Adrian trailed off, expecting a response, but the drunken duke in question had stopped paying attention and was staring off at a far corner of the ceiling, brow crinkled in concentration.
“Now that I think about it, this is her fault,” Harbury said.
This should be interesting. “How is that?”
“We depend on women to keep us honest, to hold us to universal rules. She did not play her proper part.”
Adrian winced. What would the Blackbird have to say to such a philosophy?
“Come, now, Harbury. How can women be responsible for the standards we make up for them?”
“No. No!” Harbury pointed unsteadily. “I had nothing to do with making the rule we broke! Those dammed Patroness laid down the waltzing regulations.”
“And this proves your point?”
“Yes.” Harbury nodded. “Without women to hold us to standards, we’re no better than beasts.”
“Come along, then, you pompous beast.”
Adrian took Harbury by the arm and then led him into the parlor. He settled his old friend down with a drink.
“You should do something about the walls, Adrian.”
“Why? I only lease the place.”
“Dark as the devil in here. No wonder you’re always moping around.”
“Pot. Kettle. Avant, black-browes.”
Harbury squinted, clearly confused.
“Never mind. We’ll get to decorating advice later. Besides, I’m not the one moping. Explain to me how you came to inopportune the young lady.”
“Very well. If you must know, I’d just spotted Vivianne.” Harbury pursed his lips, then gave a harsh sigh. “So, you see, I needed to turn my mind to someone else.”
Ah. Vivianne, the infamous love of Harbury’s life.
Adrian should have known. “Couldn’t you have chosen another young lady? One who’d been approved to waltz?”
Again, Harbury shrugged. “The chit was closest lady at hand. And don’t start in about Viv. I know what you are going to say.”
“If you already know—”
“The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Adrian shook his head. “Grown men don’t indulge senseless infatuations with their older sister’s former governess.”
“What I feel is not an infatuation, but love!Truelove.” Harbury threw up his hands. “There will never be anyone else for me.”
Adrian resisted rolling his eyes. He’d heard the speech too many times to count. Every time he gave it, Harbury’s eyes took on a tell-tale red hue, hinting at imminent tears. Damned loved-sick prick.
Harbury had the makings of a fine romantic, if only he could untangle himself from the one-time governess’s apron strings.
“I understood Viv’s first marriage,” Harbury droned on. “But for my father’s interference, I know in my heart she would have remained true!”
“Might I remind you, as I’ve done one hundred times before, that the incomparable Vivianne eloped with Pennington while still in half mourning for her first husband? If she’d been secretly pining for you all these years, don’t you think she would have come to you as soon as she was free?”
“That randy old goat Pennington!” Harbury scowled. “Probably seduced her at her most vulnerable.”
