Page 39 of An Enchanting Dare

“Oh,” Barnaby said, a crooked smile appearing on his face.

“Barnaby,” Louis said, uncomfortable now as heat crept up the back of his neck.

Barnaby only chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be daft, old man. Shan’t breathe a word. Upon my honour, I shan’t. I say, though, she’s a lovely girl. Can see why you’re smitten.” He beamed at Louis, who could only stare at him.

“You… You don’t think…” Louis swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling ridiculous. “I’m not too… old?”

Barnaby gaped at him. “Good God, man, you’re hardly in your dotage. You’re the sort who’ll still look good when you’re eighty, you lucky blighter. She likes you, don’t she? Best of friends, you said. Well, seems a good start to me, better than most have. What’s a few years? Besides, she’ll suit you nicely. Need a bit of looking after, I reckon, and she’s the kind to dote on a fellow. Do you good, a bit of doting.”

Louis swallowed and had to fight back the extraordinary urge to hug the fellow in public. What the devil was wrong with him?

“Be grand if we could get them both up the aisle, wouldn’t it?” Barnaby said wistfully. “Still, your chances are better than mine.”

Louis shook his head. “Non. She does not see me, Barnaby. I am her friend only, and I think I will soon lose my mind if I cannot change this.”

“Really?” Barnaby said sceptically. “Reckon you ought to try harder then,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I….” Louis cleared his throat, feeling absurd, “I am afraid to. What if… what if she doesn’t want me?”

Barnaby gave him a look of such sympathy and understanding Louis wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “Keep asking myself the same thing, old chap. There’s only one answer and we both understand what it is. At least you’ll know. You’ll have tried, eh? Got to try.”

Louis frowned, watching Evie from afar, and shook his head. “Non. She is too young, it’s not time yet. She just told me the other day she is not ready to marry. I must respect her wishes.”

“Well, fair enough,” Barnaby said with a shrug. “Reckon you know more about affairs of the heart than I do, only… don’t wait too long. Should hate some less scrupulous fellow to steal a march on you.” His eyes lit up, and he elbowed Louis. “There’s my lady. Tally ho, old man, best of luck to you.”

Louis watched him go in consternation, very much aware that his pupil of the past few months had just turned the tables on him and given him some very sound advice.

Chapter 14

Father,

It is the ninth anniversary of your untimely demise, and I am raising a glass in your honour.

I am so happy you are dead. I should dance upon your grave, only I do not wish to dirty my boots. I do hope you are roasting in hell. No doubt I shall see you one day soon.

― Excerpt of a letter from Ciarán St Just, The Most Hon’ble Marquess of Kilbane, tossed into the fire.

30th June 1841, Lady Trevick’s Summer Ball, Trevick Castle, Warwickshire.

Aisling stared down at the slip of paper in her hand and did her best to breathe. It seemed more difficult than usual, and she could only manage a series of short, shallow gasps. Somehow, she made it out of the ballroom and used the servants’ passageways and staircases to cut across the castle without being seen. By the time she made it to the family wing, she had herself under control again. More or less.

She unfolded the piece of paper again with trembling hands.

Meet me in the library at 10pm. You know why.

The writing was bold and extravagant, that of a supremely confident man. Aisling closed her eyes and willed herself to remain calm. She had added a short note beneath the terse words, a brief explanation for Sylvester.

You can do this. You can do this. You must do this. There is a price to pay, Aisling. There is always a price. You knew that. You know it still.

She forced herself to move, to put one foot in front of the other. When she got to the end of the corridor, she waited until she saw a harried footman walking quickly with a crate of champagne.

“Excuse me. Browning, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, my lady,” he said politely, though he was clearly eager to be on his way. No doubt someone would have his head if he didn’t replenish the stocks.

Aisling lifted the piece of paper. This is very important, Mr Browning. “Find Mr Sylvester Cootes and give him this. Tell him I need him to come at once. It’s urgent. Do you understand?”

Mr Browning blushed a little and gave a stiff nod, no doubt under the impression he was helping her arrange an illicit liaison, but she could do nothing about that now. He set the crate down and took the paper, tucking it into his waistcoat pocket. “Understood, my lady.”