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“The Women’s Charity League of London, yes,” she said, sparing him further discomfort. “I am a member. And I shall be delighted to provide assistance whenever it is required. I’m sure my future husband will be happy to allow it,” she added deliberately.
A queer look entered his eyes. The next instant, it was gone. “For the sake of those in our care, I hope so.”
In our care. What a strange thing it was to realize they now had something in common besides William. “Not to be patronizing, but I think your brother would be proud.”
He returned her tentative smile with a wry grimace. “He would no doubt say it is far too late in the coming.”
“No, he would not. He would say it is never too late to do the right thing.”
Seventeen
“You look the very devil,” said Rich, frowning.
“I probably look a lot better than I feel at the moment,” Roland replied, throwing himself into one of the armchairs in his friend’s untidy salon.
“Well, you have all the appearance of a whipped cur,” observed the other man, levering himself up to go and pour two glasses of port. He handed Roland one. “Here, you seem as though you could use a bit of fortification.”
Roland downed it in two gulps, ignoring the way his friend’s brows rose.
“That bad, is it?” said Rich, taking back the empty glass and giving him the one he’d intended to drink himself.
He drained that one too. “You have no idea.”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s Harriett. I—”
“I knew it!” crowed Rich. “What has the little hell spawn done now?”
“It’s not what she’s done; it’s what I’ve done,” Roland confessed, holding out his glass.
Rich fetched the decanter to refill it, as well as to get another glass for himself. “Oh, do tell.”
Roland rubbed his face with his free hand as his friend poured. “I’ve made a bloody mess of things. I’ve put myself where I don’t belong and now I cannot back out of it. I wanted to help her, but…” He watched as Rich sat to regard him with sympathetic yet undeniably eager eyes. “I thought things would be easier if I called a truce and made an alliance with her. Now I wish I’d left well enough alone.”
“Ah, so you’ve allied yourself with the devil-woman.”
He almost retorted that she wasn’t the devil—far from it—but what would be the point? “I did as you suggested,” he went on. “And it appears to be working. She has agreed to help me until a replacement can be found.”
“She is leaving then? Oh, well done, man,” said Rich, clapping. “I’m impressed. And here you led me to believe she’s the sort to dig in her heels and be mulish. How did you convince her?”
“I didn’t. She was already planning to leave at the end of the Season.”
“Then it appears all of your problems are solved. Congratulations.”
“Yes. Congratulations,” Roland muttered, taking another swallow of port.
Rich peered at him. “Unless you have now decided you wish her to stay, that is.”
Roland shot up out of the chair and began to pace. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he said, furious. “I thought I wanted her gone, but now I cannot see the place continuing without her.”
“You mean you can’t see you continuing without her,” corrected Rich. “You’ve grown accustomed to her, haven’t you?”
He stopped his pacing and stared at Rich. Was that it? Was it that she’d become so familiar a fixture in his life that he didn’t wish to lose her, even if it meant this constant turmoil?
“It would stand to reason,” continued his friend. “Then, too, she is the sole remaining connection to your brother.”
> “No. That is not part of it,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I know that much with absolute certainty.”
