“I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking and that was the problem.”
Malcolm frowned. “Did you mean what you said about having a desire to marry Enid?”
“I did,” Greydon replied. “I love her.”
Some of Malcolm’s anger dissipated at his words. “It is about time that you admitted that and I wish you luck. Enid has had a rough go of it and she still keeps her guard up.”
“I am well aware, but her resolve is waning; I am sure of it.”
Malcolm uncrossed his arms, dropping them to his sides. “Just be patient with her.” He paused and pointed his finger at him. “And no more kissing.”
Greydon hoped he could convince Enid to kiss him again, but he didn’t dare admit that to Malcolm. When their lips had touched, albeit briefly, he knew he was trying to tell her the depth of how he felt. He felt like he was home in her arms. She was his other half.
Malcolm’s voice broke through his musing. “Are you even listening to me, Rushcliffe?”
“I make it a point to listen as little as possible to what you are saying,” Greydon joked.
His friend cast his eyes heavenward. “You are nearly impossible to like.”
Greydon glanced over his shoulder at the gate in the rear of the gardens. “I think it is time I depart.”
As he turned to leave, Malcolm’s voice stopped him. “Enid may act tough, but it is just an act. She has a kind heart and deserves a lifetime of happiness. That is what I want for her.”
“For once, we are in agreement,” Greydon said. “If I can do the impossible and convince Enid to marry me, I will never take her for granted.”
“She cares for you; that much I know.”
Greydon bobbed his head. “I know,” he responded. “She has told me as much but the fear keeps creeping in. Not that I blame her. Her late husband treated her terribly and left scars.”
“Everyone has scars. Just some are more obvious than others.”
Glancing at the sun setting in the distance, Greydon asked, “Will you inform Enid that I will come call upon her tomorrow?”
“I will, but I daresay that you are making a nuisance of yourself,” Malcolm said lightly.
“And Malcolm…” He paused. “If I were you, I would not challenge anyone else to a duel. You would most surely lose.”
“That is debatable,” Malcolm responded.
“No, it is a fact.”
Malcolm puffed out his chest. “I would have you know that I am an excellent shot.”
“Maybe for a drunk, blind man,” Greydon quipped before he started walking towards the rear of the townhouse. Once he exited through the gate, he headed down the pavement. It wasn’t long before he arrived home.
As he stepped through the main door, Davy announced, “Your father wishes to speak to you.”
“Lovely,” Greydon muttered.
He’d had a long day and the last thing he needed was his father to belittle him or his choices. He sighed. If he were lucky, his father would be so preoccupied with his tasks that he didn’t have time for him.
But he was never that lucky.
Greydon stepped into the study and saw his father was sitting on the settee with a drink in his hand.
“Where have you been, Son?” his father demanded.
“I have been seeing to a few things,” Greydon replied vaguely.
