Chapter Five
London
Bryson Passmore, Viscount Bidenden, stared morosely into his tankard of ale, tracing patterns in the moisture on the coarse-grained, wooden tabletop, and blanking out the surrounding hubbub of conversation in his favorite drinking establishment, the Globe Tavern in The Strand.
Things were not going well. Not only had the Grenfell chit turned him down, but now her parents were denying him entry into the house.
What did I say to them to cause them to do that?
Perhaps he had gone too far when he proposed.
All he’d tried to do was give her a kiss to persuade her to consent to the engagement.
For his trouble, he’d got his instep stomped on and an elbow in the ribs.
It wasn’t as if he’d have gone any further than a kiss.
He wasn’t a beast, just a little desperate.
His brown study was interrupted by a slap on the shoulder that spilled his ale just as he was raising it to his lips.
“Bryce!” Lord Kenrick Layne grinned as he straddled the bench Bryson was sitting on.
The man was all long limbs, romantic blond locks, deep blue eyes, and cheeky smile.
The ladies adored him. “Have you gone deaf, man?” said Kenrick, setting his own ale down on the table with a small thud.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes. ”
Bryson shook his head to clear it and grinned wryly at his friend. “Sorry, old boy, I was miles away.”
“Evidently!” Kenrick took a large swig of his ale and wiped the foam off his upper lip with his sleeve. “What’s got you so down in the dumps?”
Bryson debated whether to confide in his friend, and while he was still thinking, Kenrick declaimed dramatically, “Don’t tell me!” Putting a hand to his forehead in the manner of a seer, he said, “The pursuit of your lady love has gone awry!”
Bryson smiled ruefully at his nonsense. “Yes, something like that.”
“Never mind, lots more fish in the sea, Bryce. It’s not as if you’re desperate.”
“No,” said Bryson hollowly.
Seeming to catch his tone, Kenrick asked, “Unless it’s serious?”
Bryson lifted a shoulder, trying to adopt the air of a spurned lover. Which I am, damn it!
“Faint heart never won fair lady!” said Kenrick, raising his tankard.
“In this case the pitch has skewed, I fear,” said Bryson in a hangdog sort of way. “Nothing for it but to rusticate for a while and try again in the autumn.”
“Good idea! Where do you plan to go?”
“Not sure yet.” He sipped his ale and waited.
“I’m heading to my brother’s place in Leicestershire for a spell. Want to come? We could do a spot of fowling and fishing. He will have some house guests; he always does. You never know, there may even be some ladies to take your mind off your lady love.”
“Are you sure the duke won’t mind?”
“Of course not, Hereward and I have standing invitations to drop in whenever we like and bring a friend if we choose. I grew up there, you know. It’s my home, too. Just because Robert got the lot, being the eldest, doesn’t mean he’s stingy about sharing his inheritance with me and Hereward.”
“Don’t mind if I do then, Rick. It will be good to get out of town for a bit. It’s beastly hot in summer.”
“Your father still being a curmudgeon?”
“A bit,” he admitted reluctantly.
Kenrick nodded sympathetically. “I’ll drop Rob a line to let him know we’ll be there before the end of next week. That suit you?”
“Yes, thank you.”