Chapter 8
There was no better distraction than London. And knowing he could get there in less than a day’s ride––carriages always did slow one down––Sebastian left the following morning in the hopes of clearing Isabel off his mind.
He left a note for the housekeeper and his wife before taking his leave, only taking a small pack on his horse before riding west.
There was a light spray of rain that eventually soaked his traveling coat. But by the time he arrived in London, he was only damp. Back to the townhouse he went for a change of garments before winding his way to the dark corners of the city.
The long walk was needed. He stretched his legs and crossed the streets before finding the ground floor shop he was in search of. He needed to be certain his friend was still about. This time of day, the private gym was the most likely option.
If he isn’t around, I’ll have to hire some fool to look for him. Wouldn’t be the first time. But I’m tired of finding him unconscious and covered in someone’s drink and blood.
“Marcus!” He hollered once he spotted the man across the gym.
Powdering his hands, the other large man straightened up and turned with a smirk. “What a pleasure and a treasure, having the duke hisself here. What’re you here for?”
“I’m an investor, aren’t I?” Sebastian pointed out. He shed half his clothing on the way over. The coat and cravat and waistcoat were set aside, along with a few small weapons he always kept on hand. “In the ring.”
There was a large center ring, a small side one to the left, and training equipment on the right.
This shop was one of the first things Sebastian had purchased once he had the title.
There was money to his name and he wanted to spread the wealth around.
While Marcus wouldn’t take a dime simply from his hand, he would run the private gym as well as the somewhat illegal sporting rings.
“Someone’s in a mood today,” Marcus beamed. He ran a wrist over the top of his lank white-yellow hair. Come summer, he would surely shear it right off. But winter had him trying to keep his ears warm. “Itching for a fight, are you?”
“I looked for you nearly a fortnight ago,” Sebastian said instead. He grabbed fresh bindings for his hands before moving to the ring where his friend was already climbing through. “Where were you?”
The man tsked. “I could ‘ave been anywhere, couldn’t I?”
“It was late and snowing.”
“That narrows it,” scoffed Marcus. “You’re not my mam. Why’re you worrying for me?”
“About you,” Sebastian corrected him. He’d learned for himself how different people were treated based on their language.
Though he had taught Marcus to better himself with proper English, his friend couldn’t leave his past alone for long.
“And you know that I always do. It wasn’t business for the Mackeys, was it? ”
Both of them were in the ring now and Marcus used that opportunity to lunge. Always an eager fist. But Sebastian easily ducked before sliding across the mat further out of the way.
“I can pay you better,” he went on.
“I don’t need the money, I told you. I won’t take another farthing from the likes of you,” Marcus insisted with a stubborn tilt of the chin. Then he jerked his head to the right and followed through, a tell that Sebastian could read plain as day.
He swung in and landed one fist, then two and three. Both men tore apart after Marcus swiped at his leg.
Around they went. The room warmed; soon they were both dripping with sweat. This was just what Sebastian had wanted.
And one more thing. “You’re not working for the Mackeys, then?”
“Course not.” Marcus lunged and Sebastian let him have the hit on the shoulder. It wasn’t a particularly strong one. He stumbled before fixing his footing and caught Marcus in the ribs. “You were waiting for that one, eh?”
Sebastian bared his teeth in a smile. “You know me.”
“And I thought I knew you.”
He frowned, narrowly dodging an uppercut. “What is that supposed to mean?”
In three more seconds, the two of them were tied together, grappling and trying to get tight enough holds to throw the other down. He had an arm around Marcus’s neck and shoulder while his friend had his shoulder and a leg.
“I mean,” Marcus said in a choking voice, “you didn’t invite me to the wedding, mate. Always thought I… I’d be your best man.”
Sebastian twisted free so he could see his friend’s face. He wasn’t terribly surprised to see the raised eyebrow.
“Well?” Marcus asked.
“Well what? I didn’t invite anyone to the wedding.” That wasn’t true. He had invited the three other dukes. But at the time, he had known it would be impossible for them to arrive the next day for the wedding. He hadn’t wanted an audience for that, nor had he thought Isabel would, either.
His friend scowled. “I would have gone.”
“I couldn’t find you,” Sebastian reminded him.
The man scoffed before shaking his head. “Fine. What’re you doing with ‘er, then?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’re your plans for the wife?”
Sebastian still didn’t understand, though he answered in the only way he thought best to answer. “Nothing.”
Chortling, Marcus smirked at him. “She must be hideous.”
“No.” Sebastian corrected him immediately. “She is beautiful.”
“Did you bring her ‘ere?”
He slowed down for a heartbeat. “No,” he admitted. “She’s in Eastwynd.”
“Eastwynd? What’d you do that for? It’s a miserable sort of palace.”
“It’s a fortress, not a palace,” Sebastian grumbled. Except Marcus was otherwise correct. The country seat was stone, gray and cold, with little life to it. He had never liked it there. But it had made sense bringing her there, keeping themselves out of the public eye.
