Chapter 5 #2
“Lord Daventry, you are uniquely positioned. Heir to a duchy. You move in circles far above those of other agents. You are of greatest use as you are.”
James choked down his disappointment. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and put his hands on his knees as if to stand.
Mr. Bulverton went on, “And your notoriety is a brilliant ruse. No one suspects a debauched marquess.” He put his hand on James’ shoulder.
“I would be lying, my lord, if I didn’t admit I have passed many an uneasy hour thinking over you and your situation.
You must never forget you are pretending.
You must never allow the role to overshadow the man.
It would be a grievous loss because the James Cavendish I know is a fine fellow. ”
James swallowed and blinked his eyes a few times. Mr. Bulverton had never offered much more praise to James than a well done. James lived for those well dones.
Mr. Bulverton gazed out the window. “And I am sad for you. I think you must be very lonely.”
James was startled into a laugh. He had to disabuse Mr. Bulverton of that notion. “Come, I have had to take rooms away from my family’s town house just to have some peace. And you know my nights are taken up with all manner of society and socializing. I am never alone enough to be lonely.”
Mr. Bulverton leveled his gaze at James. There was no hint of a twinkle in his eyes now. “Yes, you are surrounded by people. None of whom know you. And you are accountable to none of them. It seems to me that might be the loneliest position of all.”
James left Madame Flora’s and walked west along Piccadilly, back towards his rooms. He wanted a drink. Three drinks. No, he wanted a whole damn bottle.
His friend Thomas, the Earl Drake, still came to town once a week to use the services of the doxies at Madame Flora’s, and James might meet him at their club for a drink.
But Thomas was always gone by the next day, and James had missed his friend last night because of the pursuit and seduction and burglary of the Marchioness of Painswick.
The earl would not be back to London for another week.
With the chill of autumn in the air, James had hoped Thomas might invite him out to the country, to Sommerleigh.
Only with Thomas, only in that sheltered place away from London, could James be as intemperate in real life as he was by reputation.
He could lose control, knowing if his facade crumbled, Thomas would still just see his friend.
And if the earl did notice some alteration in James, wouldn’t he be the best person to know the truth? Thomas cared for James. Besides his sisters and his valet Enfield, there were few other people James could say that about.
But if James went now to Sommerleigh, it would not be the same as when Thomas had been a bachelor. James would have to watch himself, hide himself, just as he did in London.
Thomas had married Harriet “Harry” née Lovelock last spring.
Thomas said his wife—an eccentric invalid from what James could tell—did not mind his whoring.
That liberalism towards her husband’s habits and the one hundred and forty-five thousand pounds she had brought to the marriage were apparently her chief attractions.
The wedding had been rushed, coming on the heels of a nonexistent courtship, so desperate had Thomas been for funds.
James, of course, had been one of the two witnesses at the wedding, and the other witness . . . no. He absolutely refused to think of Thomas’ mother-in-law.
One hand toyed with the sapphire ring still deep in his pocket. The stone was a lovely rich blue, quite like the eyes of . . . but no.
He must rally himself, find some cheer. The Theatre-Royal, Drury Lane had a production of Twelfth Night on.
He might go tonight and lose himself in the comedy.
The clowns were always so amusing. And the Viola might capture his imagination.
He had always had such a weakness for a well-played, intelligent Viola.
Witty. Teasing. Strong. Devoted to her man, that fool Orsino, who couldn’t see a good thing right under his nose.
And even though James had often claimed nothing was more arousing than a woman’s bosom, he wouldn’t turn up his nose at the erotic value of seeing a woman’s shapely bottom in tight breeches. Mmmmmm.
And, see here, the ring was a reward, and he had never actually earned anything before.
Even better, the ring was evidence he had actually done something of use, no matter how farcical it had been.
No matter how addle-pated he had pretended to be.
He had been angling at the seduction for weeks, and it had all come together beautifully.
As always, his false inebriation had been perfectly calibrated.
Yes, well done.
James stopped and looked in a haberdashery’s shop window. He appeared to be admiring a waistcoat on display, but he was really using the reflection of the glass to see back into the street. No one of suspicion. All was as it should be.
But if all was as it should be and all was well and well-done, what was this feeling of discontent? What did it mean that he craved obliterating his senses and losing himself completely in a bottle of whisky?
Mr. Bulverton was right. James needed to be careful, or he would be in very real danger of turning into an authentically debauched marquess.