Chapter Two #2
“You’d better get on making those grandchildren, then,” said Owen.
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Far be it from me to suggest that you get married. I understand your thinking. But one thing to consider is that there is something to be said for waking up next to a beautiful woman every morning. And now that my boy can walk, there is never a dull moment at home.”
Fletcher laughed softly. Owen’s wife was a ceramic artist, and Fletcher feared for the beautiful vases she made now that they had a small child on the loose in their home.
He supposed part of him wanted that. Owen seemed much more content recently.
He’d spent the summer in Wales, and Fletcher had gone to stay with him for a few weeks because Fletcher’s country home in Cornwall was undergoing renovations and Owen’s home in Wales was near the north coast and the breeze off the Irish Sea kept it from ever getting too hot.
Fletcher’s impression of Owen’s home life was one of deep happiness.
Owen and his wife, Grace, were obviously in love and they doted on their year-old son, who had a bit of mischief in his eyes.
Fletcher looked forward to being the boy’s enabling uncle, wreaking havoc on his well-meaning parents.
“On the other hand,” Owen said, “several of Grace’s friends have recently become engaged, and the rest of this Season is going to be attending one wedding after another.”
“Poor Owen.”
“I know. At least Parliament is out of session. If I had to deal with those stubborn old blokes and attend every social occasion to which Grace is invited, I’d go mad. I had no idea she was such sought-after company when we married.”
“Such a difficult life you lead.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “You are fonder of social gatherings than I am.”
“Perhaps. What is your next engagement.”
Owen stared at the ceiling for a moment while trying to remember. “I think it is Lady Danvers’ garden party a few days hence. I don’t really keep track. I rely on Grace to tell me where to go.”
“When we were children, Louisa and I once replaced the sugar in Mrs. Danvers’ tea service with salt.”
Owen grinned. “You always were good for a prank. Remember the time at Eton when we short-sheeted all the beds?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Not my best work. I am especially proud of the time I found out Banks had that stash of racy literature and I replaced the lot of it with old math books.”
“He was mad,” Owen laughed. “Or the time you put snowballs in Easton’s satchel.”
“I haven’t done anything like that in years.”
“I am glad I was your friend and thus mostly immune from this trickery, although I do recall you once switched the clothes in mine and Hughes’ trunks so that suddenly his trousers were too short and mine were too long.”
Fletcher smiled.
“Do you ever think about doing things like that anymore?”
Fletcher slowly sipped some very fine whisky and looked around. He caught a glimpse of Rotherfeld, an unwelcome invasion as far as Fletcher was concerned.
“I’d like to hide a very large spider wherever Rotherfeld stores his pretentious cravats.”
Owen followed his gaze. “Explain to me your issue again,” said Owen, pouring Fletcher another serving of the whisky. “With the duke, I mean.”
“I don’t have an issue with Rotherfeld,” said Fletcher.
“The hell you don’t,” said Owen.
Fletcher was somewhat comforted by the warmth of the fireplace.
Lark and Hugh were across the room, conferring with a third man Fletcher didn’t recognize, but the conversation looked lighthearted.
Hugh laughed so loudly at something the man said, the sound carried across the room.
And Rotherfeld stood with the Earl of Sutterfield, chatting and lighting cigars, perhaps toasting Rotherfeld’s betrothal.
At least Rotherfeld was out of earshot and not paying attention to Fletcher. So he said, “I don’t have an issue. He seems perfectly fine.”
Owen let out a breath and shook his head, like this conversation was fatiguing him. “He is marrying your Lady Louisa.”
“She’s not mine.” Still, Fletcher felt willing to concede that Rotherfeld irritated him.
“All right. I don’t have an issue with Rotherfeld per se.
By all accounts, he is smart and good with money and women seem to think him handsome.
I’ve heard no gossip to indicate he’s a gambler or that he’s angry or cruel or irresponsible.
I’m sure Louisa will be perfectly happy with him. ”
“I can see your mind churning, though.”
“Would I be sad if he were to be bitten by a large insect and develop an extremely itchy rash? No. I cannot really articulate why he bothers me so much, aside from the fact that I am a little sad because I am certain marriage will mean I will see less of Louisa.”
“She is your friend.”
“Yes.”
“Why should that change?”
Fletcher rubbed his temples. He knew Owen was making conversation. He surely must have seen the impossibility of this situation. But Fletcher said, “How shall I put this? Had Grace a male friend before she married you, and he remained unmarried, would you allow her to socialize with him still?”
“Not unless I was also there and kept him within punching distance.” Owen gave Rotherfeld an assessing look. “I suppose I do see your point.”
