Chapter 6 #2
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that sometime.”
Nicholas hurried down the stairs and waited at the stables for Blackheart to return. When the horse was led in, Nicholas slipped him treats, petted him, and left him in the care of a trustworthy stablehand.
He passed the boy a coin. “Make sure to spend plenty of time rubbing him down. He loves it.”
The boy flashed his crooked teeth, and the coin disappeared into his pocket. “Yes, sir.”
He rejoined Archibald near the exit. “To the Regent?”
“Indeed.”
They hired a carriage and made small talk about their horses as they drove to the club. Nicholas was glad to be out of the sun. While it was nice that they were actually seeing it this year, he wasn’t used to the relentless heat.
A servant greeted them at the Regent’s front entrance and escorted them down the dimly lit corridor with its light brown walls and white marble floor to a cozy room where men were playing cards at several different tables.
Spotting Chisholm at one of the tables, they strode over and asked if they could be dealt into the next hand.
As the men greeted them and joked around, Nicholas was struck by an echoing sense of familiarity. As if he’d lived this exact moment before.
There was no surprise as Chisholm ribbed him about treating his horse like a child, and no words he couldn’t have predicted came out of his own mouth.
Christ, was this what his future held?
A constant cycle of playing cards, visiting the racecourse, and constantly worrying he’d make a misstep that might cost him his relationship with his mother—or worse, his brother—before spending the night alone in his bed or the bed of whichever woman he was involved with?
For the most part, it didn’t sound terrible, but it left him feeling hollow.
Wouldn’t it be nice if, instead, there could be someone waiting for him at home? Someone he could tease and hold and who would make the hollow ache in his chest go away.
“Pardon me, Mr. Blackwell.”
Nicholas turned, surprised to find that they were already onto the second hand and that a young gentleman he’d seen around but whose name he didn’t know was pulling out a chair beside him.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he admitted, gesturing to the table when a servant offered him a drink.
The man—a relatively uninteresting looking chap with brown hair and eyes and the stocky build of someone who never turned down food—held out his hand. “I’m Mr. John Garfield.”
Nicholas shook the proffered hand. “Nicholas Blackwell, at your service.”
“Yes.” Garfield grinned. “I hope you will be.”
“Your turn, Blackwell,” Chisholm prompted, and Nicholas played his cards without paying much attention.
“I get the impression there’s a reason you’ve approached me,” Nicholas said to Garfield. “You might as well tell me what it is.”
Garfield nodded, still smiling. Directness clearly didn’t bother him. “I’ve heard that Viscountess Blackwell is close with Lady Sophie Carlisle. Is that correct?”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes, not sure he liked where this was going. This boy was far too wet behind the ears to court a spirited woman like Sophie. “Lady Blackwell and Lady Sophie Carlisle are indeed good friends.”
Garfield’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I’ve also heard Lady Sophie intends to marry this season.”
Remaining silent, Nicholas let him draw what conclusions from that he would. He wasn’t about to gossip behind Sophie’s back with one of her potential suitors, even if he did think the man was wildly unsuitable for her.
Garfield sighed, as if he’d hoped for some sort of encouragement. “Do you have any suggestions as to how I might go about wooing Lady Sophie?”
Nicholas set his cards down, resigning himself to the fact he wouldn’t be able to give the game his full attention until he’d dealt with young Mr. Garfield. “Why do you wish to court her?”
“Why?” Garfield blinked, the question apparently blindsiding him. “Well, she’s an earl’s daughter, isn’t she? That’s certainly a prize worth striving for.”
Nicholas’s eyebrow ticked, and words formed in the back of his throat, but he swallowed them down. Losing his temper at this defenseless puppy would serve no purpose.
“There is more than one marriageable earl’s daughter,” he pointed out. “Why Lady Sophie rather than another?”
Garfield shrugged. “She’s nice enough to look at, and I’ve heard she isn’t overly prim and proper. I don’t want a wife who’ll try to turn me into something I’m not.”
Nicholas grimaced, still hesitant to offer any assistance. Both of the things Garfield had said were true, but he couldn’t help feeling that neither of them were good enough reasons to marry someone, and he wouldn’t see Sophie wed to a man who didn’t properly appreciate her.
He forced an awkward smile. “I’m sure you can think of possibilities just as well as I can. You’re young, but you must have had a few flirtations.”
Garfield’s face fell. “You won’t help?”
“That’s not very sporting,” Chisholm chimed in, his feedback completely unwelcome. “It’s not as if you’re going to marry her yourself.”
No. He wasn’t.
So why did the thought of her marrying Garfield make him want to toss his brandy in the other man’s face?