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How was it possible that Ewan still remained upright? He’d drank far more wine than he’d ever before, and his legs felt like jelly beneath him, ready to squash to the ground. He gripped someone’s hand—was it Marta’s?—and danced, giddy, laughing, although he wasn’t sure what on earth he laughed at.
“We should get you home,” Marta called to him over the strange chaos that seemed now to live inside his ears. “I’ll just be a moment. I want to speak to Baldwin a final time.”
With Marta gone, Ewan staggered to the side of the ballroom and splayed himself against the cool wall, his hands on either side to support him. He breathed deeply, enjoying the feeling of the air in his lungs. When he opened his eyes, he found Lord Remington standing before him, clucking his tongue with distaste.
“What have we here?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ewan returned.
“I believe you do,” Lord Remington said. “You’re the drunkest I’ve ever seen you. You’re perhaps the drunkest person in this very room. What on earth has got into you? I want to be clear that it’s not as though I care about your health; it’s only that I imagine there’s a rather good story to all of it. Give it to me. I’m so terribly bored, now that young Marta has run off to flirt with the man I’ll never allow her to marry.”
Ewan snorted. “I have to hand it to you, Lord Remington. You’re a man of many words.”
“A man of many words? Does this even make sense as a concept?” Lord Remington returned. “Regardless, please. Tell me. I know nothing beyond my own boredom and ache for Marta to become my fiancé and wife.”
Ewan bit down hard on his lower lip, so hard that tart blood oozed out and onto his tongue. Lord Remington scrunched his nose and muttered, “You’re such an animal, Ewan.”
“If you must know, I really am,” Ewan affirmed. He shot his finger across his nose and inhaled sharply. How had he been so stupid? Had he ruined his entire life? Had he ruined hers, too?
“And what, pray tell, has informed you of this fact?” Lord Remington demanded.
“Lewis. May I again call you Lewis?”
“I’ll allow it,” Lewis returned.
“I’ve done something wretched. Something I need to take back if I’m to save our family name,” Ewan returned.
Lord Remington kept his face stoic. Was it possible that he had no interest in ruining them at all—that he wished only to uphold Marta’s life, her family, his love for her?
“If you must know, I’ve fallen in love. Head over heels in love. The sort of love that very well should last forever, if only I don’t muck it up by being the absolute imbecile that I normally am.”
“Ah! I’ve heard of your runarounds with Miss Penelope,” the Duke returned.
“Penelope? No. My, how much easier that would be! My mother adores her, thinks she comes from a splendid family. No. If only.”
“Then tell me, Ewan. Just between us girls,” Lord Remington returned, in a sing-song voice. “Is it perhaps a member of our masculine sex?”
“No!” Ewan blurted. Was it possible that this rumour had extended outside the bounds of his private love for Baldwin? “No. If you must know, I’ve fallen in love with Marta’s handmaid from Austria. The kind of love that very well should last me the rest of my life, with more to go around. The sort of love you search for all the days of your existence. But Lewis … and I can’t believe I’m telling you this … what on earth will my mother say? She won’t allow anything like this to occur.”
“A bit of an affair with a handmaid is nothing,” Lord Remington returned. “I’ve had the same sort of thing countless times. Love, perhaps not … but I know you’re a romantic, Ewan. The sort of man who fights for what he wants beyond anything. That said, it’s essential that you leave this particular want behind.”
Ewan’s eyebrows shot high over his forehead, apt to fly off his face and towards the painted ballroom ceiling. “It gets much worse. Much, much worse.” His free hand, the one without the wine glass, smacked across his own face. Goodness, he would have been embarrassed had Laura been in his presence.
“And how on earth could it get much worse?” Lord Remington returned.
“She’s…” The word welled up in his mind and spilled over into the concept of tears. “She’s with child.”
Lord Remington’s face didn’t twitch at all. It was as though he’d expected something like this to happen to the likes of Ewan.
“You’re so quiet with my news,” Ewan said.
“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before amongst my own friends,” Lord Remington said. “All those wild parties we throw. All those years of experimentation. It’s not as though a few careless pregnancies haven’t occurred throughout.”
“And what have your friends done as a result?” Ewan demanded. Here he was, before the only man in the world who wouldn’t have been shocked at such a thought.
“Well, naturally, they know not to reveal the situation to the rest of society,” Lord Remington said. He tapped the side of his nose, as though he reprimanded Ewan for even telling him. “But beyond that, they all handled it a bit differently. Not a single one of them lost their stance in society. That is something we’re always quite careful about.”
“I cannot lose my standing in society,” Ewan blurted. “But I don’t wish to expose my love to censure, either.”
