Page 28 of The Baron Takes a Wife

“Is this one of yours?”

David could tell by the color and smell that it was not. War had not burned out the palate his father had helped him build from a young age.

“We’re mostly sherry. You know we don’t import brandy.”

“It must have slipped my mind. It has been some time. And wine still, yes?”

“And wine, yes,” David echoed. Henry had to know this. He was on the wine committee at the Garrick club, or at least he had been.

“You may have heard the happy news that I am neither the heir nor the spare anymore.”

“Your brother?” David had been away for a while, for when he left, the viscount was childless after many years of marriage.

“Remember him? Charming fellow who would likely disapprove of your presence here today. That I would dare associate with someone in trade is simply unacceptable. Yet, while I live to earn my brother’s disapproval, I raise my glass to his offspring. Happy miracles. The wonders of procreation.”

Henry raised his glass as if to toast David, but David did not raise his. He was studying his friend. He was still handsome, even as his friend David could see that. Henry had always gone through life with such ease. He could charm any woman, challenge any man, and yet wind up sharing a drink and a laugh with everyone before the night's end. David used to have that same relative ease, but he had a seriousness, a weight that his parents’ deaths and his title had dropped on him, that Henry never had. Perhaps it was because of his background in the merchant class, but he had always felt that their shared hedonism was only a temporary state, not a way of life, as it seemed to Henry. One had to be born completely into wealth and privilege to believe that that sort of excess did not come without a price. Looking closely at Henry, he was reminded of a cheap pocket watch whose shine was wearing off, as he had deep lines around his eyes and looked markedly thinner than David remembered. He thought of the gold automata watch that beat in his pocket, a Swiss creation of exquisite craftsmanship he had inherited from his father. The opposite of the gentleman sitting in front of him now.

Although David thought he dressed relatively well, he was nothing compared to what Henry used to be. As a young man about town, Henry Lennix rivaled the legendary Beaux Brummel from years past, always impeccably dressed in the height of style. But now his clothes hung limply on his frame, his four-in-one tie loose, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. His hair looked lank, and the blue eyes that ladies had once loved had lost their depth.

“Is that what this is about? We used to have some fun, but we did not spend our days at the bottom of a glass. Not like this.”

Henry’s face tightened briefly, then resettled into the same unimpressed expression. David was starting to see the strain and effort maintaining the façade of a callow drunk cost him.

“What would you know? You’ve been off fighting wars and wooing wantons,” Henry sneered.

“If you are referring to my wife, I recommend you hold your tongue.” David gripped his cane. He knew Henry was hurting for some unknown reason, but insulting Elena was untoward.

“Or what? You’ll call me out?”

David cocked his eyebrow and felt his blood chill in his veins.

“My wife is above reproach. She has done nothing but good in this world and does not deserve your disrespect. Or I will meet you at dawn, friend or no friend.”

Henry finally looked up at him for longer than two seconds. David saw a flicker of fire in his eyes, a glimmer of his old friend.

“Ah, I see. I wasn’t sure if you just had some mad idealistic notion like you do. But I see you’ve fallen.”

David did not say anything. Henry looked down at his glass and raised it.

“To the beautiful fall.”

David halfheartedly raised his glass to his friend. “Not that you would know anything about it,” David said under his breath.

Finally, Henry’s façade of nonchalance cracked, and a genuinely bitter look crossed his face as he brought his glass down hard on the table.

“Little would you know.” His words were so quiet that David hardly heard him.

The penny dropped. David sat back and regarded his friend for several moments.

“Ahh, I’m sorry, Hotspur. What was her name?”

Henry swirled his glass, the tan liquid reflecting and refracting light across the table.

“It doesn’t matter. She won’t have me. She’ll never have me. I did something unforgivable.”

David frowned. That didn’t sound like Henry. He could be immature, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’m sure—”