“Come in, sit down, have a drink. I was happy to receive your letter and happier still to receive you.” Hugh moved to the sideboard as he spoke and splashed scotch into a glass that he handed over.
“The same from my side,” Baldwin said as they lifted their glasses. “There are fewer and fewer in our ranks who are bachelors—we must stick together.”
He had meant the quip as a joke, but Hugh’s expression darkened and he took a deep sip of his drink before he said, “Ah yes, our friends who are deep in the throes of true love.” He rolled his eyes.
The harsh words made Baldwin examine his face more closely. There was more than Hugh’s usual seriousness in his eyes. There was…anger there. Darkness.
“Are you so opposed to true love?” Baldwin asked, choosing each word carefully.
Hugh shrugged. “I’m certain some find it and one cannot find fault with our friends’ choices of wives thus far, but…”
He trailed off, and Baldwin leaned forward. “But?”
“Not everyone is what they seem,” Hugh finished. “I have doubts that something so flippant as true love can last.”
Baldwin flinched. “I cannot argue the idea that some people are not what they seem.” He shifted. “Charlotte said she saw you at Mattigan’s.”
Hugh lifted his gaze from his drink. “Yes, I saw her yesterday, I think it was. She mentioned it to you?”
“Yes, and that she was attempting to coax you to supper tomorrow with the group and some outside friends.”
“I’m not in much of a humor to be around people, I’m afraid.”
Baldwin chuckled. “She mentioned that, too.”
Hugh pushed to his feet. “If I offended her—”
“You didn’t,” Baldwin said. “Worried her, I think is more accurate, and sitting here with you, I must admit you are worrying me a bit, too.”
Hugh speared him with a glance. “So this isn’t a social call, but a fishing expedition.”
“It won’t be a fishing expedition if you don’t make me fish,” Baldwin said, getting up, too. “Do you want to talk about what is troubling you?”
Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face and the anger there turned to worry, even fear. “Just some…some trouble with Lizzie.”
Baldwin drew back. Lizzie was only sixteen, not even out yet. She and Hugh had always gotten along, the girl looked on him as a father rather than a brother. For all intents and purposes, he had been. She was so young when she lost her parents.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” Hugh said, his tone growing dark again. “I have—I’ve managed it as best I can. She’s safely back in Brighthollow now.”
Baldwin tilted his head. “Safely?”
“What about you?” Hugh said, ignoring the question. “You have been moping around for quite some time. Would you like me to pry into the details of your troubles?”
Baldwin frowned. “No,” he said at last.
“I’m sure the others are pressing you on it. That’s what they do, after all, and they mean well. But I know better than others that some secrets should not be discussed or exposed. I wouldn’t dare to bother you about them. If you see fit to talk about what’s troubling you, you will. I only ask the same courtesy from you. At least with each other, we can be untroubled.”
Baldwin shifted. The idea of not having to hide or pretend to avoid prying questions was certainly attractive on some level. But Hugh’s coldness bothered him.
Still, he held up both hands in surrender. “If you don’t wish to speak, we won’t speak. But what shall I tell Charlotte about her party?”
Hugh dipped his head. “I’ve always admired your sister, of course. And I adore Ewan, for he is impossible not to adore. But I…I can’t be with people right now. Look at me—you see what I am at present. Give me a few weeks of peace and I promise I’ll be of a better mind to see friends.”
Baldwin nodded. “Very well. I will make an excuse that she will not press about.”
Relief flowed over Hugh’s expression and he smiled once more. “Good. Very good. Now what say we play a game of billiards?”
Baldwin grinned and followed his friend from the room. But even as their talk shifted to more benign and less troublesome topics, he couldn’t help but feel troubled. For Hugh, yes, for it was clear something terrible weighed on his mind.
But also for himself. Because in Hugh’s darkness, he feared he saw his own future. A future where his secrets ate away at his heart and eventually turned him into someone he did not wish to be.
Chapter Seven
Helena pulled the delicately stitched gown tight across Charity’s slender shoulders and went to work on buttoning the long line of pearls along her back. This was something her cousin’s maid could have done, of course, but Charity had asked for her.
And Helena had no way to refuse. So she swallowed her humiliation at the way Charity’s maid had glared at her, and did her best to play the role of servant.
Not that Charity seemed to notice. She had been chattering nonstop since Helena entered the room a quarter of an hour before.
“But Papa is set on a duke,” she continued, and for the first time Helena lifted her gaze and attended to Charity’s words.
“It is the highest title until one gets to the princes,” Helena said, hoping she sounded light and disinterested in the subject. She was anything but. Dukes were of interest to her. Well, one duke. One who would be in attendance tonight.
“Well, he looked into princes, too,” Charity said with a shrug that yanked the buttons from Helena’s fingers. “There are no good prospects available.”
“Hmmm, so a duke it is,” Helena muttered as she went back to her work.
“There will be dukes aplenty tonight. Though many of then are already married, which seems such a waste. Did you know that the group of them have a club of some kind?”
Helena swallowed. “Do they? Where did you hear that?”
“When we went on our calls the other day. I was bored almost to tears—the English are so stuffy. But you must have had it worse, Helena. Having to stay here and read?”
Helena stifled a smile. Not only did her cousin not understand in the slightest that she enjoyed reading, but she had not mentioned the call she had received from The Duchesses, as she now thought of them. None of the servants had done so either, so her afternoon with Emma, Meg, Adelaide and Charlotte had remained her lovely secret.
“I managed,” she said, finishing the buttoning at last and moving to examine her cousin. No one could find fault with her clothing, certainly. Uncle Peter made sure of that, for he had provided her with a ridiculous allowance for gowns.
Helena couldn’t help but glance at her own dress. It was serviceable enough, styled to attend a party like tonight’s. But she would not stand out in a plain dark green gown with no flourishes. Not that she needed to. She was not meant to capture the attention of a duke, after all.
“You look lovely. Shall I call Perdy to do your hair?”