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The use of our first names with each other felt so natural. Yet, if I only stopped to think about it for a moment, it was truly so bizarre. Such a level of familiarity was unheard of between Lords and common women like myself.
But, after all, we were old friends. Even if so much had changed.
“Are you going to drink your entire flask?”
He raised his eyebrows, examining the metal container in his hands.
“What, would you like some? I rather thought I might have turned you off to drinking, but by all means…”
I felt my face blushing scarlet.
“No, no!” I stammered, shaking my head. I wasdefinitelynot repeating last night in a carriage, of all places.
He laughed.
“Fine. But it is almost gone, so now is your last chance.”
Will grinned, leaning against the plush back of the carriage seat, his long legs stretched out to the side. He was so confident, so comfortable taking up space, in a way that only someone who had lived their entire life as a Lord could be.
“Do you think it wise to drink so much?” I asked hesitantly, glancing up at him.
He chuckled, looking over at me with a bemused expression.
“I think it wise that I am not sober.”
His answers were all deflections. Humorous jokes. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I wanted to knowwhy.
Why did he drink so much?
What was he avoiding?
And really, how did this start? The Will I had known had never had a taste of alcohol, as far as I knew. How did he become this way?
How did one go from being a sweet, innocent boy… to London’s most notorious rake?
I swallowed, aware that I should probably just leave him be. But I couldn’t.
“When did you start drinking?” I asked quietly, bracing myself for an annoyed reaction. But I was only met by silence.
Finally, Will spoke, his expression detached yet serious.
“At Eton. It’s a habit that’s hard to break. And one, by the way, that I have no desire of ever giving up.”
I nodded, considering.
“It’s just, I don’t fully understand… I woke up with a splitting headache this morning. Why subject yourself to that, day in and day out?”
He examined me, his expression still serious.
“Don’t you have parts of your life you wish you could forget?”
I froze. No one had ever asked me a question like that before.
But I could only answer with honesty.
“Of course.”
“Well,” he continued, his voice subdued, “We all have our ways of achieving that. Of burying the… bad memories. And alcohol, misbehavior… I think it runs in the Thorne family.”
