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“Yes please,” Antony said. Fergus walked forward and slung his jacket over a chair near where Antony’s was, before sitting opposite him at the table and pouring out two more glasses for them. Antony chinked his glass against Fergus’ then sipped on the burning liquid and tipped his head up to look at the ceiling that was only barely visible in the candlelight.
“Aren’t you going to visit your new wife?” Fergus asked after a minute of silence.
“No, I am not,” Antony said decisively. He had seriously considered Hermione’s request for some time before deciding against it. It all came down to his heart that was still scarred. He could not risk a fresh wound, so he decided to stay away.
“I am somewhat surprised,” Fergus said, hiding a smirk behind his brandy glass. Antony just caught sight of the smirk as he lowered his head back down to look at his brother.
“I do have some self-control, you know,” Antony said in jest, watching as his brother laughed.
“Do you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you often enough at the gentlemen’s club, remember?”
“You have gone about as many times as I have,” Antony pointed out.
“That I have, but may I remind you that the last time we went, you said no woman there was particularly exciting you. Something tells me your new Duchess may be different.”
“Why?” Antony asked tightly.
“Because you couldn’t resist her enough not to fool around with her in our library when we had almost a hundred guests in the next room,” Fergus said with a laugh. Antony merely shook his head at Fergus’ words, despairing of the truth in them as he sipped the brandy some more.
It was the first time anyone had described Hermione as ‘his Duchess,’ and it did something to him, enough to sip even more of the brandy than he had been intending to drink.
“How much have you had?” Fergus asked, gesturing to the carafe.
“Enough to make your face difficult to focus on; enough to make sure that my legs can’t carry me to my new wife’s chamber either,” Antony said, surprised by his own honesty toward his brother.
“Antony,” Fergus said, his voice softer and yet more serious than usual.
“What?” When Antony didn’t turn to look at his brother, he felt Fergus tap his wrist instead, urging him to do so. “Hmm?”
“Care to tell me what you are doing?” Fergus asked, gesturing toward him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean tormenting yourself by staying away from your new wife, a woman you obviously care for–”
“The word care is subjective,” Antony said with surprising feeling, placing his glass down on the table and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Is it really? Or is it surprisingly simple? Do you care for her or not?”
“Whatever I did feel for her, does not matter now,” Antony said, lowering his hand again.
“You are making no sense, Antony,” Fergus said, shaking his head.
“It is difficult to understand.”
“Well, I want to understand it, so come on,” Fergus waved a hand in the air, beckoning him to continue. “Explain it to me.”
“She got under my skin, Fergus,” Antony said as though that explained everything. When Fergus still looked at him with a lost expression, he went on. “It was only ever supposed to be a flirtation to me, and yet she still managed to work her way under my skin. Now, I’m married to her.”
“These all sound like good things to me,” his brother said, frowning as he topped up both of their glasses. “You’re going to have to get to the problematic bit.”
“I vowed not to fall in love again.” Antony spoke simply, watching as Fergus hovered with the carafe in the air. The dawning realization on Fergus’ face made him shift in his seat under his gaze.
“That’s why you promised never to marry,” Fergus said. “It was just out of fear of loving someone else?”
“I went down that route once; I will not do it again,” Antony said firmly. “I have told Hermione, all this can ever be is convenience, and that is that. I cannot risk falling in love with her.”
“Because it will hurt again? I don’t think Lady Hermione is planning on leaving you–”
