Chapter Three #3
In no time they were on their way to the Clarendon, one boy hanging out of one window and another boy hanging out the other so they could see all the sights along the way.
They exclaimed over the stocky workhorses pulling drays, laughed at a juggler entertaining on a crowded street corner, and carried on about how “their” coach was far finer than any of the others on the road.
It was the most enjoyable trip Neal had ever made.
The boys fascinated him. They had their own personalities and came up with their own thoughts.
He’d equated children to being much like dogs who followed one around and did as bid.
These lads were more imaginative, more engaged, more alive with life than he could ever have anticipated.
Thea was far from comfortable with him still. Even though they sat close enough that their legs brushed each other, she turned away from him, studying the passing scene outside her window, one hand on Christopher’s coat in case he tumbled out in his excitement.
At this angle, she gave him a view of her very fine profile. She was a stubborn woman, a determined one, the sort he needed.
“I’ve had all sorts of matchmaking offers,” he said.
She turned, looked at him. Her eyes had a grayish tint, like a stormy summer sky. “I am certain you have. Why were they not successful?”
“I was not interested.”
She nodded as if he’d confirmed something she’d already known. However, the coach slowed to a stop. Bonner opened the door for them.
“Come, Master Martins,” Neal said. “And your mother.”
Christopher was reluctant to leave Blen and Cully, but a word from his mother and he was obedient. They entered the Clarendon. The doorman recognized Neal and greeted him with great fanfare.
“It is good to see you again, my lord.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” Neal often ate at the Clarendon. He preferred the food over that of his clubs.
The lobby was busy with much coming and going. Neal offered Thea his arm. She hesitated, as if debating whether to refuse or not, then shook her head. Neal didn’t mind her standoffishness. She kept careful boundaries around herself. He understood, realizing he did the same.
Jonny and Christopher walked beside their mother, their heads turning as they were taking in all they could see.
They all paused at the cloakroom to remove their headgear and the boys’ coats.
It was at that moment that a group of stylish women walked out of the dining area.
They were all giggling and crowded around Neal’s brother.
Harry was wearing one of his Horse Guard uniforms, and the boys honed in on it.
“Lyon,” Harry hailed Neal with lazy good humor. He steered his harem toward them. “You must try Jacques’s poulet en croute. He has outdone himself . . .”
Harry’s voice trailed off as he realized Neal wasn’t alone. His gaze sharpened on Thea as if he sensed he should know who she was and couldn’t quite place her.
The women around Harry were all smiling. The ones Neal recognized were married. Harry preferred married women. He said there were fewer complications.
Of course, Harry liked all women. He wasn’t choosy.
It was the difference between the two men.
Neal fought the curse by being circumspect.
Harry fought it by enjoying every pair of legs in skirts who crossed his path.
In that way, he claimed, he would not and could not form a lasting attachment to any one of them.
“Who is this?” Harry asked, his tone taking on interest as he walked right up to Thea. Both Jonny and Christopher drew in their breath at the realization that one of their heroes was right there in front of them.
A bit annoyed, Neal said, “Mrs. Martin, this is my brother, Colonel Harry Chattan.”
“Colonel,” she said.
“Mrs. Martin?” one of Harry’s companions said.
“You seem so familiar. Have we met before? I am Lady Amberton.” She was in her early forties but still had her looks.
They said her husband turned a blind eye to her dalliances, and it was obvious that Harry had been plying her and her three companions with good wine.
Their cheeks were rosy from it, and their manners more easy and forward.
Harry seemed fine. Of course, Harry could drink a cask of wine and still look unaffected. Many times Neal wished Harry did not have his prodigious predilection for ales, wines and spirits. Or a taste for other, more debilitating vices as well.
Of course there were other things Neal would change about his brother.
Harry could be elegantly surly and brutally selfish when he had a mind to be.
He was quick-witted, arrogant, and Neal thought him far more intelligent than himself.
There were times they rubbed along well, and times they rubbed each other raw.
“I don’t believe so,” Thea answered. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“We have met,” Lady Amberton persisted. “Your name is so familiar.”
Thea smiled and kept moving toward the dining room while reaching down to bring her sons with her. Neal was happy to go with her. He murmured polite good-byes and lengthened his stride to catch up to Thea.
He could feel Harry staring after him.
“Are Lady Amberton and all those ladies with your brother?” Thea asked as the majordomo escorted them to Neal’s customary table. “She is known to be a tigress.”
“Then Harry shall enjoy her.”
He didn’t have to explain more because Thea’s attention shifted to settling her sons and ensuring they understood having polite manners. “Jonathan, you take this seat on my right. Christopher, sit here on my left. Napkins in laps.”
Neal took the liberty of ordering for all of them. “Tonight’s poulet,” he told the majordomo, who would handle the matter for him. He always did.
But Thea had not forgotten the thread of the conversation. “And what of yourself, my lord? Do you prefer tigresses?”
His gaze met hers. There was challenge in her voice, a hardness, as if she was waiting for him to disappoint her, as if she expected him to. Was this cynicism a result of her marriage? “I am more circumspect,” he said. “Harry accuses me of being too rigid, but I believe I’m the wiser—”
Before he could finish, a new member joined their party.
“I know who she is,” Harry declared as if Neal had been hiding Thea’s identity. He nabbed a chair from another table, mumbling a lame apology to the table’s occupants and pulling it up to sit at Neal’s. He crossed both his arms, stretching his long legs out as was his custom.
“She’s a matchmaker.” Harry said the last word as if it left a bad taste. “Don’t do this, Neal. Let it end with us. Let us finish it.”
Neal understood exactly what his brother was suggesting.
And then he glanced at Jonathan, whose wide eyes relayed how overjoyed he was at his bounty of having the dashing Horse Guard right there at the table.
Neal could remember being that young and involved in every moment of his life.
Every day had been an adventure . . . but it wasn’t any longer.
Life had become rote, tasteless, unbearable.
Even with meals prepared by a French chef. And horses and houses and, and, and . . .
He hated all the “and’s.”
Neal wanted something more than possessions and money. He couldn’t help himself. Life had to have more meaning.
He looked over to his brother. “I can’t,” he told Harry. “I won’t.”