“Nothing untoward has ever happened between me and Louisa, nor would it. But Rotherfeld does not know that, and I suspect he will keep her from me, or at least insist she see me less. So if you must know, I am sad about potentially losing my friend to this marriage. But that is my issue to cope with, not Louisa’s or even Rotherfeld’s. ”
“It’s not like you won’t see Louisa. She and Adele have become close, so any party Hugh and Adele throw would include an invite to the Rotherfelds.
They will be regulars at major events during the Season.
I don’t see how Rotherfeld could be so distrustful as to not allow you and Louisa to accompany each other to various public events, such as the opera on evenings when he is not available. Not much has to change.”
“I understand, but I do not agree.”
“Perhaps the thing to do is befriend Rotherfeld. Prove to him that you’re someone he can trust his wife with.”
Fletcher would have rather jumped in the Thames, but it wasn’t a terrible idea. If Fletcher could get Rotherfeld to trust him, then maybe little would change with his relationship with Louisa.
“Would you trust Grace to be alone with me? You know me,” Fletcher asked.
“Yes, but I know for certain that you are not interested in Grace and that Grace only has eyes for me.” Owen shrugged.
“Fletcher, you and I have been friends for a long time. I trust you. But that trust does not develop overnight. Have you and Rotherfeld even had a conversation that lasted longer than a minute? You don’t know each other, so you can’t trust each other.
If he trusts you, he won’t see you as a threat.
Until that time, as far as he knows, you could be trying to steal Louisa. You aren’t, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
Sutterfield walked away, leaving Rotherfeld alone.
“Go talk to him,” said Owen. “Make nice.”
“Fine, fine.”
Fletcher stood and approached Rotherfeld, who looked startled when he noticed Fletcher.
Fletcher extended a hand and said, “How are you, Rotherfeld?”
“Ah, greetings, Greystone. I did not realize you were a member of this club.”
“A long-time member. I don’t recall seeing you here before.”
“I have not been. Mason’s is renovating their building after a small fire last week, so I am in need of a new place to spend my evenings.
Sutterfield invited me to see it tonight.
I’ve only ever been here as the guest of other members.
But the membership here is quite elite. How long has Swynford been a member? ”
“Oh, a decade or thereabouts. As long as I have.”
Rotherfeld nodded. “I don’t mind saying, Swynford impresses me. My father knew his. Great man, the late Swynford.”
“Yes. That is, I didn’t know him well, but I dined at his home a few times. Swynford and I are old friends.”
Fletcher was unsure of how to make an impression here.
Dropping Swynford’s name likely helped. He opened his mouth to say something inane, but Rotherfeld said, “I imagine that now that Lady Louisa and I are engaged, you and I will be seeing more of each other. She tells me that you and she are like siblings.”
“Yes,” said Fletcher. “That is, our parents were close friends, and we played as children. I have often served as her escort to social events, although I expect now that you are getting married, you will take over that role. But yes, Lady Louisa and I have long been friends, and I care about her a great deal. I am honestly thrilled that she has found such an upstanding man to be her husband. She seems happy and I am happy for her.”
“Kind of you to say.” Rotherfeld smiled. “I hope…that is, it would please me if you and I were to become friends. I know we do not have much in common aside from our mutual affection for Lady Louisa, although I hope you can assure me that your affection for her is brotherly.”
“It is.”
“Good, good. Perhaps we can have you to dinner in the coming weeks.”
“I would like that a great deal.” This almost felt too easy. “Louisa did not tell me. When is the wedding?”
“Oh. Next month. I believe we have secured the fifteenth for a wedding at St. Paul’s.”
“Lovely.” The fifteenth was five weeks away. “I look forward to it.”
Rotherfeld nodded. “Yes. Good. I believe we understand each other, then.”
“You have no reason to trust me, but I want to assure you, I only wish for Louisa’s happiness. I hope that is clear.”
“Yes. It is. I…thank you, Greystone. Your relationship is a bit unorthodox, so I am glad to hear you clarify it. Louisa has insisted there is no romantic spark between you, but as you are not blood related and you are still unmarried, I did worry. Perhaps I need not.”
“I endeavor to prove that you can trust me.”
Rotherfeld shook Fletcher’s hand again. “I do hope that turns out to be the case.”
Another gentleman approached and asked for Rotherfeld’s attention, leaving Fletcher to retreat to his friends. Hugh and Lark and joined Owen at the fire.
“Well?” Owen asked.
“He seems amenable to friendship. Invited me to dine with him and Louisa.”
“All right. Good first step.”
“What is happening?” asked Lark.
Owen explained the friendship scheme. Fletcher mentally promised to try, although even now, he felt annoyance creeping up his spine as he watched Rotherfeld move through the room.
Lark let out a sigh. “The politics of gender are really something.”
“This is just how it is,” Fletcher pointed out. “At any rate, I intend to be Rotherfeld’s greatest friend.”
Lark saluted him. “Godspeed.”