Chapter 12 #2
Somewhere in this house lived the man who had gambled until dawn, who had cultivated a reputation as the ton’s most charming scoundrel, who had prided himself on avoiding anything resembling genuine feeling or commitment.
That man seemed a stranger now. Someone, Tobias had merely played at being, a role performed with such dedication he had convinced even himself.
But two months at Redmond Park—two months of estate management and household concerns and a woman who looked at him as though he might be something more than his reputation—had stripped away the performance entirely.
He was not that careless rake anymore. Could not force himself back into that particular cage even if he wished it.
Which left the uncomfortable question: who was he now?
A knock at the door interrupted this spiral into melancholy. Tobias set down his glass with more force than intended.
“I said I was not to be disturbed—”
“Even by an old friend bearing excellent whisky and atrocious gossip?”
Daniel Harcourt pushed open the door without waiting for permission, a bottle tucked under one arm and that insufferable grin plastered across his handsome face. He stopped short upon seeing Tobias, his expression shifting to genuine surprise.
“Goodness me, you look absolutely wretched. What happened? Is… your brother’s widow well? The child?”
“They’re both perfectly well.” Tobias turned away, retrieving his glass. “I’ve simply returned to Town earlier than anticipated.”
“Earlier than—Tobias, you’ve been gone barely two months. Last I heard, you were establishing yourself at that pile in Kent, learning how to be a proper viscount or something like that.”
“And now I’ve learnt it sufficiently.” He gestured to the opposing chair with his glass. “Did you actually bring decent whisky, or was that merely bait to gain entry?”
Daniel studied him with that penetrating gaze that had made him both an excellent friend and an occasionally intolerable one. Then he moved to the desk, uncorked the bottle, and poured them both generous measures.
“Macallan. Twelve years. Cost me a small fortune at auction.” He raised his glass. “To returning heroes and mysterious retreats from duty?”
Tobias clinked glasses without enthusiasm and took a drink. The whisky was indeed excellent—smooth and complex with notes of honey and oak. Wasted entirely on his current mood.
“So.” Daniel settled into the chair with characteristic ease. “Are you going to tell me what’s actually troubling you, or shall we engage in meaningless pleasantries until I expire from boredom?”
“There’s nothing troubling me. I simply had business in London requiring attention.”
“Codswallop.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Complete and utter codswallop.” Daniel leant forward, elbows on knees. “I’ve known you since Eton, Tobias. I recognise that particular expression—that’s the look of a man fleeing from something.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I? Then why do you look like you’ve lost something precious? Why are you hiding in your study rather than celebrating your return with the usual revelry?”
“Perhaps I’ve simply grown weary of revelry.”
The words emerged more honestly than intended. Daniel’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
“You? Weary of revelry? The man who once wagered five hundred pounds on which raindrop would reach the bottom of a window first? The scoundrel who charmed his way out of three separate engagements in a single Season?”
“People change.”
“Not that much. Not that quickly.” Daniel took a measured sip. “Unless something—or someone—gave them reason to change.”
Tobias set down his glass with elaborate care. “If you’ve come merely to interrogate me—”
“I’ve come because I’m concerned. And because the betting books at White’s are already filling with speculation about your sudden departure from Kent. They’re saying you’ve quarrelled with your brother’s widow. That she’s driven you out of your own home. That you’re fleeing scandal.”
“What manner of scandal?” The question emerged sharper than intended.
“Oh, the usual speculation when a widower and widow share a household. You know how society loves to imagine impropriety.” Daniel’s voice held warning now. “Particularly when the widow is reportedly quite beautiful, and the brother-in-law has your reputation.”
Tobias’s hands clenched around his glass hard enough to threaten fracture. “Lady Amelia’s reputation is beyond reproach. Anyone suggesting otherwise—”
“Peace.” Daniel raised both hands. “I’m merely reporting what’s being whispered. I don’t believe it for a moment. But you should be aware that your absence is causing talk.”
“Then perhaps I should not have left.”
The admission escaped before he could prevent it. Daniel’s expression gentled.
“Ah. So that’s the way of it.”
“There is no ‘way.’ I left to give her breathing room. To allow her to mourn properly without my presence complicating matters.”
“And you’re absolutely certain it’s her peace of mind you’re concerned about? Not your own?”
Tobias surged to his feet, pacing to the window. Mayfair spread below him—elegant townhouses and manicured squares, the world he had inhabited before duty dragged him into responsibility.
Before Amelia had looked at him with those eyes that saw past every careful defence.
“She deserves better,” he said quietly. “Better than being saddled with her rake of a brother-in-law. Better than the scandal our association would inevitably cause. When her mourning ends, she’ll need to re-enter society, find a proper husband—”
“And you’ll help her do so? Play matchmaker whilst your heart tears itself to pieces?”
“My heart has nothing to do with it. I’m being practical. Responsible.”
“Tobias.” Daniel’s voice held unusual seriousness. “I watched you for years avoid anything resembling real feeling. Saw you cultivate that charming rake persona like armour against genuine connection. And now you’re telling me you feel nothing for this woman?”
“I feel protective. Responsible. As any gentleman should toward his brother’s widow.”
“Protective men don’t look like they’re being flayed alive when discussing her future happiness.”
Tobias pressed his forehead against the cool glass. “What would you have me do, Daniel? Court my brother’s widow? Create a scandal that would destroy her reputation and Henry’s prospects? Become yet another cage keeping her from the freedom she deserves?”
“I would have you be honest. With yourself, if no one else.”
“I am being honest. She needs time. I need distance. In six months, when she re-enters society, I’ll help her navigate it. Find her a suitable match. Ensure her future security. That is the extent of my duty and my interest.”
The lie tasted like ash.
Daniel was quiet for a long moment. Then he rose, collecting the whisky bottle.
“If you say so. Though for what it’s worth, I think you’re making a spectacular mistake.” He paused at the door. “I’m hosting a dinner tomorrow evening. Small gathering—Waverly, Pemberton, Lady Ashford and her daughter. You should attend. Remind society you haven’t actually vanished into disgrace.”
“I’m not ready—”
“Which is precisely why you need to come. The longer you hide, the more speculation grows. Besides...” Daniel’s grin returned, though it held less humour than usual. “Sitting alone drinking yourself into melancholy serves no one. Least of all her.”
He left before Tobias could form a response.
Tobias remained at the window long after his friend’s departure, watching lamplight bloom across London as evening settled. Somewhere in this vast city, life continued—parties and soirées, gambling and flirtation, all the hollow pleasures that had once defined his existence.
And in Kent, at Redmond Park, Amelia would be putting Henry to bed. Singing lullabies in that sweet voice. Perhaps sitting alone in the drawing room afterwards, surrounded by ledgers and responsibilities she bore without complaint.
Missing him.
Or perhaps not. Perhaps his departure had brought only relief—freedom from yet another man watching her every move.
His hand moved unconsciously to his pocket, fingers finding the small sock. Henry’s sock.
Six months.
He could survive six months away from them. He would survive it.
He had to.
She was his brother’s widow. Forbidden in every way that mattered.
And Tobias Grant had spent his entire life being the disappointment, the failure, the man who took what he should not have.
He would not do that to Amelia. Would not become another burden she bore out of duty.
Six months, he told himself firmly. You can endure six months of this. And when you return, she’ll have moved on. Found happiness with someone who deserves her. And you’ll smile and bow and pretend your heart isn’t breaking.
Outside, London glittered with life and possibility.
Inside, Tobias Grant stood alone in his study, clutching a child’s sock, and wondered precisely when he had become such a magnificent liar.