“We shall see how today goes. Now, I know you say you understand, but this bears repeating. No flasks, no wandering off from the service. If William and Nate can get away after the funeral, no gaming, no spirits, and only one drink—a cider, as you’ll sip that slowly out of dislike.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She held out the shoes she’d been holding. “I am sorry for William’s loss. Please convey my sympathies when you see him.”
When she stepped forward to help him with his cravat, a vision of her doing this every day as his wife stole his breath. Dismissing it as a stress-induced fantasy, he muttered his thanks and turned away to don his shoes.
He climbed into Belle’s carriage, marveling at the quality. It was as nice as his, demonstrating yet again her triumph over her humble beginnings. Hating himself, he stuck his fingers behind the squabs and ran them over the support for the bench seat, looking for flasks tucked away or hidden compartments where he might find whisky. His lovely housemate had removed them, if indeed there had ever been any.
He avoided looking out the window for fear of stopping at a tavern along the way. Instead, he practiced words of sympathy for William and his mother. The countess, or Ruth as she insisted they call her, had adopted Nate and Luke as her own. No matter how deficient a husband and provider the earl had been, she had loved her husband, supporting him publicly and covering for him privately. Luke ached for her loss even more than William’s.
Nate was lingering on the church steps when Luke arrived, looking nervous. He should have arranged to pick Nate up on the way. Just as Belle declined to attend the service, his working-class friend no doubt felt out of place at an earl’s funeral. The familiar sensation of disappointing someone he cared for weighed his shoulders down again.
Nate spied him and sighed in relief, waving him over.
Luke greeted Nate and asked, “Have you spoken to Will?”
The blacksmith shook his head as they entered and selected the end of a pew off to the side.
Luke glanced around. Several regulars from the Lyon’s Den caught his eye and nodded. He gulped a swallow, his parched throat once again craving the unique soothing combination of fire and water in whisky. Ruth turned to say something to William, the lines on her face more pronounced with grief and fatigue than he’d ever seen.
He pictured himself in that front row, his father gone with no more opportunities to reconcile, and a new layer of grief washed over him. No matter how much he resented The Earl’s unrealistic standards, he had a better appreciation for his father’s oversight and protection as he watched the grieving family. And perhaps because he was sober for what felt like the first time in years.
And that brought his thoughts right back to whisky. Blast. Gripping the pew in front of him, he pictured Belle, his wish to make her proud, and his own desire to succeed. He rather liked the idea of being able to turn and hold out his hand to help someone else in a similar predicament. But one day at a time. He needed to get through this funeral and support his friend.
After the service, he hugged William and asked in an undertone if he wanted to meet them at the public house near Nate’s business. William slanted a look at his mother and shook his head. “Two nights from now.”
Luke nodded, sighing in relief at the reprieve. He climbed back into the carriage and leaned forward to watch the streets go by, eager to share his success.
Alighting, he rapped a quick succession of knocks on Belle’s front door for entrance. But the butler only opened the door a foot, leaning forward to hiss, “Mrs. Rossi has a visitor, a lady. Please go ’round to the kitchen door.”
Luke nodded and stepped back to turn. She did not want her visitor alerted to his presence. He frowned, strangely hurt by that thought.
She was a courtesan. Why did she need to hide a man in her home? Unless it was personal; unlessheembarrassed her.
Cook let him in at the back door and directed him to the servant staircase. He trudged upstairs with a myriad of conflicting emotions. Perhaps Belle would come chain him to her bedpost like a wayward pet again. His jubilation at getting through an outing without having a drink evaporated. He was such an imbecile. A ten-year-old should be proud of that. A man of two-and-twenty should be able to do that every day, nay, every hour with no sense of accomplishment needed. And without clutching a pew and craving a drink halfway through. No wonder she was embarrassed by him.
Morose, he passed his bedroom and entered hers to lie on his pallet, like the ill-mannered mongrel he was.
Chapter Thirteen
Belle had managedto drink one sherry to every two of Charlotte’s, but she still felt the effects as she helped her friend up the stairs and into her usual room, the bedroom Luke had been using to store his clothes. She’d moved those to the third bedroom for the time being.
Charlotte had sent her a frantic note and had come to grieve the self-inflicted end of her affair with William after watching him mourn the loss of his father at the funeral.
After trying and failing to convince Charlotte that she needn’t give William up so he could find a younger woman more likely to bear him heirs, she’d given up and drunk with her friend, giving her the time to process her grief.
She attempted to distract Charlotte with idle chatter, but part of her remained focused on Luke, worrying about how he was faring, wanting him to succeed. As the sherry levels lowered, her concern turned to longing. She’d enjoyed his company these past days once he’d gotten past the whining stage of recovery.
She would miss him when he was gone. No, she needed to contemplate marriage prospects, not young entertaining lordlings who accepted her as she was and even sought out her guidance. Her feelings stemmed from the lack of structurearound their association. Always before, she’d known ahead of time what a partner expected. Even marriage had at least a loose set of guidelines.
Luke was an anomaly, that was all. She could not want more with him. She did not want more with him. His reputation would suffer from association with a retired courtesan nearly a decade older than him, and her emotions would not allow her to enter a contractual arrangement with him as his mistress, even if his funds allowed it.
She suspected Charlotte would want to stay for a few days to avoid William, and she was not quite sure what to do with Luke for the duration. The temptation of having him in her bedroom that long might prove more than she could handle.
However, she was not prepared to think about alternatives after an entire decanter of sherry. Thank heavens she had extra spirits and wines down in the root cellar and that Luke had not thought to check there. As it was, she might have to send for more if her friend stayed, as Charlotte had managed two bottles herself.
Stumbling into her room, she faced her immediate dilemma—whether the greater need was to lie down or to remove her stays. Swaying, she leaned one hand on her dresser and held her candelabra aloft, blinking at the attractive nuisance curled on her floor. She’d wondered whether he’d choose the guest room or come willingly to hers.
