Page 35 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘We can’t all be radiant all the time, Mrs Western.’

‘Stop flirting with my wife, you scoundrel, I can hear you from down here.’ Western’s voice came from somewhere behind the bar, making Tom smile.

‘Is it the headaches?’

He shook his head. ‘They haven’t been too bad. Only had one in the last few weeks.’

‘Your fancy doctors still haven’t got to the bottom of it?’

‘No. I stopped going to see them when they suggested leeches again.’ They both shuddered at the thought.

‘You’ve visited us twice in a fortnight. We are blessed,’ Western said as he emerged from the cellar, wiping his hands on a cloth. ‘You’re right, he does look awful,’ he said, turning to his wife.

‘It’ll be a woman,’ Mrs Western said as she started to wipe down the bar.

‘No doubt some poor girl has fallen in love with him and he’s feeling the pressure of letting her down.’

‘I can hear you,’ Tom murmured, although he didn’t mind their gentle teasing. It felt familiar and comforting and some of his troubles lifted from his shoulders as he watched his friends smile at each other.

‘Is it a woman?’

‘No,’ he said a little too quickly, trying unsuccessfully to push the image of Miss Ashworth from his mind.

‘Your nephew, then?’ Western asked.

‘He deserves better.’

‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Western said, motioning out to the street. ‘Those children out there, the ones forced to work from the age of five climbing chimneys or worse—they deserve better. The ones so hungry their bellies hurt and their teeth fall out—they deserve better.’

‘I can’t argue with that,’ Tom said quietly.

‘What did you have as a child?’ Western said, coming round the bar and sitting next to him.

‘A mother who died when I was a baby and a father who was cruel and controlling.’

‘Look at you—a bit rough around the edges with some questionable decisions behind you, but all in all you’ve turned out all right.’

‘Don’t feed my conceit too much, Western, I might get too confident.’

‘You’re already too confident by half.’

‘He’s got a good home, a warm bed, plenty of food, people to take care of him and the chance of an education,’ Mrs Western said, her voice a little softer, ‘And an uncle who loves him.’

‘Not like a parent would.’

Western clapped him on the back. ‘Drink up and I’ll pour us a whisky.’

‘I don’t even think it is your nephew you are feeling morose about,’ Mrs Western said, eyeing him with a probing look on her face. ‘It is a woman, isn’t it?’

‘Who is it this time? An actress? An opera singer? One of those widows that seem to be so eager to get to know you intimately?’

‘There is no one.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Western said as he reached for the bottle of whisky and poured them both a glass.

‘Perhaps it is something a little more than that,’ Mrs Western said, motioning to a new customer that she would be along in a moment. ‘Are you thinking of finally settling down, Tom?’

‘Good Lord, no,’ he said, throwing back the whisky and then wishing he hadn’t. ‘Let’s talk about something else. The horse racing, business—even the damn weather. I don’t care as long as it isn’t about the women in my life.’