Luke’s trembling had begun anew with the knowledge that he’d get no more spirits that night, or likely for that fortnight. He hung his head, his fists clenched at his sides to hide the tremors, awaiting her wrath.
“Where did Melinda go?”
“I sent her downstairs under the pretense you were looking for her.”
She rolled her eyes and crossed to open the door of the room, calling, “Meli!”
The girl ran up the stairs, and Isabella handed her the sherry and the glass. “Please remove these from the house. Perhaps the staff will enjoy it as they did the other spirits. There is no sense in wasting them.”
Returning to him, Isabella seemed less angry than he’d expected. There were no pressed lips, foot tapping, or crossed arms. Instead, she tilted her head and gazed at him with... pity?
Blast. He didn’t need anyone’s pity. He straightened his spine and glowered. “What now?”
“What do you want now?”
That was not fair. He didn’t know what he wanted. How could he when every decision had been made for him either by right of birth or The Earl’s decree? He swallowed, ignoring the fact that at two-and-twenty, he should have an idea of what he wanted for himself.
“Do you wish to return to your life of gaming and drinking and debts and allowances? Or are you ready to try a new path?”
“I just needed a—”
“Beyond today. What. Do. You. Want?” she repeated, her tone brooking no nonsense.
He swallowed. Glanced at the sherry. She asked challenging questions like his father, and that made him want to dive into the nearest bottle headfirst. Finally, he came up with, “I do not want to accrue any more gaming debts.”
She nodded. “Right, then. That is a good first goal. If you keep drinking, do you think you’ll be able to refrain from heading to the gaming houses?”
“No.” His tone was sullen. He almost rolled his eyes at himself. Was he ten? He repeated it more firmly. “No.”
“So . . . ?”
“So I apparently do not wish to continue drinking so much. But one drink would go a long way to getting me past tonight,” he begged.
“As you recall, I’ve done this before. Trust me to know what you need. Today and the next few days will be the worst of it, then you’ll start to feel better.”
“Fewdays?”
“Yes, now come eat.”
His stomach rolled audibly.
“Trust me,” she repeated.
He’d asked for direction. Like it or not, this was direction.
The clothes broughtfrom his house had been hung in the wardrobe and laid in the chest of drawers. He quickly changed for supper. He suspected the ones he’d sweated through sleeping the day away were a lost cause, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Navigating the staircase was its own form of hell. Perhaps she’d let him remain upstairs the following day. She’d likely tell him servants had better things to do than fetch and carry for him, and while the thought of food made his throat constrict, he’d not make it through the day without tea.
The dining room, like the rest of the house, had the finest quality furnishings and decorations, without being ostentatious. The table held six comfortably, eight in a pinch.
He slid into the chair with a table setting at a right angle to hers at the head, only to have his stomach turn when a vegetable soup was placed before him. He leaned back and lowered the spoon. It clattered once from the shaking in his arm.
“’Tis soup. Surely you can manage that,” she said, her exasperation evident in her pressed lips.
“It, uh, smells delicious.”
“Is that why you’re green?”
He swayed.
