22
“You have plans for this afternoon?” Ralph asked.
They were eating luncheon together at home, an unusual occurrence. Usually he was gone from the middle of the morning until late afternoon.
“Sarah has invited me to tea,” Chloe told him. “Your grandmother and Great-Aunt Mary are going too. And Lucy. And Gwen will be there with her cousin, Viscountess Ravensberg, who has just recently come to town with her husband. She is the abandoned bride, Ralph, the one the Earl of Kilbourne was about to marry when the countess arrived at the church just in time to stop the ceremony. I cannot wait to meet her. Oh, and the countess herself will be with them.”
“Ah,” he said.
Chloe looked more closely at him, her knife and fork suspended above her plate. She had expected a bit more of a reaction from him.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He looked back at her with raised eyebrows—and blank eyes. “Nothing at all. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“What did you want me to do this afternoon?” she asked him.
“Nothing.” He frowned.
“What are you going to do?”
He set his knife and fork down across his plate with a clatter.
“Sometimes you can be the most pestilential of females,” he said.
Chloe recoiled but did not stop staring at him.
“I beg your pardon.” There was a dull flush in his cheeks. “I do beg your pardon, Chloe. That was quite uncalled for. I will be paying a call of my own this afternoon.”
She did not ask. She waited instead.
“Viscount Harding and his wife are leasing a house on Curzon Street,” he explained when she did not break the silence. “I thought I would call on them. Apparently they are at home most afternoons. Today may be the exception, of course.”
He was doing a lamentable job of sounding casual. Chloe had not forgotten who the viscount and his wife were.
“You wanted me to come with you?” she asked.
“No,” he said, “there is no need. You have other plans. You may tell me this evening if your curiosity over Viscountess Ravensberg has been satisfied.” He picked up his knife and fork as though he intended to resume eating, then merely frowned at his food.
“I shall come with you,” she said. “I’ll send a note to Sarah excusing myself.”
“There is no need,” he said again.
“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “I’ll come. You came with me.”
“Did I ever tell you,” he asked, his eyes inscrutable as they lifted to meet hers, “that sometimes you can be the most pestilential of females?”
“Yes, a time or two,” she said. “But I am coming anyway.”
And then she bit down hard on her lower lip. Before he turned his head sharply away and got abruptly to his feet, his eyes had glistened with what she would swear were tears.
* * *
Ralph wondered fleetingly if this was how Chloe had felt when they stood outside Hitching’s door, waiting for it to open. And he wondered if this was the most selfish thing he had ever done. Was he trying to make himself feel a little better at the expense of people who must wish he were buried in the deepest point of the world’s oceans and consigned to the farthest corner of hell?
Would he feel better?
Or ten times worse?
Was there any worse to feel? Or was there only feeling to feel? He had cut it off more than four years ago as a technique of survival. If he did not feel, then there was nothing to drive him back to the brink of suicide. He had allowed himself to become fond of six friends and to love his family, it was true, provided he kept himself at some emotional distance from them all. And he had allowed himself in the last month or so to grow fond of his wife. It had seemed only right and fair. He had tried, though, to keep her far enough from his heart that he could survive.
He had tried . . .
The door opened and a thin young man in an ill-fitting footman’s uniform looked out at them.
“The Duke and Duchess of Worthingham to see Viscount and Viscountess Harding, if they are at home,” Ralph said, handing the young man his card.
“Oh, they are at home, right enough, Your Lordship, Your Worship,” the footman said, still blocking the doorway. “But I’ll have to go and ask. That is, I do not know if they are at home or not, but I’ll find out for you.”
“New on the job?” Ralph asked.
“Just promoted yesterday from kitchen help,” the young man said, flushing scarlet. “Jerry was dismissed on account of he was light fingered and got caught with a silver spoon down his stocking, and Mr. Broom said as how I could have a chance before they went looking for someone else, Your Worship, Your—”
“Your Grace is the term you are looking for,” Ralph said. “I am a duke. And I believe you ought to admit us and perhaps offer Her Grace a chair while you run off to see if your master and mistress are at home and willing to receive us.”
“Right you are, guv,” the footman said, stepping to one side. “I daresay it’s a bit nippy standing out there. Come on in, then.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said, smiling at the young man as he dragged a chair close to the door for her to sit on. “And congratulations on your promotion. You are learning your new duties quickly.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, ma’am,” he said and hurried away up the stairs, waving Ralph’s card before his face like a fan.