Page 8 of West End Earl
As was their habit, Adam rang for coffee before settling into the same leather chair Amesbury had preferred when he’d stayed here. “I missed this place,” Adam sighed.
“London, my house, or this library in particular?”
“This chair specifically, but I was referring to the library.”
“I’m sure the chair missed you too. It’s been quiet around here. Not that I mind you taking the time off. I went to Almack’s without you. Twice.” And it had been boring but for the worry over Emma causing his eye to twitch.
“Oh, the horror,” Adam deadpanned.
“It was, rather. Not that I deserved any less punishment after my appalling behavior. I know I apologized already, but I feel awful about the comments I made that night.”
“I appreciate that, but think no more on the matter.”
It didn’t seem like enough, somehow. Perhaps because he’d had two weeks to stew in his guilt. “I’d love to have known Ophelia. Especially if she was anything like you. I’m sorry for your loss and my careless words.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I think she’d have liked you too. Thank you.”
“And how was the vicar? Do you think he’ll recover?”
“Arcott insists he has no intention of going to be with God anytime soon, but I said my goodbyes just in case. John was right to send for me.” He clapped, as if slamming the book shut on that conversation. “Now. Tell me why Almack’s was a horror, and leave nothing out. I want to hear how miserable you were without my glowing presence.”
Cal sank into his seat and leaned his head against the padded wing of the chair. “Roxbury danced with her twice this week—one of them a waltz. He might as well have fallen to his knees right there and declared himself. But then he danced the other waltz and a quadrille with that Dowling chit. Emma ranted about it.” He closed his eyes at the memory of the tirade he’d endured on the way home.
“Remind me again, why do we hate Roxbury? Beyond his general abhorrence of civil conversation, I mean. I remember looking into his name a while ago, but not the specifics.”
“That thing last year with the opera dancer and my father? Roxbury took up with her next and shared every indelicate detail she spilled in private.”
Understanding dawned in Adam’s expression. “How could I forget the marquess’s-mini-member jokes? You’re right. We hate him.”
Cal’s father, the Marquess of Eastly, had a penchant for opera dancers. That one in particular hadn’t appreciated receiving paste gems as a parting gift. Her revenge had been brutal and effective. Now not only had every man in Town discussed or heard discussions of the size of his father’s allegedly uninspiring cock, but there’d been rampant speculation that Cal shared the condition. The whole situation struck him as juvenile, but really, he should be used to it by now. Father seemed incapable of staying out of trouble. A character trait Emma might share, if this budding relationship with Roxbury gave any indication.
“Roxbury’s attention to Emma doesn’t sit right. I can’t believe his intentions are honorable.” Worry nagged at him. Emma would be safe enough in an open carriage with a maid in tow, but the social restrictions didn’t seem like enough when applied to his baby sister and a rotter like Roxbury.
“Honorable intentions seem in short supply with that one,” Adam agreed.
A maid entered with a rolling cart piled high with coffee, cream, and sugar. Cook had a soft spot for Adam and shared Cal’s determination to fatten the lad, as shown by a stack of sandwiches that could feed five men.
The friends ate in silence for long moments while they drank coffee in front of the empty grate. The day was too warm for a fire and would only get warmer. Early summer in the city meant an odd mix of gorgeous blooming flowers, greenery, and the scent of filth baking on the streets and in the Thames.
Here in the dim cool of the library, thick velvet curtains muted the sun. Shelves of books and foil-pressed wallpaper created the illusion that those streets were a world away. The silence grew.
“Are you falling asleep over there, Puppy?”
“Almost. Those days of travel took it out of me. I can’t seem to sleep enough,” came the drowsy reply.
“Finally, a sign that you’re getting old.”
“The coffee should wake me up in a few minutes. I’ll ask after theWilhelmina. If she went down, there will be talk. But we both know the ship could have simply run into weather.”
“Agreed. Let’s hope for the best. I received three letters from investors this week and need to be prepared for every event, though.” Another letter sat behind him on his desk, and Cal was fairly certain it pertained to the same topic. When ventures paid out, everyone was happy. But one constant in finance—whether playing on the Exchange or dabbling in trade—investments carried risk. Like any game of chance, the risk was part of the fun but could be the ruin of a man. And Eastly had invested more heavily than Cal had advised.
“Maybe take a nap when you return. There’s a room upstairs at the ready for the day you quit that hovel you rent and decide to embrace creature comforts.”
“I’m not having that conversation again. I’ll go home after the docks, then see you bright and early tomorrow.”
Cal sighed. When God had created this particular Adam, he’d crammed a lot of stubbornness into such a skinny package. “Fine. Be careful on the way home.”
Chapter Four
