Chapter 1 #3
“What is it? Are you senselessly committed to bachelorhood? As for me, the mission is not foolhardy, as you describe it. Everyone needs an heir, and why should I not be in search of a comely wife while I am still young and handsome enough to snag one who would actually not detest my advances and want me only for my money? You should consider that, my friend. We are not getting any younger. I am truly surprised,” Graham continued, his hand on his chest as if truly wounded.
“After all our time as friends, and all the holidays spent at Ashford with my family. You would think I would get a bit more enthusiasm when I asked you for a small favor.” Graham beamed with a glitter of mischief in his eye.
Graham’s needling garnered no response from Christopher.
He certainly would not let his friend know how close he had come to the truth; after watching his own parents, Christopher was convinced marriage was not for him.
In his opinion, it was easier to fall into a bad union than a good one.
For now, he could ignore the implications of not having an heir, something that seemed to bother his friend much more.
“Will you pitch already?” Ned, the next up in cricket, hit his bat on the ground before once again resuming the proper stance, tearing both men from their conversation and back to the game at hand.
Christopher turned toward the batter, prepared, and let the ball fly, only partially committing to the game as he weighed his friend’s request. His pitch was easily fielded by Ned, allowing the other team to score, and Christopher grit his teeth in frustration.
“Come now, Christopher. You will be at the Mansfield Ball to provide support. Everyone knows I am seeking a wife since those damn gossip papers published my courtship with Lady Bella last season. Everyone assumes I am even more determined this season to find a wife. No one will care a whit about what you do, as long as you do not show any prolonged interest in a lady.” Graham was proving relentless.
Christopher ran his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair, almost golden in the afternoon sun, and squeezed his clear blue eyes shut against the brightness and the impending doom of attending yet another high society social gathering.
Christopher was similarly dressed to his friend, his navy-blue coat still on, tapering to his waist, where breeches of the same color hugged his hips and thighs until they disappeared into brown riding boots, worn from use, like Graham’s.
He straightened his tall, broad shouldered and athletic frame, coming to terms with the fact that Graham was going to wheedle yet another season of playing the extra wheel out of him.
It was in Christopher’s mind that he should have turned down the welcoming arms of Graham’s family all those years ago at Eton.
If he had done so, he would not have to deal with all the simpering belles of the ball and their meddling relatives intent on a match.
He would not be convinced or tricked into marriage by anyone when all it would lead to was a life of unhappiness.
Seeing his parents destroyed by a loveless marriage had done much to convince him.
“I will attend this ball,” Christopher acquiesced, pointing at his friend. “But if I am beset by ladies and their parents this evening, you will need to convince someone else to ensure you are not courting the season’s worst fortune hunter.”
“That is all I ask,” Graham said, putting his hands up in mock surrender and looking supremely pleased.
They had been friends for a long time, and through all that time, Graham had always been self-assured, in part due to his impending dukedom, and in part because he was just that confident.
Christopher was the only one of his friends who occasionally did not fall over themselves to do the duke’s bidding.
It appeared that, this time, he had failed in that regard.
Christopher was dreading the upcoming Mansfield Ball, but more immediately, he was regretting his upcoming loss in cricket.
Stubborn and competitive almost to a fault, he concentrated on the matter at hand.
Graham may have just convinced him to spend yet another evening out in society against his will, but he was not going to lose at cricket.
Winding up the pitch, Christopher put his whole force behind the throw, intending to have Graham beg off and not even make a swing.
However, Graham was equally competitive, which usually worked to their collective advantage.
Graham swung with all his might, sending the ball careening toward Christopher too quickly for him to react appropriately.
The ball struck his eye, knocking him to the ground.
Christopher first wondered if this would get him out of the ball this evening, before succumbing to the impending darkness.
At some point, not too much later by Christopher’s estimation, as the sun was in approximately the same spot, he opened his eyes to find all his friends, including Graham, leaning over him in a rather tight circle.
“Please accept my sincerest apologies,” Graham said, looking sheepish, if still a bit amused.
“I think it was the fall backward,” someone chimed in from the back of the crowd of faces staring down at him. Graham rolled his eyes heavenward as if to communicate that such a statement was idiotic. Putting out his hand, Graham helped Christopher to his feet.
Christopher touched just above his eye where the ball had hit and felt a stickiness that could only be blood. From what he could tell, he had a nasty gash, but no swelling, thankfully. A cold compress should stop the bleeding and then he should be as good as new, if a bit ghastly looking.
“Well, I think that means the cricket match is over then chaps,” Christopher stated flatly. The crowd of gentlemen dispersed rather quickly, leaving the two friends to regard one another in the midday light.
After some stilted silence, Graham queried, “Do you wish to nurse your eye this evening?”
Christopher raised both his eyebrows, a quick sting reminding him of the cut. “Are you saying you would relieve me of my duty to your family? After all your caterwauling?”
Graham looked a bit sheepish. “I was hoping to have your company, but seeing as I just sent a pitch directly at your head, I would understand if you swore me off for the whole season.”
Christopher sighed. “Graham, you have the strangest ways of convincing people to do as you please. Despite the seemingly minor injury to my eye, I did give you my word.”
A grin broke out on the duke’s face, and he seemed to take Christopher’s last statement as an affirmative answer.
“I was thinking of arriving at Mansfield House this evening around half nine, would that work for you? I would offer to send my coach to pick you up, but I figure you will want your own transportation in case you are swarmed by a hoard of lovely young ladies.”
“I do believe I can find my own way to the ball, and having my own escape route would be preferred,” Christopher stated as he regarded his friend with a fair amount of incredulity.
“Come now, your eye will all but guarantee people, especially the young ladies, will avoid vexing you,” Graham chuckled.
Christopher rolled his eyes. “How could I say no to such a good friend, especially if the future of his family is at stake,” he replied. “But, if I should have to entertain any questions about my eye, I shall take them to task before I come for your hide.”