William gasped for breath at the end of his sentence, passing a hand over his face. He felt exhausted. He’d drunk the brandy too quickly, and it made him feel sick and empty inside. The room was spinning already.
HowcanAlexander enjoy this?he thought miserably, signaling for another drink anyway.
Timothy was quiet for a moment. The two men had been friends for many years, since childhood in fact, and William knew from experience that his friend took a long time to reply. He gathered his thoughts, taking time to respond, but his responses were generally worth waiting for.
“I think you are putting too much pressure on yourself,” he said at last. “You have a great many new responsibilities, not least of all your position as head of your family. It wasn’t as if you had a wonderful father to look up to and imitate.”
William shuddered. “Absolutely not.”
“But, please, give your family a little more credit. Your brothers and Katherine love you. The Dowager Duchess trusts you and relies on you. You’ll do the right thing.”
“The right thing is for me to set the example and marry,” William stated miserably. “It’s not hard for me. I’m the Duke of Dunleigh – I can simply propose to any woman I like, and it’s ten to one she’ll accept. What am I waiting for, then?”
“It’s not a crime to choose one’s spouse carefully.”
“My father didn’t leave any room for careful choices or measured thought,” William responded bitterly. “He once said that putting a man under pressure was the best way to get him to reveal his true self. Or get him to make a poor decision, which could work in your favour. It’s not normal, is it, for fathers to teach their sons how to take advantage of the more vulnerable?”
“I couldn’t say. My father has already told me I won’t get a penny from him, on account of my moving out before he gave permission. Oh, and the novel-writing. He begrudgingly approves of Katherine, but she can’t stand him.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet stretching out and out between them.
“I’m drifting apart from my family,” William said, after a long pause. “It used to be the four of us, united against Father. It was the only recourse we had. He tried to split us up, often – tried to turn us against each other and make us resent one another, but that never worked. It seems that he’s finally achieved it from beyond the grave. Strange how the world works, is it not?”
Timothy bit his lip. “You give the man too much credit. He was clever, certainly, and vengeful too. But you are cleverer than him, all of you. In the end, the old Duke’s hubris was his own undoing. If he hadn’t been cruel and overconfident, he wouldn’t have ridden the horse that killed him. This is a trial, certainly, but I have confidence in you and your siblings that you can overcome it.”
“I wish I had such confidence,” William muttered. Sighing, he downed the rest of his second brandy. Already, he could feel the pressure of a headache coiling around his temples. Sleep seemed particularly attractive right now, but of course there was no chance of that.
“I have to go, Timothy. There’s some soiree tonight we all have to attend, one of Mother’s friends. Thank you for coming out to meet me. I always feel clearer-headed after talking with you.”
Timothy smiled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll always be friends, you and I. Come on, now, chin up. You always managed to get past your father’s little schemes before, you can face this one, too.”
William tried to smile in return, but his heart wasn’t in it. The gesture tugged at his cheeks, making his face feel tight and false.
“I hope you’re right,” he murmured. “I really,reallydo.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lady Grantham’s soirees were always unbearable.
Everybody had to go, of course. Lady Grantham was important enough to make it a compliment to receive an invitation from her but dull enough to make the evening crawl.
Lady Grantham did not much enjoy dancing and although she would reluctantly allow a few sets as a special treat, she was very strict on the types of dance and which card games could be enjoyed in her ballroom.
The woman herself sat in state, surrounded by various matrons and dowagers, all friends of hers, all equally dull and serious and unfriendly, eyes peeled for any misbehaving gentleman, any lady treading the thin edge of Propriety with a capital P.
Eleanor curtsied in front of her hostess – it was like being presented to the Queen, not that Eleanor ever had been – and tried not to shrivel under the woman’s steely glare.
Lady Grantham was of the generation where any connection with any business at all was shameful. Times were changing, and the Fairfaxes were generally allowed to mingle in the best circles, and she was more or less obliged to admit them.
Still, that doesn’t mean I intend toapproveof you,said the woman’s glare, raking Eleanor up and down, taking in every flaw in her person and dress.
As if to highlight the point of Eleanor’s unsuitability, none other than the Redfords came sweeping in next. Eleanor’s heart sank.
Lady Grantham’s face lit up.
“Ah, my dear Miss Sophia Redford! How lovely to see you.”
She actually rose from her seat – a great honour – and went waddling over to greet Sophia.
