But instead of frowning or jumping in surprise, Stephen gave him a brilliant smile. “Edward,” he called out. “Good to see you. I’m glad you’re not dead.”
That little… Edward shook his head in mock anger. Stephen had known it was him the entire time, and he’d given scarcely a hint.
“Delacey, eh?” Stephen came up to him. “You’re taking on James Delacey?”
Edward huffed. “Shut up, clod.” And then, because that seemed unduly harsh, he reached over, removed Stephen’s hat, and ground his knuckles in Stephen’s hair. Or at least he tried to. The angle was no longer quite so convenient; he scarcely managed to apply his knuckles to his head.
Stephen simply looked over at him with raised eyebrows. “Unimpressive, Edward. That doesn’t work so well when I’m no longer waist-high.”
“Why didn’t you say anything back there, if you knew?”
“Huh.” Stephen rolled his eyes. “Look at me. I’m just a nobody, with neither sense nor discretion. Why would I keep my mouth shut? It’s not as if my brother corresponds regularly with a man named Clark, a man I’ve never heard of and who he refuses to answer questions about. But, no, there’s nothing suspicious about that.”
Edward glared at him.
“I was certainly not suspicious when I heard there was a mysterious Mr. Edward Clark hanging about the press. Said Clark appeared just in time to foil a plot to have me tossed out of school, if not worse. But do I know an Edward Clark? No, of course I don’t. I only know an Edward Delacey. That’s the man who saved my life when I jumped out of a tree into sucking mud.”
Edward frowned. “No, I didn’t. That was Patrick.”
“I would remember. It was definitely you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“In any event, if my brother says that Edward Delacey is dead, who am I to contradict him?” Stephen rolled his eyes. “Really, Edward, after all these years, do you have to ask where my loyalties lie?”
Edward didn’t even believe in loyalty any longer. “You haven’t seen me in God knows how long.”
Stephen shrugged. “Yes, and while we’re at it, thanks for paying my school fees.”
Edward put his hands on his hips. “How the devil did you know about that? Did Patrick tell you? I’d thought more of his discretion than that.”
“No, but it was either you or Baron Lowery, and Patrick is very insistent on not accepting presents from Lowery.” Stephen shrugged. “I’m glad you’re alive. Even without that.”
When Edward had appeared to James, James had said almost exactly the opposite. It made Edward feel almost sentimental.
Instead of showing it, he simply raised an eyebrow. “You’re glad I’m alive? Imagine how I must feel.”
Stephen laughed. “Miss Marshall asked if I knew you.”
Edward stiffened. “And you said?”
“Do you remember that game we used to play, the one that annoyed Patrick? Where he’d ask questions, and we’d do our best to tell him falsehoods without actually uttering an untruth?”
Edward gave a crack of laughter. He had memories of lying in a field watching clouds go by, trying to make Patrick go mad by telling not-quite lies. God, he’d almost forgotten that.
“Well, I can still do that. ‘A passing acquaintance, Miss Marshall? No, I don’t have a passing acquaintance with Mr. Clark.’” Stephen smiled. “No need to mention that he’s my long-lost friend.”
Of all the things that Stephen could have said, that was the one that almost brought Edward to his knees. He felt the weight of a sudden, choking emotion. The other man’s casual smile seemed a heavy burden.
“I’ve been wishing I could introduce you to Miss Marshall ever since I found out about her father. Just to see your face when you found out.”
That fantasy played out again—the one where Edward Delacey, whole, and unblackened, met a fiery Miss Marshall.
She’d have laughed in his face. And truth to tell, his old self wouldn’t have had the strength to deal with her. She would have utterly overwhelmed him.
“Play your hand right,” Stephen said, “and maybe you can beg an introduction.”
He could have friends, family…and Free.
But then it never worked out that way.
Edward shook his head. “Play your hand right, and maybe she’ll never discover you lied to her. I’d hate to incur her wrath, if I were you. She seems rather fierce.”
THE TELEGRAM HAD ARRIVED late last evening, and Amanda had tossed and turned all night, dreading what she needed to do.
It was ridiculous to hold a grudge against Free for asking her to deliver this message—and she didn’t really feel grumpy about it. Not truly. But no matter how she tried to tell herself she need only address herself to Mrs. Jane Marshall, every time she looked up from her comfortable, cushioned chair, it wasn’t Mrs. Marshall, garbed in a flowing pink gown that emphasized her plump curves, that her gaze fixed upon.