Chapter Nineteen
Andrew watched as David dozed off in the carriage, leaning for a moment against the squabs until they hit a bump in the road and he was jostled awake.
It was the first moment he’d been able to relate to the man since they’d been reacquainted that afternoon.
Andrew was exhausted himself, as this trip to the club was already extending well beyond his usual bedtime.
He knew he wasn’t a young man anymore, but this was all the more proof.
David’s head bounced off the back wall of the carriage, and Andrew struggled not to laugh. It wouldn’t be appropriate, even if he did seem to deserve a good smack about the back of the head.
“So,” Andrew tried to make conversation, just to avoid more bodily injury. “What have you gotten up to all of these years?”
David laughed, something that was both light and bitter at the same time.
He gestured all around them and provided no other answer, which Andrew took to mean this was all he’d been doing for the better part of a decade.
That was rather sad. David had all the money and the privilege and the support in England, and he’d done exactly nothing with it.
Meanwhile, Della had none of that, and she’d still built a lively, beautiful home for herself.
Despite all he’d said in his letter to Della this afternoon, and most of that was rather impolite where her family was concerned, Andrew thought it was astounding how swiftly he’d come to feel pity for the man in front of him.
Their carriage rolled to a stop, and David seemed to come alive.
Where he’d been drowsy and sad, he now appeared energetic and thrilled to be where he was.
It was as if Andrew watched as a mask of exuberance settled over his face.
He departed the carriage without the use of the steps, and Andrew followed behind.
He politely thanked the footman and the coachman, ensuring he actually spoke to the people that had thus far seemed invisible to David.
As they entered the loud, dark space of the club, Andrew felt himself tense up.
This was not the place for him. He was made for quiet and calm.
This was raucous and chaotic. David, though, was having no such problem.
He’d assumed some kind of absolutely feral character, accepting drinks and speaking to people in loud, passing shouts.
David hadn’t introduced him to anyone, and Andrew would never be able to recognize a soul if he saw them again.
By the time they settled at a table in the corner, David had a whisky in each hand.
He’d already finished at least one and replaced it with another.
It had been only minutes, but Andrew had already lost count of how much the other man had consumed.
Andrew had been almost deathly seasick on a trip to America once, and he imagined that’s how David might feel in the morning.
Though if this kind of intoxication was commonplace for him, perhaps he’d just roll out of bed and start the process right over.
“I don’t see you enjoying yourself yet,” David yelled, taking a sip from the glass in his right hand, then his left.
“I suppose this is not my kind of . . . enjoyment,” Andrew answered.
He knew his face was wrinkled up in disdain.
It was the visual representation of the way his body rebelled at being in this place.
He didn’t like the way he had to raise his voice to be heard.
This was how he imagined Hell, if fire were music and the devil were a barman with a particularly heavy pour.
“What, do you think yourself above the rest of us common degenerates?” David smirked as he spoke. He was making eyes at a scantily clad woman across the room, and everything about it made Andrew uncomfortable.
“Certainly not,” he responded. He didn’t think himself above anyone, especially not the men of high society by which he was currently surrounded. “And you—a future viscount—consider yourself a common degenerate?”
“Perhaps not common, but a degenerate nonetheless.” David extended a glass in his direction, as if they were in on the same joke. Like they were actually friends.
Andrew remained silent. He found he didn’t have anything to say. There wasn’t much they could talk about, a worldly solicitor and pompous jackass heir to a viscountcy. Eventually, though, the silence began to prove worthwhile.
“I’m merely biding my time, you see.” David placed his glass back on the table, and he ran the tip of his thumb clumsily over the rim. He attempted to wink, or at least that was Andrew’s best guess at what that erratic facial motion was. “Until I can do something worthwhile.”
Andrew leaned in, resting his forearms on the table and sliding his drink across the surface from one hand to the other.
He saw this for the opportunity it was, but he took a moment to consider how best to use it.
David had accelerated to quite a level of drunkenness, those whiskies stacking upon each other exponentially in his blood.
Andrew almost wanted to know what that felt like.
It must be freeing, that kind of intoxication.
To be free from your thoughts and expectations.
Hell, David even seemed rid of the burden of operating his own limbs.
That was why Andrew could never be that loose. He valued his sense of control.
“And what might that be?” Andrew asked him. He was treading carefully. Although he was almost certain David wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning, he knew a volatile man when he saw one. Andrew couldn’t get this wrong. Not when it was Della’s future on the line.
“My father is far too lenient,” David said.
He rolled his eyes, and they seemed to get stuck at the back of his head.
As if his body had forgotten how to process that particular action.
“He’s not had a man of business in years.
There were a few after your father, but they came and went.
Now he does it all himself, what he does not force upon me. ”
Those eyes rolled again, and Andrew just sat, absorbing the information he was so readily handed. The more David loosened up, the more Andrew stood to gain from their time spent in this hellish bar.
“You must learn, he says,” David began in a truly abysmal impression of someone. Andrew guessed it was his father given the context, but there was otherwise truly no way to know. “This will all be your responsibility one day.”
Andrew realized this display was quite insensitive.
Not only to Viscount Morley, who was so horribly butchered by David’s less than flattering impersonation, but insensitive of himself, too.
To mock your own father in front of a man who had none—that was the kind of thoughtlessness he was beginning to recognize as a cornerstone of David’s ethos.
As he looked at the sloppy, slurring man across from him, Andrew thought he’d completely lost all respect for him. Then, he kept talking.
“And then there is Adelaide.” The way he said her name set Andrew’s teeth on edge.
It was almost a hiss. His hands formed into fists and pressed against the wooden seat of his chair.
“They tell me all the time, You’ll have to take care of her when we’re gone.
” He resumed that grating impression, and it took all of the control Andrew had to stay seated.
He’d never been prone to violence, not even as a boy.
But something about this moment, David’s smug face, the whisky he dripped everywhere, or the vengeful tone of his words, pressed at an angry spot on Andrew’s soul.
He should’ve known if he could ever be tempted into brutality, it would only be for Della.
“That is rich, coming from the people who are mismanaging her estate as we speak.” David spat all over himself as he spoke, and Andrew didn’t think he’d even noticed.
Andrew’s own ears perked up immediately, though, at the idea of them stealing from Della.
“They doted on her when we were young. She was always perfect. Smarter than me and better mannered. Everyone she met loved her, and I was just the bloody heir.”
Yes, Andrew wanted to say. Della’s the physical embodiment of sunshine, and David’s the physical embodiment of a stubbed toe.
“When she fell ill, there was a sense of justice in that. She was sent away, and I’ve lived the life of an only child.
” David raised a glass, as if to salute to something.
To what? His sister’s illness? Or his own power?
Andrew knew the life of an only child. It was all he’d ever known. He knew it could be lonely.
“I don’t like the way they’ve coddled her.
She’s no need for a full household at that country house .
. .” David rattled on, listing grievances his parents had committed against him on Della’s behalf.
Andrew’s ears were beginning to ring. He thought that was the sound of his own self-preservation, trying to keep him from strangling a future viscount with his bare hands.
“At least they’ve not seen fit to let her have the barony.
” At that, Andrew’s senses heightened once more.
The roar in his ears subsided, and he froze.
He even tried to slow the beating of his heart, as if the blood flowing through his body too fast would upset the delicate balance of this conversation.
A discussion that had suddenly become much more important.
“I wasn’t aware your family held a barony,” Andrew remarked. He thought he was handling this rather well. Before tonight, he could’ve counted on one hand how many times he’d ever lied. Now, the untruths seemed to flow out of him freely. He wasn’t sure yet if that was something to be proud of.