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Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Drinks all around, eh?” Charles asked, nudging Reginald in the ribs with his elbow. “To celebrate the return of our glorious leader?”
Matthew’s eyes darted anxiously around them, as if he expected the constable to leap from behind a table and sentence them all to gaol. Despite Matthew’s sympathy for Reginald’s position—and that of his associates—the man was still a very moral creature.
“Our gloriouslord,” Edward joked, raising his pint of beer. “The Marquess of Highwaymen!”
Reginald raised his glass with the others and forced a smile. It was difficult for him to say if he was reallyhappy. He was more comfortable surrounded by his dear, trusted friends than he’d been at Hurrow, but there was still one thing missing. That was, of course, the lovely Marcella.
But doesn’t my leaving prove that I was undeserving of her?
Already, he felt as though his decision to flee was a poor one, brought on by a bout of melancholy which had since faded. He should’ve stayed. A better man, a more responsible man, would’ve stayed.
Charles had said the best way to forget a woman and a broken heart was to drink and find another lady. Already, Charles had offered to direct Reginald to a suitable girl to share his bed, but Reginald knew it didn’t matter. Charles could choose any lady he liked, and no matter how beautiful and charming she might be, Reginald’s thoughts would be of only Marcella.
“It is good to be back among my loyal subjects,” Reginald said, forcing joviality he didn’t truly feel. “Thank you all for giving me the return I deserve.”
“Of course,” Charles replied, downing his beer.
Already, Reginald’s friend had locked eyes with Kitty, his preferred bed companion for the night. Edward seemed more interested in his drink than any lady. Matthew just looked embarrassed, and Reginald wasn’t sure whether his quiet and discomfort was more or less assuring than Matthew’s chastisements, which he was surely thinking of.
“So we’ve seen no sign of Isaac,” Edward said, “since you left.”
Charles snorted. “The coward probably ran.”
Reginald grimaced. No matter how he tried to justify it, he was a coward who’d run, too.
“I know that I would after doing something like that. He probably thought Reginald here would take him back to—where was it? Harrow? Hartfield?”
“Hurrow,” Matthew said.
“Yes,” Charles replied, waving his tankard for emphasis. “Isaac probably thought Reginald would take him there and cut off his head.”
“I can assure you that no member of thetonis loping off men’s heads on their estates,” Reginald replied, his lips twitching into a small smile.
“Maybe they’re just not getting caught,” Charles argued. “We all know that the law is meaner to a poor man than a rich one.”
“Indeed, it is,” Reginald replied.
He wondered fleetingly if by abandoning his title and estate once again if he might’ve missed the opportunity to really change that. Not that it mattered. He knew so little of the law. All he had was a burning passion to see the world become a more just place, and passion was wasted on someone who lacked both the knowledge and means to do anything with it.
“I’m almost sad he left,” Reginald replied. “That was a mystery I very much wanted to solve. Did he know that I was going to rob my own father, or was it all just chance?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Edward pointed out.
“But it is strange,” Charles said. “What was he—what was he really like, your father? He seemed like a brave sort of man. I still can’t believe he made chase after being robbed. I can see where you got your stubbornness.”
Reginald nodded. “My father tried his best, I think. I’ll admit that he’s not seen me much since I married, though. Being the Duke of Mavis is a pursuit which requires a great deal of attention.”
“Well, that’s good,” Charles said. “I can think ofcertain activitieswhich you might choose to engage in with a wife, and your father’s presence would certainly make the situation very uncomfortable.”
“Undoubtedly,” Reginald replied dryly.
He thought of Marcella’s face, her hazel eyes gleaming and her face flushed. And he thought of the scent of her—of orange blossoms and rose petals. She was such a perfect woman, and Reginald remembered how tenderly she’d gazed at him in those fleeting moments after they’d shared their bed.
Now, those moments were gone like all the others, and he’d never see Marcella again. Would she still want him if he returned, or would she also recognize just how cowardly he was?
“Are you sure leaving her was the best idea?” Edward asked.
