Page 57 of Deceiving an Earl
Oliver set off for his friend’s house, except when he got there he remembered that Ashland had moved a few months before to a place in Hyde Park.
The next thing he knew he was standing in front of a house in Hyde Park, but he couldn’t remember if it was Ashland’s. It looked like Ashland’s house. At least from what Oliver could remember. He’d been there only a few times, because both Ashland and Charlotte, his new wife, were not keen on entertaining. At least entertaining big numbers of people. They didn’t mind Oliver stopping by. Except Oliver hadn’t stopped by in a long while, because he’d been busy.
He felt bad about that.
He should have called on them more often. He was a terrible, terrible friend. But they’d been newly married and, in all honesty, Oliver felt awkward around them and, yes, maybe a little jealous of Ashland.
Ashland had found two loves in his life, but Oliver couldn’t find one.
Except he had found a love. Ellen. And she was back, and this time he was determined to make it work. Yes, he was definitely standing in front of Ashland’s home, so he should visit.
At least he thought it was Ashland’s home.
The front door opened, and a figure appeared.
“Oliver? Is that you?”
“Yes!” he cried.
“Shhh.”
Oliver stumbled up the steps, catching himself on the banister as he smiled at Ashland, who was clearly in his sleeping clothes.
“It’s nearly morning,” Ashland said.
Oliver stopped and frowned. “Is it too late to visit?”
“Try too early. Come in.” Ashland opened the door wider, and Oliver walked in.
“The butler saw you skulking about and woke me.” Ashland said, as he led Oliver up the stairs to his private sitting room.
“I couldn’t remember which home was yours.”
Ashland chuckled. A bleary-eyed servant hovered. “Coffee, please,” Ashland said.
“I re’mber when you just had Mrs. Smith,” Oliver said, referring to Ashland’s one housekeeper when he’d lived in the townhouse as a bachelor.
“Mrs. Smith is still with us,” Ashland said. “But she’s asleep right now.”
“And Charlotte? How’s Charlotte?” Oliver liked Ashland’s new wife. She was feisty and a bit eccentric and she perfectly matched staid, rigid Ashland.
“Charlotte is sleeping as well. The whole house is sleeping.”
“Except for you.”
“Except for me. You’re drunk.”
“Juss a little.”
Ashland settled into a well-worn chair that Oliver remembered from the townhouse. They’d had many a night there, drinking and talking.
“What happened?” Ashland asked.
“Happened? Nothing happened.” Oliver frowned.
“You wouldn’t be this far into your cups if something hadn’t happened. It’s not like you to get this pissing drunk.”
“Oh! I’m getting married, old man!” Oliver grinned.
