Chapter 17 #2
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, though he knew from the raised eyebrow that Walter did not believe him.
His friend leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh.
“I think I might require a drink after this,” he said, and George saw him look at him out of the corner of his eye. “Might you see fit to join me at Whittington’s?”
George cringed. He hadn't attended the gentlemen's club since he returned home. It was a place he, Walter, and all their male friends had spent a lot of time in before the war, encouraged there by their fathers to make prosperous connections for the future.
And the thought of going there now did not hold the same excitement as it had previously.
He inhaled sharply before suggesting, “I shall consider it.”
Walter leaned across the distance between them and nudged him hard. “Don't be such a spoilsport.”
George's lip twitched in the beginnings of a smile. He simply could not remain down in the dumps with his friend present. He, at least, made this time bearable, just as he had done during the war.
“If nothing else comes up,” he sighed, “then I suppose one drink wouldn't do any harm.”
“That's the spirit!” Walter said, clapping him on the back.
The noise drew the attention of everyone in the room, and though they all quickly returned to their business, Lady Cecelia remained glowering at them both for several long seconds.
Again, he considered taking his leave. Perhaps he might leave his duties to Walter, considering that the man did not attempt to leave himself.
It was clear that whilst Lady Mary remained in the drawing room, so would he. And so, when Lady Cecelia looked away, and he had recovered from her scathing glare, he said, “Things appear to be going well for you, at least.”
He inclined his head towards Lady Mary, who, though she was engaging in conversation with her sisters and their callers, continued to glance in his direction at every opportunity.
George's chest tightened. If only a young lady might look at him that way, maybe then he might not be so cynical all the time. Maybe then he might be able to believe that he was wrong about the Viscount of Greystone. Maybe then he might be able to believe that Lady Cecelia was right.
***
Why George agreed to go to the gentlemen’s club, he wasn’t entirely sure.
Perhaps it was because he had no intention of going home.
A place he would sit alone in his study and ponder over all that was going on, thinking of Lady Cecelia in all kinds of inappropriate ways, longing for the way Lady Mary had been looking at Walter all afternoon.
Or perhaps it was because, in part, he longed to be the old George, the George without responsibilities, the George who knew how to have a good time.
Yet, when they arrived, he felt more than a little awkward. The atmosphere inside was bustling. There were faces amongst the crowd that George hadn’t seen in such a long time, and it was difficult for him to socialize when knowing just how much had changed since last he had seen them.
But he reminded himself many times of the alternative, sitting alone in his study instead of drinking and forcing the laughter that seemed to come so easily to others.
Many of the men around him had been in similar situations, having all been drafted into the war, and yet not a one of them seemed to hold the same misfortunes of trauma and such.
Though he knew better than to believe it was true.
Nobody could possibly have come back from France unchanged, and he was certain of that.
Perhaps if he pretended long enough, he might one day laugh and smile genuinely just as these men seemed to do.
During a lull in conversation, in a moment when George had found a quiet place in one of the back rooms to sit, Walter dropped down onto the couch beside him and nudged him playfully with an elbow.
“Would you please at least try to look like you are enjoying yourself?” Walter demanded, handing him the second glass of Scotch he was holding.
George took it, took a deep swig, and forced a smile for his friend.
“I am,” he assured him. At least, he was having more fun than usual, if not entirely enjoying himself.
Walter scoffed and leaned back in his seat, glancing over the room.
“Perhaps we should join a game?” he suggested. When George did not accept the suggestion, Walter inclined his head towards a couple of young ladies – ladies of the night – who were positioned strategically about the room. “Or perhaps you would like to lose yourself for a while.”
George’s stomach twisted.
There was a time when he would have taken the suggestion without a second thought.
But now, something about it felt entirely wrong.
In truth, there was only one woman whose company he wished to share tonight.
The thought of her tucked up in bed, dreaming softly, made his heart skip a beat.
Just the image of her innocently lying abed, her radiant skin glowing in the moonlight through a crack in her drapes, the way she breathed ever so gently, made George uncomfortable.
