Page 93 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl
He startled back to the present.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Hanging on to his sister’s nagging hadn’t been a skill he’d ever been truly good at. It appeared Henry, the Earl of Stanhope, was the only one who held that power.
“Katherine indicated that during your visit—”
Oh, Lord, here they went. The twin sisters. The Adamson twin sisters somehow managed to be both best friends and frequent nemeses, both at the same time. That inherentcompetitiveness between the two of them had apparently trickled into their adult lives and their relationship with Wakefield.
“Please, Anne,” he said.
A servant bearing a silver tray filled with flutes of champagne sidled over. He helped himself to a glass, as did the pair in his trio.
“I assure you there is absolutely no favoritism I have or have deliberately shown towards your children. Or Katherine’s. I love them all equally. But faulty decision making and my latest foray into dubious business arrangements have occupied much of my time.”
“Please, Benedict,” she chided like the elder sister she only sometimes acted as though she was. “I’m hardly concerned about that. I know you do love them all equally.”
Sipping at his champagne, the earl lifted one spare palm as if to say, “That’s Anne.”
And, yes, it was Anne. She flitted about from discussion to discussion the same way a honeybee moved about flowers.
“Katherine indicated that you took flight during a meeting you’d scheduled to attend with Frost. She was most concerned, which means I am even more concerned because, as you know, I don’t take everything to be as life or death as Katherine.”
“Naturally,” he said drolly.
“So, what is it? Where did you rush off to?”
I’m sorry, chap, his brother-in-law mouthed.
Wakefield tossed back half the contents of his champagne, grimaced, and said gravely, “I’m afraid I have terrible news for you.”
Her eyes widened and she leaned in. “Yes.”
He couldn’t sort out whether she was eager to be in possession of information that Katherine was not, or whethershe was truly concerned. He suspected it was most likely a combination of the two.
“I am not a lad anymore. I’m not up to mischief with my tutor. I’m, in fact, a grown man with a great number of business responsibilities and commitments.”
Anne promptly sank back on her heels and folded her arms at her chest. “Whelp.”
He took mercy on her. After all, he loved her, and she was his big sister. She’d always been a friend and did care deeply for him.
“Anne,” he said, this time more gently, “I assure you I am fine. I’m just busy. My commitments are great, but I am up to no trouble. I promise you that.” He tried to figure out if he’d ever lied to her before this. In his recollection, this would be the first time.
“I…” His words trailed off as, from across the way, he caught sight of a familiar young lady. Her cheeks were fuller than they’d ever been. Her smile shined just as bright. Her figure was fuller, and her infectious smile still managed to reach across the room. Marcia.
They’d been friends as children, and she’d been the first and only woman he’d ever loved.
Just the sight of her, after she’d wed Wakefield’s former best friend, had brought such a physical pain that he’d had to run from it.
Anne followed his stare.
“Oh, Benedict,” she said with such sadness, “I know you’re hurting still.”
Yes, he was. Or, yes, he had been. He’d become so distracted by his recent circumstances, he’d not thought of Marcia once. Though, in fairness, he’d begun to think of her less and less. This past year, he’d grown resentful and angry and then felt nothing at all.
“You should speak to her, Benedict.” His sister’s words cut across as musings.
“Are you joking?” he scoffed.
