She led him into the dining room. “Have tea. We can make a plan.”
Luke closed his eyes and nodded. Internally he berated himself for his relief at her use of “we.” If he had a few more days of peace, he could grapple with his future. A plan had started to coalesce in the dark of night. However, it seemed fate had other plans this morning.
A new fear gripped him. He was not yet ready to venture back into the world. This miniature private house party was helping him establish new habits. Would Belle release him now because of the funeral? If she did, he had no idea how he’d pay his gaming debts or avoid the temptation of whisky.
Slouching into his chair, he gulped the tea she poured, registering vague surprise at her willingness to serve him.
An hour later, he’d managed a semi-coherent note including, with Belle’s permission, an offer to have drinks at their usual public house with William and Nate after the service.
“We shall need to discuss your time in the pub, but your friend needs you. Take today to consider how you can support him.”
“No, please.” He knew if he sat idle, he’d spiral into negativity and end up craving whisky.
Her chin jerked back in surprise.
“I need to stay busy. The physical work helps quiet the noise in my head and distracts me from wanting to drown my sorrows.”
She nodded in understanding. “Right, then.”
Thus he sat in the dining room polishing all the silver the staff could find. Each time someone entered with another vase or letter opener or the like, they attempted to keep a straight face, but it was no secret they were enjoying the help from this strange guest of their employer’s.
The repetitive work soothed him, allowing him to align his jumbled thoughts. As he rubbed the cloth over a silver tureen, the unfairness of the paters that fate had handed William and him wafted over him again. William had earned exemplary marks at Oxford and had leapt into helping the earldom before his last year at university. His choices and efforts would have overjoyed The Earl. William’s drunken father, on the other hand, could have provided an excellent excuse for Luke’s own choices.
Even Nate, whose father was loving but remote and without resources to help, had established his own career in record time. He tilted his head as he set the tureen aside. Nate and Belle had much in common. An ugly twist of emotion churned in his stomach. He didn’t like to think of Belle and Nate suiting, or Belle and anyone suiting, for that matter.
Grabbing a bowl with ornate decorative filigree on the handles, he selected a narrow brush, scrubbing the tiny metal swirls as he shook off thoughts of Belle’s impending marriage. He had his own future to worry about.
He was stuck with The Earl, so he needed to confess his sins. Better to do that with a plan for his future thathewas proud of—his hopes of paternal pride were low. Belle’s story of her sister, as well as her gentle guidance of his own path to sobriety andindeed to maturity, had sparked the strategy he’d outlined on the dark ceiling.
If he could remain sober and be an example to others, perhaps he might help those in need wean themselves off gaming, spirits, or whatever vice they’d taken too far. He was still debating the logistics regarding where he’d do this, the number of people he could help at one time, and whether he should open it to aristocrats, working men, or both. His preference was both after hearing Belle’s story. He was not yet ready to navigate chaperones or mixing men and women in one building, so he’d decided to begin with men.
Discussing the project with his father still made his stomach hurt. The Earl would no doubt find fault with it, no matter how detailed the design. However, Luke would practice his presentation and calculate paths to success without his father’s support if needed. Given The Earl’s good health and disappointment in his son, the man’s invitation at the holiday was not likely to be to demand he start learning the earldom. He was grateful to have time to mature, as well as friends such as William and Nate who were farther along in life than he was.
That night, he didn’t sleep. Worry about going out in public without Belle’s supervision jockeyed with guilt over his self-absorption rather than considering William’s needs, interspersed with disparagement of himself as a man given his sudden desire for supervision. He would never be able to help others if he could not handle himself.
Luke woke toa clean suit hanging on his wardrobe, pressed and ready for him to wear to the funeral. Belle must have procuredit from his house. The woman was an excellent caretaker for spoiled men.
After performing his morning ablutions, he dragged on the first layer of garments, wishing he could remain here where no one knew his whereabouts, and he did not have to navigate society without the warmth of whisky in his belly.
However, he’d never forgive himself if he did not support William, no matter how tolerant his friend was. Belle had given him strict instructions, but even those had put ideas in his head. Nipping into a pub on the way to fortify himself, pestering Nate or others he’d know at the service for a flask.
Shame flashed over him in a hot wave. He’d gotten free of spirits. Belle would not stand for him to fall back into old habits. Nor did he want to contemplate feeling as he had those first few days again, or where she’d make him sleep after another misstep. Beyond that, the idea of helping others as he’d been helped had piqued his interest, and he did not want to jeopardize that. He just wished he could delay venturing back into society for another few days.
On the other hand, William needed his support. From past conversations, he suspected his friend was juggling relief as well as sorrow at his father’s passing, given how much of a mess the prior earl had made of his family’s finances.
Luke frowned. William was an earl—now, not someday. That new development made his own future feel more pressing. Gah, one drink. He just needed a few sips to deal with all this reality.
A knock on his room door made him turn.
Before he could invite the person to enter, Belle stepped into the room.
“Shall we go over this once more?”
“No, Belle. I understand.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I did not give you leave to address me by that name.”
“I have slept in your room and held your feet in my hands, and”—he wiggled his eyebrows—“you’ve seen more than that on my form. Might you consider offering me the privilege?”
