Page 11 of A Raven Reformed

He groaned as he pushed himself upright. The whole room tilted, and he was suddenly reminded why he’d retched. What was he doing? Drowning his sorrows was a slippery slope and was not going to actually fix any of his problems. He didn’t want to go back to that place again. He had responsibilities now and needed to be reliable, at the very least, for his club. He stumbled to the door and made his way precariously up to his dressing room. The bath was already filled and steaming. He gave silent thanks for his valet. He really didn’t deserve Jones. Especially after this.

Michael submerged himself in the hot water, the tension in his muscles slowly easing. He washed every inch of his body and his hair twice, but it wasn’t really his body that felt dirty. It was his soul. All these years. The need to be a decent man for his wife was the reason he’d given up drink in the first place, and now, his inability to be a decent man for her was the reason he’d picked it up again. The epitome of failure. How had he managed to bugger everything up so badly? All he’d actually done for his wife was hurt her. It was time for him to go back to London.

He was dressed in a shirt and trousers by the time Jones finally entered his room. Thank God the man was still here and hadn’t walked out on him.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“The pounding in my head says otherwise, but I’m glad to see you haven’t resigned.”

“It did cross my mind.” Jones settled Michael’s tie around his neck and began making the knot. “But then I thought perhaps you’d like to send me on a vacation to Bath, instead. I’ve heard the waters can be quite restoring and may help me to reconsider my feelings on the matter.”

Michael chuckled as Jones buttoned his waistcoat. “Well played, Jones.” Part of him was proud of his valet for using his despicable behavior as a means to extort him. “Done,” he said with a nod. A whisper of a smile flashed on Jones’ face. “And I believe you are due for a pay rise, as well.”

Jones held up his coat and he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “As much as I would appreciate that, I feel as if I may be taking advantage of the situation.”

“Well the good news for you is, it isn’t your decision to make,” Michael said as Jones straightened his tie once more.

He placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “I put you in an impossible position last night Jones, and for that I am sorry.”

“We all have our demons, my lord. Even you.”

Michael breathed in deeply and clapped Jones on the shoulder. “Now, I’d like to leave for London as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord.”

That evening, Michael stood in the ring with a brute even larger than him. That didn’t happen often, and this night, he was glad it had. Hopefully the man would pummel him.

Branson’s was a friendly sort of fight club. Not in the sense that your opponent wouldn’t beat the living tar out of you, but most fighters wore gloves, which made it a little easier on the hands and the body, and you could also make certain requests.

“Not in the face, please.” Not a chance Ash would let him come back to work with two black eyes, and he desperately needed to go back to work and restore some sense of normality and purpose to his life. The man nodded, and they tapped gloves.

They were very evenly matched, but eventually Michael tapped out from sheer exhaustion. Last night’s drinking had taken its toll on him. The man had spared his face, as he'd asked. His ribs, on the other hand, hurt like the very devil while putting on his shirt. Hopefully they were only bruised and not broken. Either way, the physical pain was exactly what he’d needed in order to clear his head. Unfortunately, it didn’t vanquish his guilt the way he’d hoped it would. Belle would definitely be better off if he stayed here in London. Especially until he was certain the drinking wasn’t going to take hold of him the way it had in the past.

Michael walked the mile or so from the club to his townhouse to take everything in. He’d missed Raven Row. A sliver of London where the downtrodden came for the opportunities, and the rich came for the gambling. It had been his home for more than 12 years, and it was a part of him. Here, he was just Michael. Michael didn’t have to live up to the obligations or expectations that Lord Dalinridge did. He breathed in one last lungful before entering his townhouse. The air wasn’t fresh or clean, but it smelled like home.

Jones gave a disapproving sigh when he saw the bruises forming over Michael’s body, but he didn’t actually say a word. He simply helped him prepare for bed and then left him. Thankfully, the remnants of last night’s binge, combined with the travel and physical exertion, meant that he slept like the dead.

He felt much more himself by the time he made his way to The Raven’s Den the following day. It was midday, and even though the club was empty, he could still hear the familiar sounds of raucous laughter, cards shuffling, cheers or groans depending on how the dice landed. The lingering aroma of clay chips, cigar smoke, and expensive booze wrapped around him like an embrace.

Thursdays were when they had their weekly meeting to go over any news or business concerning the club. Michael had come a few minutes early so he could fully appreciate the surroundings, but Patrick and Ash would arrive soon enough.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Ash smiled as he looked down from the balcony that overlooked the gaming floor.

As Ash made his way down, Patrick entered through the back door right on time, as always. “Michael!”

Michael grunted as both men clapped him on the shoulders, jarring his injured body.

“Jesus, man.” Patrick took a step back to get a better view. “You look like hell.”

A laugh escaped before Michael remembered how painful it was. “Thanks, my friend.”

“He’s not wrong.” Ash eyed him as he went behind the bar to pour some drinks. Thank God there was some fresh barley water for him. It was always kept stocked, even on his days off. Just in case.

They all sat in their usual chairs at their usual table. Ash set his raven topped cane on the table in front of him, and Patrick immediately began spinning a coin. Just like it always was. For a moment, Michael could almost believe nothing had changed. But it had changed, and his friends were staring at him expectantly. They knew he’d given into his demons. Or at least Ash did.

“How’s your new bride?” Patrick asked cautiously while Ash continued his silent scrutiny.

“She… we… I…” Michael sighed and closed his eyes.