Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“You… you do not usually come here,” Sebastian said; he was not usually a man to be so caught off-guard, but this certainly made him so.
Since Vincent had left the Crown’s service two years ago, it was strange to see him present in the Slates, but that was where Sebastian unexpectedly stumbled into him four days after the opera where he had teased Lady Phoebe to a pretty blush.
Vincent tilted his head, causing his dark hair to fall over his forehead. Since leaving the service, he had let it grow a little more. The loose waves made him look more dashing, and Sebastian would not be surprised if he had a trail of ladies following in his wake.
One after another would be endlessly annoyed because the Duke of Ravenwood was ignoring them. It was common knowledge that Vincent did not plan to settle down any time soon, yet some ladies, plenty of them in fact, persisted.
“No,” Vincent acknowledged. “But you do, and I was tipped off by a certain joint friend of ours that you were likely to be here today, given your recent turmoil.”
“Turmoil?” Sebastian scoffed. “I have no cause to complain.”
He dropped into the seat opposite Ravenwood, and motioned for a drink.
The server, whose decolletage seemed to be winning its fight against her simple corset, nodded with a smile.
He recognized the woman, and knew she remembered his usual order, which was exactly how Sebastian enjoyed his life being.
Familiar.
Predictable.
Knowable.
He might have his own dearth of mysteries and secrets, but Sebastian did not typically surround himself with shady or elusive characters. He liked knowing what he was getting into before diving into any situation. And he took comfort in spending time with people who were consistent.
His life and the company he kept had been largely dependable for almost fifteen years.
Until Lady Phoebe wandered into his small library.
That woman, with her strange quietness and blunt speech baffled him.
Why must thoughts of Lady Phoebe be so all-consuming?
“Sebastian?”
“Hmm?” he asked distractedly, not able to pry his greedy thoughts from the lady with the ash-blonde hair.
There was something vaguely recognizable about it, but he could not put his finger on it. It had been driving him half mad ever since the opera. He had rarely been able to take his eyes off her from across the seats, both of them rising high above everyone else.
The only time he had looked away was to focus on that grip Lord Birchwood kept on her wrist through both halves of the performance, as if pinning her there, right to his side.
Sebastian knew of only one good reason to pin a lady to a spot, and when he employed such tactics, he always made sure his companion for the night wanted to be held by him.
He would never dream of forcing a lady to stay with him against her will. Just thinking of how Lord Birchwood laid his hands on Lady Phoebe and forced her to stick to his side made Sebastian grind his teeth in frustration.
“Sebastian, where is your mind?” Vincent laughed, taking a decent swig of his drink right as Sebastian’s own whisky was set down. “I have never seen you look so annoyed.”
“I am here… with you, as is my mind.”
“Certainly not,” Vincent scoffed. “You are far away from this place and not paying any attention to a word I just said.”
“I was thinking of… the waitress.”
“Then why are you looking in the opposite direction that she has just gone?”
Vincent swept his hand broadly toward the back of the room where a small group of servers stood together waiting for the bartender to pour tumblers of amber liquid.
Sebastian harrumphed quietly then lifted his glass to his lips and in one go downed the entirety of his drink. He crimped his eyes closed as the liquor burned the back of his throat and left a streak of heat behind while sliding down his gullet.
Vincent waited for Sebastian to open his eyes before speaking.
“I know you, Talwyn.” He tapped the table between them briskly, motioning to the now empty glassware. “I know you are careful with your drinks. Despite being the ton’s most notorious host in secret, you never over imbibe. You only drink in such quantities when—”
“It was one glass, Ravenwood. Do not get yourself worked up over something so trivial.”
“Yes.” Vincent set his own glass down. “One glass that did not last a minute. You usually enjoy the taste of your liquor and savor it. I cannot recall the last time I saw you drink to forget yourself. It seemed you were aiming to banish your cares instead of enjoying yourself.” He gave Sebastian a look that was full of genuine concern.
“Would it not be better to share your burdens with me than drown your sorrows at the bottom of a bottle?”
“When have I ever poured out my sad stories to you, Ravenwood? For that matter, when have you ever shared your deepest, darkest secrets with me?”
Vincent only smiled tightly at this attempt to avoid the pointed comment. Sebastian sighed, refusing to admit what—who—was on his mind.
“Sebastian,” Vincent sighed. “I know your turmoil involves Lady Phoebe. Verity has mentioned you asking about her often, who she is, why she has not been in the ton for a while, if she has received any invitations for the events, you are also attending.”
His mind strayed back to that conversation about obsession. Sebastian had meant to comfort Lady Phoebe; to draw her out of her shell a little and give her the space she needed to confide in him. Instead, he had been compelled to lose himself in her presence and stroke her hair.
“Talwyn.” Vincent barked a coarse laugh. “What are you doing right now? Where did you go?”
