William piled the never-ending paperwork to one side of his desk and rose, looking over at the servant. “Thank you. I’ll be right in.”
Hearing a clatter in the hall, he frowned. A second later, Emily went flying by behind the butler.
When he entered the drawing room, Emily had Folly’s hands clasped in hers and was talking a mile a minute, while South lolled against the fireplace with a whisky in hand.
“I see I don’t need to offer drinks,” William said with a momentary frown.
South raised his glass, nodding and smiling. It was always an easy way to judge what number drink he was on by how well he contained the beverage in his glass when he made these grand gestures. Still only his first or second.
“Emily, what has you so animated?” he asked his sister. He’d always included her in any outings that were appropriate for a young lady, thus she was quite familiar with Folly and South. He’d been close with his sister all his life, at least in part to protect her from seeing more of their father’s drunkenness than necessary. But he’d never seen her so focused on a private conversation with Folly.
“Last year, Folly declined to allow me to join you on your outing, saying I might this year.”
“It would not be Folly’s decision.” William raised his brows, baffled as to why she’d have asked his friend rather than him.
“But it is his birthday, and that might give him sway with your decision.”
“Might being the operative word, doll. You’re still too young.” Folly’s baritone interrupted, carrying a thread of steel.
She stamped her slippered foot. On the rug, it was silent, which made all three men snicker. “I am seven-and-ten now. Do you not recall what you three got up to when you were my age? I seem to recall notes from the headmaster, William…”
“Emily—” William began.
“Give us a minute, Will?” Folly spoke over him.
Confused, he nodded. If Folly wanted to wrestle with Emily’s waywardness, it was his birthday. William would just as soon not fight with his sister. Especially as it seemed he needed to keep an eye on his other friend.
Folly led her over to a corner of the room, out of earshot but still within sight, where they whispered furiously for long minutes.
William poured himself a cup of tea and watched South refill his whisky. “Pace yourself, South, you know this is destined to be a long night. And Mama will have your head if you are soused at the dinner table.”
“Yes, yes.” South’s tone was impatient, the swing of his glass a little more expansive, the slosh a little higher. “I have found a new gaming hell I am dying to show the both of you. Folly at least cannot bow out tonight.”
They covered the cost of his birthday outing each year, but William was concerned at the frequency of South finding “new” gaming hells. For him to be playing dice and cards that often was bad. The fact that he kept bouncing from place to place was worse.
“How fares the lovely widow? Is she the reason you’ve been quitting White’s early? You know, I’m not certain I understand the appeal. I suppose with age comes experience. What has she been teaching you?”
William growled at his friend.
South’s head shot back and he blinked, then drawled, “Really? ’Tis like that then? You do recall you have another year of university. And you leave for Harrington in a sennight.”
“I know. But she’s different. Girls our age are just that—girls. I swear she is smarter than I am.”
Folly rejoined them then. “Who is? Emily?”
William shot him a quick look, then glanced around for his sister. She’d left the room, presumably to see where their mother was and check on dinner.
“Will’s widow.” South wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh.” Folly cocked his head, perusing William’s face. “What are you going to do when you return to Oxford?”
William’s lips twisted. “I haven’t worked that out yet. She wants to end it.”
South hooted. “Oh, she’s just using your young nubile body for a summer fling? Drat it all, why couldn’t she have picked me?”
Ignoring him, Folly said in a gentle voice, “Perhaps that would be best. You have enough to juggle. If ’tis real, then you can renew your acquaintance next summer.”
“What about all the men who have more to offer her? More life experience? Less…” he lowered his voice, his eyes sliding sideways to check the doorway for family members, “…baggage? They’ll be here all those months and I will not.” He wanted to wring his hands and weep just thinking about it. Some more polished suitor would sweep in and woo her and he could not even use the tools he had to fight from Oxford. Or could he…? He was suddenly grateful he’d gotten her a second copy of Catullus’s work. There might be a way to press his suit from afar.
