A careful hope flared in Quincy’s dark eyes. “And Dane?”
Peter heaved a sigh, looking out over the bustling docks. “I find,” he replied slowly, “that I don’t have the stomach for it any longer.”
The tension left Quincy in a moment, and in its place was the old friendliness. He clapped Peter on the shoulder, and as one, they turned and began walking down the length of the docks. “And so you won’t let the line die out?”
Peter’s relief was quickly tempered by regret as Lenora’s drawn face swam up in his mind. He gave a humorless chuckle as he sidestepped a thick coil of rope. “I don’t know that I have any control over that. I cannot see myself marrying, having a family…” He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat and pressed on. “But I will do everything in my power to ensure the land does not go to ruin, that the tenants don’t suffer, that the duke’s daughters are well provided for.”
He prayed Quincy would leave it at that. But, as ever, the man could not keep his nose from where it did not belong. “And what of Miss Hartley?”
The quiet question nearly undid him. He shrugged. “What of her? She’s to marry Redburn—”
“That arse?” Quincy scoffed. “He doesn’t deserve her.”
“No one deserves her,” Peter muttered.
“You do.”
Peter stopped dead in his tracks and gave his friend a somber look. “I especially don’t deserve her.”
Quincy rolled his eyes heavenward. “God save me from thick-skulled bastards. You blasted idiot, you’re perfect for her. Did you think I didn’t see how she lit up when you were around? You made herhappy.”
Peter gaped at him. “You’re delusional.”
“Delusional to think you might finally get your large head out of your arse. You care for the girl, don’t you?”
Peter flushed. He should deny it all, claim there had never been anything between them, tell his friend his imagination had run away from him.
But he couldn’t. This was Quincy, the man who had been there for him for over a decade, who had saved his life in so many ways. And he was done hiding from his best friend.
“Fine,” he spat, “yes, I care for Miss Hartley. Hell.” He ran a hand over his face before yanking hard at his limp cravat. “I love her. I love Lenora. Are you happy now, you meddling bastard?”
He expected anger, shock even. Instead Quincy was grinning from ear to ear. “You’re damn right I’m happy.”
“I’m not!” Peter exploded, his hands flying in the air. “How do you think it’s been, seeing her with Redburn, knowing she’s to be his wife, to bear his children, to grow old with him? A knife to the gut could not have hurt worse.” He lost his breath from the pain that sliced through him. Dragging air into his lungs, he plowed on. “And to make matters worse, I went and lost my temper, attacked the man—”
“You attacked Redburn?” Quincy gaped at him.
“Yes,” Peter groaned, closing his eyes briefly as mortification filled him. “At the damn assembly hall.”
“Oh, I would have loved to see that,” Quincy muttered. “Mind telling me what finally set you off?”
“He was badgering her about her penchant for drinking lemonade. Again.”
One inky brow rose. “That’swhat did it?”
Peter’s cheeks grew hot. “It was not my finest moment,” he muttered.
“No doubt.” Humor colored Quincy’s words. Peter was too miserable to feel more than a hint of annoyance.
“But what I want to know,” his friend continued, “was what Miss Hartley’s reaction was to your display.”
“What do you think?” He looked Quincy full in the face. “She was aghast, embarrassed, outraged.”
“And so you left.” Peter nodded. “Because you love her,” Quincy continued. Again another nod, this one more wretched than the first.
Silence stretched between them, made all the more obvious by the bustle and commotion around them. Unable to look his friend in the eye a moment longer, Peter gazed out over the chaos. He followed a stringy youth as he hefted a crate up the gangplank of a merchant vessel, remembering a time when that was him. Life had been so much simpler then.
The lad came down for another load, yet still things remained quiet between him and Quincy. He squirmed, unused to such uneasiness with his friend. Finally, when he couldn’t take it a second more, he asked, “And so when do you leave?”
