Epilogue the First
One Week Later
Alfred
“I am not sure you should be allowed here any longer,” teases Theo when I appear in our regular smoking lounge at the appointed time.
Annabelle has been feeling much better—so much so that she went to the theatre tonight with Evie and Matilda. She urged me to come here and see my friends. And so I have. But I was slightly worried that they would not welcome me, even if they are happy to see me anywhere else.
“I will leave if you prefer it, Theo.”
He rolls his eyes. “I jest, Alfred.”
“We won’t hold your comely, rich wife against you,” Daniel says. The baronet sits in half shadow, his dark fingers grasping a glass.
“Are you any closer yourself to marriage, Daniel?”
He shakes his head grimly.
“No.”
“I am sorry for that.”
“One day,” he shrugs.
I am sorry that my marriage must be a reminder of what he and his fiancé cannot yet grasp.
He smiles.
“But Emmeline and I are very happy for you and Mrs. de Lacey.”
The opening door swallows my thanks—Peter and Bram have walked in.
“Ah, Alfred,” Bram says, smiling. “My congratulations.”
“Yes,” says Peter. “Your wife should expect a call from mine soon. And an invitation to our annual ball.”
Henry comes through the door then, and our group is complete.
And I must ask the question. It feels wrong not to do so.
“Is it alright that I am here?”
They all grin at me.
“No, leave,” Bram jokes. “Your presence is an offense.”
“We would really prefer it,” Daniel says.
“And never return,” Theo adds.
“I don’t think we need quite be so narrow in our friendship,” Peter says, his eyes shining. “And, after all, you were one of us once. That is what matters.”
“Not to mention that he was once our king of self-deprivation,” Henry quips.
I flush at that. He’s not wrong and the room rings with good-natured laughter.
“We all look forward to knowing your wife more,” Peter says.
“I know that—her reputation—” I begin.
“My wife cares nought for that,” Peter says. “And now that you are married, certainly no one here will object.”
Of course, when it comes to mixed company, my friends may still have to be delicate. Surely there are entertainments to which Lady Calloway will not be able to invite my wife. But single gentlemen have much more freedom to see who they will, and Lady Calloway enough rank to include us in much.
“Thank you,” I say. “To all of you.”
“You can thank Henry by telling him more about your wife’s pretty little friend,” Bram says, with a knowing smile.
“I—that’s—Bram—”
I still in surprise.
Henry is stammering.
Henry never stammers.
“Matilda?”
“No,” Bram says. “The other one.”
“Evie?”
“Ah, yes, that’s the one,” Bram confirms.
“No, it isn’t,” Henry stutters out.
Daniel raises his eyebrows.
Theo looks gleeful.
And Peter’s face, of course, reveals nothing.
“You found her pretty?” I say to Henry.
“I—Bram wasn’t supposed to—she is pretty. Any man can see it.”
But his eyes have a strange, yearning expression.
“What about Miss Florence Higgins?”
“Of course,” he says. “We are nearly engaged. Can’t a man call a girl pretty without it being taken ill?”
I can see by the smirk on Bram’s face, however, that it is more than that.
And Henry’s guilty, haggard expression confirms it.
“She is lovely,” I say. “And fierce.”
“That’s no matter to me,” Henry says.
We all begin to talk of other things.
But when I look back at Henry, I can tell.
He is still thinking about Evie Colley.