“I was thinking of Lady Phoebe,” Sebastian confessed, “But…”
“But?” Vincent urged.
“I do not care for Lady Phoebe in the way you think,” Sebastian said.
The waitress circled nearer so he raised his hand and gestured for a second drink to be brought round. He lifted the empty tumbler and held it aloft, slowly watching the dregs of liquid swirl around the bottom of the glass.
“Explain,” Vincent said as he made a winding gesture with his hand.
“I worry about the lady,” Sebastian admitted. “Whenever we meet, she often strikes me as being unhappy and that is disconcerting.”
“It is… disconcerting, indeed,” Vincent mused. “But hardly any of your business. And certainly, Lady Phoebe’s unhappiness is no cause for you to take up a drinking habit.”
“But have you not seen her face?” Sebastian argued. “The other night, at the opera, the woman was terrified. That tyrant sitting next to her, Lord Birchwood, gripped her hand so roughly that had I been in their box…”
He allowed his voice to trail off, knowing that he had already said too much.
“What would you have done?” Vincent leaned forward and propped one elbow on the table.
He let his chin drop into his hands and made a face that indicated he found this brief glimpse into Sebastian’s inner thoughts riveting.
“Nothing,” Sebastian hissed. “I did nothing in the moment and would have done nothing had I been granted free rein. Lady Phoebe’s betrothed is a Marquess, and her father is an Earl.”
“And you are a duke,” Vincent reminded him, as if he needed it.
Sebastian offered no response, and he let the silence linger until he had his second drink.
Before he could speak up, Vincent did. “Since you have devoted many hours as of late to nurturing your acquaintance with Lady Phoebe, you must know her background, then.”
“Yes,” Sebastian murmured. “I just recited her circumstances, as well as her parentage.”
Vincent shook his head, causing his brown locks to flap a little. “You may know her current woes, but did anyone tell you that Lady Phoebe was sent into the countryside and was solely under the care of her grandfather until she came of age?”
Sebastian swallowed, recalling the conversation over a dinner with Verity and Percy two days ago, where Verity had noted that fact.
Apparently, Lady Genevieve was proving to be a highly informative connection between the two ladies.
And although Verity was not one for gossip, she was one to know exactly who she brought into her life.
If Verity was interested in Lady Phoebe, then it meant she was important in some way.
“I do know all of this. Lady Phoebe told me about her grandfather herself. She was quite attached to the old man. It was a shame when he died.”
Vincent took a long sip of his drink then. “You knew Lady Phoebe’s grandfather?”
“Indeed.” Sebastian nodded but said nothing further.
“And?” Sebastian’s curiosity was piqued. If his friend had not mentioned Lady Phoebe or her past, Sebastian certainly wouldn’t have brought up either topic. But now that Ravenwood had broached the conversation, Sebastian did not appreciate his close-lipped manners.
He waited for a response or addition, but his friend said nothing.
“Vincent,” Sebastian grumbled into the silence, “you are irritating me.”
Vincent snorted into his glass. “Tonight, the feeling is mutual, I’m afraid.” He swallowed another small gulp of his beverage. “I am incapable of carrying on a proper conversation and you… You are not yourself because your energy is elsewhere. It is focused on the Tripleton House, clearly.”
Sebastian tugged on his cravat, winding a finger around the silk knot. It was suddenly too tight.
He meant to argue with Vincent and explain again why his interest in Lady Phoebe was purely granted out of concern for her well-being, but he found he did not have the energy to debate the matter.
Vincent had known the thoughts that plagued Sebastian’s mind, so it was also likely that his friend already understood how much Sebastian cared for the young lady.
When he stared into the depths of his second tumbler, Sebastian did not see the amber contents. Instead, he saw only the blue of Lady Phoebe’s eyes.
They were curious, always inquisitive. Even when he teased and flirted with her, she seemed to listen to his words and seek to understand them.
Some women just blushed and hid their pretty faces behind fluttering fans.
But Lady Phoebe surprised him endlessly with her need to absorb his words and meet them with a response, sometimes a halting one, but a reply, nonetheless, of her own.
“Shall I leave you with your thoughts?” Vincent asked as he drained the rest of his tumbler and shifted in his seat.
Sebastian shook his head. “I would like the distraction of your company.” He sat back, cocking his head.
“Actually, although I may not be a marksman by any means, when did you last visit the Green? I know you are not in the Crown’s service anymore, but surely you might miss firing a shot or two. A slash here, a slice there?”
“I did have a penchant for knives,” Vincent mused. “And it has been a long time.”
Sebastian gave up his pretense of sipping for taste and polished his drink off before he stood up. He tossed several coins onto the table, nodding to Vincent to rise as well.
Together, they left and made their way to the Green.
Familiar.
Predictable.
Knowable.