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“We all went to university,” Oliver pressed. “Don’t you think we are destined for more than we have become?”
Booth waved over a woman serving drinks. “Can you bring my friend another drink?” he asked. “And keep them coming.”
Oliver didn’t know why he even bothered to have a serious conversation with his friends when they were sober, much less when they were inebriated. They only grew philosophical when they were deep into their cups.
“I know what would cheer you up,” Follett said.
“What’s that?” Oliver asked.
“We could race our horses through the streets,” Follett suggested. “It is late enough that they should be empty.”
“That sounds like a rather foolhardy thing to do,” Oliver remarked.
“What if we went to Hyde Park?” Haskett questioned.
Oliver shook his head. “I would prefer to do something that wouldn’t result in us or our horses being injured.”
Booth smirked. “We could go to Lady Haight’s soirée.”
“I wasn’t invited,” Follett said.
“Neither was I,” Booth responded. “But when has that stopped us before?”
The serving woman placed a glass of brandy down in front of Oliver and winked at him before she left.
Oliver reached for the glass and pretended to take a sip. As he brought the glass down, he said, “We’d better not. My brother and his new wife will be in attendance, and I would hate to make a scene.”
“Since when?” Booth questioned.
“Since my brother controls my allowance,” Oliver answered.
Follett nodded his understanding. “How is it having your brother home after all these years?”
“It has been an adjustment, but I am pleased that he finally came home,” Oliver replied.
Glancing over his shoulder, Haskett asked in a hushed voice, “Did he tell you why he disappeared for three years?”
“He did,” Oliver responded. “He was running from his responsibilities after my father died and went to reside in our Scottish manor.” That was the partial truth, but his friends didn’t need to know the real reason why his brother had left.
“Wouldn’t that be grand to just leave Town for a while, shirking all your responsibilities?” Booth asked.
“What responsibilities?” Follett joked before he tossed back the rest of his drink. “You are the second son of a wealthy viscount.”
Booth chuckled. “I am required to help manage our family’s vast holdings.”
“That must be exhausting,” Follett said, his words slurred.
“I can assure you that it is,” Booth remarked as he reached for his glass, “especially since I know my insipid older brother will inherit all of it after my father dies.”
Haskett spoke up. “You both are lucky idiots,” he declared. “The last time I spoke to my father, he wanted me to become a vicar.”
“A vicar?” Oliver asked.
“He feels that it might bring a purpose to my life,” Haskett revealed, “but I informed him that I have no interest in becoming a vicar.”
Booth gulped down his drink. “I should say not. I doubt you could get the much-needed testimonial from Oxford vouching of your fitness for ordination.”
“I didn’t leave Oxford on the best terms,” Haskett confessed sheepishly.
