Page 3 of Measure of a Man

Come to think of it, he was struggling to recall the last time someone had turned Exeter’s head. More than three and a half years had gone by since he’d allowed a Miss Fenwick from York to break off their ill-advised engagement. While Virtue had only become acquainted with the man a few months before that turn of events, he had managed to inveigle him of a rather unsatisfactory set of particulars. Lack of affection on his part, Exeter had said. That seemed to hold true, for the man was a damned flirt; a bee that flitted between the brightest flowers of the season, but never settled.

But to have his head turned so completely? After meeting a rich, handsome stranger in the park? Impossible.

She had made her preference for him clear.

No. It was a mistake and the only right course of action was to ensure his friend could not marry Miss Douglas. Not when—well, some things had to be left unsaid.

CHAPTER 2

Virtue struck the proverbial match later that night, midway through the final act of The Rivals at the Theatre Royal.

Until then, he had been enjoying himself immensely watching the old Sheridan favourite. It had been Exeter’s idea to attend; theatre visits usually were, his family’s box affording one of the finest views in the house. The advantages of being the son of a marquess rather than the mere son of an earl like himself.

Normally, Exeter couldn’t abide the light comedies that Virtue loved, preferring to subject the two of them to all sorts of dinge and dirge. But to his credit, Exeter had gamely put himself through nearly five whole acts of the play without complaint. Whenever Virtue turned to look at him, Exeter was smiling at all the bits Virtue smiled at too. Which was…gratifying.

Then, to his shock, he’d spotted the two Misses Douglas with their brother seated as guests in an only slightly less advantageous box across the stage. The dark-haired sister—Miss Cecelia, was it?—elbowed her brother and directed his attention up. Virtue lifted two fingers in a small, bemused salutation, and Douglas beamed back. Miss Maria Douglas offered no acknowledgement, for she sat rapt and wide-eyed in a world of her own, unable to tear her eyes away from the stage where Lydia Languish was at last reconciling with her beau.

Douglas’s eyes flicked to where Exeter sat on Virtue’s left. He offered a small stiff-necked nod up to the man, which Exeter returned equally as stiffly.

After that, Virtue could scarcely take in a word the actors said. Had the Douglases mentioned to Exeter that they intended to see the play that night? The thought did not sit well with him. He worried his lower lip, finding a tiny peel of skin to pull at. Was Miss Maria Douglas the reason Exeter had suggested a play that Virtue knew the man would not pick for himself?

It was wretched of Exeter. Plain wretched. They never kept secrets. Now he felt foolish for enjoying himself so much.

The only saving grace was that Maria Douglas showed promising signs of complete indifference. Since he’d noticed her, she had not looked their way once. When Virtue took a fancy to someone, he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Call it divine inspiration or call it divine assholery, he pressed himself closer to Exeter and whispered in his ear, “What if I want to compete to court Miss Douglas? She’s more my type than yours, and considering you’re as rich as Croesus, you don’t need the money. Whereas a few more guineas in my pocket would suit me just fine.”

Good Lord, to paint himself as a fortune hunter of the worst kind? He’d barely spoken to the woman. It was an absurd ploy. Surely Exeter would laugh at it for the nonsense it was.

He risked a full glance at Exeter and regretted it. If that man were the sun, Virtue would have blistered under his searing gaze.

“Compete! Pardon? And see who she likes best? Hardly fair on the woman, Virtue. That’s really not the thing. Is your father pressing you to marry? Because if that’s what this is about, well, I shouldn’t listen to the man if I were you! If you’re short on funds, come see my man of business, and we’ll see what we can do for you. But if you insist on buying things like that phaeton…” Exeter sighed so deeply that when his shoulders lifted, Virtue could feel it ruche his coat sleeve.

The cheek of the man! Virtue blithely ignored that he had earlier also speculated on Exeter’s own possible financial misfortune. The high-perch was a flash little toy, but he wasn’t a spendthrift. It was a matter of pride that he lived well within his annuity. His chambers on Jermyn Street were positively modest.

“So sayeth the man dressed from head to toe in a new wardrobe from a Mr Weston of Bond Street.” He eyed the dashing blue silk waistcoat and clicked his tongue with vengeful relish. Exeter had the decency to go pink.

“Isn’t it inevitable that she’ll be more interested in me?” Exeter shrugged uncomfortably. “Probably best to avoid hurt feelings.”

Well, of course it was inevitable, Exeter was in line for the greater title and estate. He was also the most handsome man that Virtue had ever met. But that was just a lucky boon for Miss Douglas, for cheeks that dimpled and lively mischievous eyes that drew you into a shared secrecy buttered no parsnips when it came to marriage. Titles and estates were everything.

“Inevitable? Rather confident in yourself. Don’t you recall, she addressed me when she said she looked forward to our call?” There was nothing more stinging than the truth, he realised when Exeter’s eyes widened like he’d been gutted. Exeter gruffly turned back to face the stage, ending their conversation.

Oh hell, he was getting into the role a little too much; he mustn’t actually fall out with Exeter. That would be the opposite of his intent. He fretted in silence till Exeter hissed back during the scene change, “I suspect she was playing coy with me. If her family is looking for a title, they’ll have acquainted themselves with some general facts: Wherever you go, I go. By inviting you, she can assure herself of also receiving my company. Besides, you barely said a word to her. I actually spoke to her! I don’t know why you’re— oh, never mind. If we’re going to do this, I shan’t pretend to be blind to what I look like.”

Exeter stroked his square jaw in a smug manner that was most unlike him. The man usually acted damned embarrassed of his own handsomeness. Virtue’s mouth gaped as Exeter continued, “Women are drawn to a handsome, well-put-together gentleman with lively manners.” He narrowed his eyes and added with comic snideness. “Especially those dressed by Weston of Bond Street.”

What the devil! Normally, Virtue would have laughed at so obvious a buffoonery. He was not a hot-headed man by nature, but he was out of sorts, and hearing his friend’s poor opinion put to him in such a way, lit his wick.

“Are you saying I’m not handsome and well-mannered?” he challenged his friend, more than an ounce of hurt pouring into his voice.

“That’s not what I meant at all!” Exeter insisted, sounding shocked that they were now arguing. “More that you spent all your time talking to that dratted brother of hers. Who, by the way, was a crashing bore.”

“A bore?! I thought he was a jolly decent fellow.”

“Well, you would,” Exeter muttered darkly. “If you were a sweet ice, he’d have licked you all over.”

Virtue found himself choking on air. Sweet ice…licked all over…