“We are not as we were before.” George sighed deeply, wishing his words were untrue. “My chaperone duties might come into question were I to be seen with one of them.”
Walter cocked his brow. “I had no idea your chaperone duties were so important to you. You had me believe it was a chore, but I am starting to believe differently.”
George stiffened.
“I would not wish to disrespect Lord Westmere’s memory in such a way,” he said as if that were the only thing that mattered to him.
Walter’s expression suggested he hadn’t fallen for it, and George braced himself for further questioning.
Instead, Walter admitted, “I find the temptation far less appealing these days, myself.”
Seeing the opportunity to change the subject from himself, George asked, “Might that have anything to do with the lovely Lady Mary?”
There was no mistaking the way his friend’s cheeks flushed.
“Well, well, I can barely believe my eyes!” a gentleman broke in, approaching the two of them. “Is that you, Your Grace?”
The almost mocking tone of the man’s voice might have angered George were it anyone else. But for once, he was pleased to see the man standing before him. Rushing to his feet to meet Lord Daniel Raymond, he actually smiled.
“Daniel! It is good to see you!” he exclaimed, remembering many fond memories from his time at school. “How are you? How have you been?”
Walter appeared beside him, and the three greeted each other like brothers.
“It appears I am far better than you, George.” Daniel laughed. “People were beginning to think you were never coming back.”
George cringed, knowing exactly what his old friend meant. After all, he had attended many social events over the past few weeks, but in a way, he had never truly been there. His physical body, yes, but his mind had been elsewhere, always.
For the first time in months, he felt as if he were truly present, enjoying the company of old friends.
And just as he and his friends entered into conversation, talking of happier times during the schooling days, George heard someone clear their throat behind him.
His back stiffened when he saw the way Walter’s eyes widened.
Whomever was standing behind him, he had every faith that he was not going to like it.
“Your Grace?”
When the man spoke, he was even more certain of his feelings towards the gentleman.
“Lord Greystone,” he said through gritted teeth as he turned to look at the man.
Lord Greystone bowed his head low, his eyes dipped still when he straightened up. “Might I have a quiet word, Your Grace?”
Everything in George demanded that he reject the request, for him to mock him for even attempting to approach him, and yet, he forced himself to say, “Of course.”
Gesturing to a quieter corner of the room, George followed Lord Greystone, bracing himself for whatever the gentleman might have to say to him.
“I fear I may have misstepped, Your Grace,” Lord Greystone said, and he glanced at George for only a second before dipping his gaze to the floor once more.
“How so?” George asked, raising a brow.
“As Lady Cecelia’s chaperone, I realize that I ought to have approached you first, Your Grace,” Lord Greystone said, his manner contrite. “Though I must confess I have been blinded by the lady in question, and I have not been myself since meeting her.”
George’s insides stirred, his veins pulsing with energy as he prepared himself for a reproach. Yet, he couldn’t quite find the words, and so he waited, wondering what else the man might have to say.
One glance over his shoulder told him that they had an audience. Not only Walter and Daniel, but others in the room also, many of them already whispering about what might be transpiring between them. And George knew, for Lady Cecelia’s sake, he had to keep a handle on his emotions.
“I wish you to know, Your Grace, my intentions towards Lady Cecelia are entirely honourable,” Lord Greystone continued, and George’s breath caught in his throat when the man finally met his gaze. “I would never do anything that might cause her harm.”
George opened his mouth to speak but realized he had no idea of what to say.
As if he sensed this, Lord Greystone continued, “I am well aware of the reputation that precedes me, Your Grace, but I wish to assure you that since the war, I am a changed man.”
It was those words that struck a chord with George. Having found himself changed, he was well aware of the possibility that Lord Greystone might also be.
“As I am sure we all hope now, I merely wish for a quiet life and the opportunity to make one young lady happy,” Lord Greystone said, still meeting George’s gaze, and suddenly, he started to wonder—
Had he misjudged the man entirely? Did he truly see enemies where there were none?