Marquesses at the Masquerade(48)

“You look dreadful,” a familiar voice said.

He glanced up to find Wallis Hume standing before him in a somber gray coat with a matching cravat. His eyes had that watery quality that came with age, and the hand that held his cane shook.

“I had a trying night.”

“Every night is trying for you, I hear.” Wallis sat and then eyed Exmore in that assessing manner of a physician. “You need to leave London, my good man. Take in the fresh air instead of the brandy. Find a gentle wife and leave the actresses alone.”

“I’m needed here.” Exmore tapped his letters concerning the vote.

The man waved his trembling hand. “Britain will roll along quite well without you for a few months. Why not go to your estate in the lake country?”

She was there too. He couldn’t escape her.

Wallis leaned in. “You know, I was married before Beatrice. A lovely lady. Died of a chill after our first year of marriage. I took her to Spain, but nothing could help her poor lungs. I tried to save her, but the Lord wanted her more.” He turned silent and peered off with those filmy eyes. His gnarled gripped tightened on his cane.

“I’m sorry,” Exmore said after a long pause.

“Listen to me. You will find another wife. You will feel affection for her. You will care for her differently than the first. But she will bring you consolation.”

“Thank you,” Exmore muttered and then took a sip of tea to keep back the words, You know nothing. And it was clear that the man had never got over the death of his first wife, who was clearly loved more than his next one. Exmore changed the subject to direct it away from himself and any more unwanted counsel. “How is Patrick?”

“Ah. Glad you should ask. I have a little healthy pursuit for you should you be inclined.” Wallis held up his hand. “Now don’t protest until you hear me out. My son is coming home, and he needs to be set up properly. I thought perhaps that you knew a place befitting a wealthy, distinguished gentleman to let. It is time he established himself and started his own family. Patrick has always looked up to you. You could advise him. Reacquaint him to London Society and find him a proper wife, so that we may avoid the last unfortunate episode. Whatever became of that wild girl?”

“I’m sure she saddled herself to some unassuming country gentleman by now and has more children than she can handle…” Exmore trailed off. A trim young man possessing arresting pale silvery blue eyes entered the room. The rest of his him was dark: his hair that spiked at the edges and his sun-tanned skin. He wore a fashionable blue coat and carried a rolled newspaper under his arm. His eyes hardened with animosity when he spotted Exmore. He started to turn away when Wallis hailed him.

“Good morning to you, Colonel Lewiston.”

A polite smile stretched on Lewiston’s tight lips. He made a small bow. “Lord Exmore. Mr. Hume. I hope you are well.”

Exmore’s fingers tightened on his teacup. Luckily, Wallis answered the man’s greetings, saving Exmore the trouble.

“Well?” Wallis made a humphing sound and continued talking, oblivious to the tension between the other two men. “My son—my only son—is coming home.”

“Ah, I have heard much of the fine young man. I hope you will acquaint us when he returns.” Lewiston was always congenial and polished, and that aggravated Exmore’s hatred of the gentleman.

“Very kind of you, sir. Very kind. Aye, he has been gone for so long, I fear his old set have all scattered. Won’t you join us?”

The younger men’s gazes met. Lewiston glanced away first. “I beg you would forgive me,” he mumbled. “I have previously arranged to meet a friend.”

He bowed again. Exmore watched Lewiston stride toward the front tables.

Lewiston’s presence in the same room set Exmore on edge. Exmore had come here to get some peace, and now what little he had garnered was destroyed. He couldn’t concentrate on Wallis’s recitation of humdrum daily news when he could hear Lewiston greet other members or his affable chuckle rise above the rumble of conversation.

“Pardon me.” Exmore abruptly cut off Wallis’s listing of whom he had seen at Tattersalls. “I remembered that I have an appointment with my man of business.”

Wallis’s mouth dropped at Exmore’s rudeness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you, forcing you to listen to the droning of an old man.”

“Not at all. I’m afraid I had almost forgotten the appointment. Do send Patrick directly to me when he arrives. I shall introduce him in Society.” A contented look of accomplishment passed over Wallis’s features. Wallis had got what he wanted, for he surely didn’t seek out Exmore unless he wanted something. That was really the only reason people reached out to Exmore—for what he could give them.

Exmore hurried away. He could feel Lewiston watching him. Exmore shoved on his gloves and hat as he exited the club. Wind whistled down the street, blowing up loose papers and the rotting scents from the gutter. He hadn’t any appointment, of course. He had lied to Wallis, and he didn’t feel a tinge of guilt about it. Living as he did now required many lies. Lies to conceal, omit, deceive, and to mercifully spare the feelings of others. The first lies were the hardest to tell. Now, they flowed easily from his tongue.

He glanced up and down the street. He didn’t want to go home. Parliament didn’t start for several hours. He thought about a drink. No, he wouldn’t. Even he was beginning to worry about his deteriorating health. But that left him with nothing to numb his mind for the next few empty hours of the day.