Except I came here, dragged myself out, and left her there. Surely that was for the better. She has brought a warmth to Eastwynd that I’ve never known before…
“It’s the holiday season. Michaelmas is almost here,” Marcus said.
Sebastian jerked his head up just to be caught up in a head lock. Huffing, he began trying to elbow his way out of it. The two of them grunted and hit each other while he worked through his thoughts.
“Holidays are meant to be special,” Marcus was proclaiming overhead. “That’s what the church says. Everybody should be kinder to each other. And what’re you doing about it, dukey boy?”
“I’m bringing you down,” Sebastian huffed in irritation.
He managed to twist free just in time. Kicking at his friend’s legs, it only took a second for the unsuspecting man to topple. He didn’t waste a second to kneel down on him. Then he piled on a little more of his weight to end the fight.
A few beats. Heavy breaths. A groan that told him he had won. Sebastian smirked as Marcus said through gritted teeth, “Fine, you win.”
“Thank you.” Sebastian finally released him from his hold, the two of them pulling each other to their feet before shaking hands. “What would I do without you?”
Marcus had a few crude responses to that, which he laughed. The two of them enjoyed another bout while Sebastian’s mind wandered a little more.
The two of them had enjoyed many a Michaelmas together, along with the other winter holidays.
They’d scampered through markets and rubbed a penny or two together where they could.
While Sebastian had been prepared to give up the holiday cheer, Marcus had a knack of searching out smiles and excitement whenever possible. He was thrilled over every holiday.
I never paid it much mind. But what if he’s not the only one? I give time off to my London household. Let the Eastwynd staff do as they like. Isabel is new. Does she wish for something more? I thought strangers were preferred, but…
He was beginning to find that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do at the end of the day. There was no one here to tell him one way or another. It was difficult enough being himself. Every day, he was grasping at straw of who and what to be.
When he thought about it, Sebastian considered he had more years with his friends than any family. Was this the way it was supposed to be? He understood most ton marriages left the couple as strangers… but he’d seen the impact in Tristan and Julian when they chose another course.
“Bring the wife around next time!” Marcus hollered when Sebastian took his leave.
He crossed two streets to his club after he had washed up at the gym, prepared to check on a bet for his friend. The gambling book was set up in front of the library.
It took him two minutes to find Marcus’s name. Again and again and again. Letting out a low whistle, he counted twelve people already betting on that evening’s match. Most of them expected him to do well. He would like that. Sebastian shook his head at the three who thought he would fall.
“They’ll all be disappointed,” Sebastian muttered with a grin.
He turned to find a familiar face with crossed arms. “Speaking of disappointments…” Ronan Ward, one of his good friends, stood in his path.
The young man was tall and wiry with pale green eyes.
His wispy, sand-colored hair and tilted grin gave him the look of a swashbuckling pirate.
Or so he overheard on occasion. “I have a list for you. Shall we have a drink?”
“Not if it’s together,” Sebastian mocked while hiding a smile. It was hard not to feel a warm pang over missing his friends. He hadn’t seen most of them for a few months now that he thought of it.
We’re all getting on with our lives, it seems.
Ronan rolled his eyes before leading the way into the next room. He let out a short chuckle before falling into a chair and beckoning over a servant for a bottle of brandy. Two glasses were filled for them.
After a long drink, Ronan shot him a look. “You married without us there. That was very disappointing.”
“It couldn’t be helped.”
“Even more disappointing,” his friend groaned. “Now, you’ll be like the others. Always disappearing. It’s hard enough to find you on a fair day. Now, you’ll be tucked away under some cottage roof with your wife.”
Sebastian clutched his glass tightly while offering a mild look. “If you wish to marry so badly, you can find yourself a wife.”
Raising an eyebrow, Ronan asked, “Shall I scoop her up in my arms at midnight in a snowy lane?”
He didn’t particularly like everyone knowing the story. It had been a risk, helping Isabel that evening. The memory was still clear: her yellow dress, the blade, the whip, and her cold hands. “Do what you will.”
“I should have known it would be you saving a damsel in distress. What a good story it makes. One of the macaroni lads has promised to write an extraordinarily long poem about it.”
“He won’t.” Sebastian would be certain to stop that should it ever come to light. It would only embarrass Isabel.
Then something hit him. He jerked, turning back to Ronan who stared with a pointed look.
“What?” he demanded.
“I should be asking you that. I’ve asked you five questions to no avail. Where is your head, Sebastian?”
Apparently, it was elsewhere, along with his drink. He had drained the brandy and lost himself in thought. No, in Isabel. Rubbing his head, Sebastian wondered what had happened to him.
Ronan leaned forward. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Sebastian replied, but he wasn’t particularly certain that something was right.
His thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Marcus, the man who enjoyed the holiday season.
What if Isabel liked the holiday season?
Some people traveled for it. Ronan often wound up in Italy.
Perhaps Isabel wanted to go to Italy for the winter.
Except he couldn’t very well ask her if she was at Eastwynd and he was in London.