Page 40 of The Rake and Lady Julia
"Robert, I love you," he said, before hastily clarifying, "As a brother. But I cannot help but think that Lady J—I mean, this unnamed lady—might be right in her reservations."
"I beg your pardon?" Rob bristled. He had been rather pleased by Orsino's declaration of fraternal love, given that his friend was so averse to emotive declarations, but now he wasn't so certain it was worth hearing if it was merely to be a precursor to an insult.
"You are a good man," Orsino said, as Rob braced himself for a "but".
"But," Orsino sighed, "You are fickle. You move from one lady to the next, and each affair is documented in depth by the papers. You throw yourself into curricle races, fencing matches, and now—I hear—orphans in an attempt to impress, but you never actually stick at anything. Is it any wonder the lady was uncertain, when you do not lend yourself well to certainty?"
Silence fell between them, as Rob wrestled with his best friend's summary of all his faults. His first reaction was irritation; he had not asked Orsino to be so frank. His second impulse was denial; he was not as fickle as Orsino thought. Until finally, he reached his third emotion, acceptance.
"I'm glad you didn't hold back," Rob said, offering Orsino a quick smile.
The duke's posture, which had been rigid, relaxed as Rob offered an olive branch.
"I suppose I am somewhat fickle," Rob agreed, "Though I object that you have included Reverend Laurence's orphans in that list. I have big plans for them."
"Plans you have followed through with?"
"Er, no," Rob murmured, "They are written on the back of a menu page from Gunter's—but I have seen the light. First thing tomorrow, I am marching to St Giles and asking Laurence what he needs of me to make his school a success."
"You mean it?" Orsino questioned, his brows raised.
"Well, perhaps not first light," Rob admitted with a grin, "More early afternoon, if I am honest. But I will be there; I wish to become a man that people believe they can count on."
"Your friends know they can count on you," Orsino offered, gruffly.
"Yes, but I don't wish to marry my friends," Rob gave a wink, "No matter how much they profess to love me."
"That declaration can be rescinded."
"It cannot! Once uttered, it is said forever. I think I might have Aunt Ethel embroider it on a cushion."
Orsino rolled his eyes, but said nothing in reply, knowing full well that he would only encourage him if he did. The two men sipped their brandy for a while longer, both lost in thought, until the footmen began to move about the drawing room to wick the candles at the empty tables.
"Well, I must be off," Orsino said, and Rob nodded in agreement.
"I have plans to draw up," he muttered, as he pushed back his chair.
"For your orphans, or for your lady?" his friend queried, as he too rose to a stand.
"I feel the orphans are easier to impress than my lady," Robert grumbled cheerfully, as they both began to weave their way through the room, "They merely wish to learn to read, while she wished to learn how to fly. Trust me to choose a lady with impossible dreams."
"Flying is not impossible though, is it?" Orsino asked, coming to a halt, "I have been reading much about France's advances in helium balloons—a devil of a weapon if they are militarised, but thus far they appear to be more for amusement. Mind, you could not pay me to get up in one, but they fly, do they not?"
Lud. Rob swallowed down a curse, as he subconsciously rubbed his posterior—still somewhat sore, after his excursion with Monsieur Blanchard. How could he have been so foolish to forget?
"Orsino," he said, turning to face his friend, "You are a genius. I could kiss you."
"Well, hold off," the duke grumbled back, "At this rate we'll get ourselves blackballed, and poor Penrith would have to drink alone."
"Sometimes I rather think he'd prefer it," Rob quipped.
"He likes us, really."
"Deep down."
"Deep, deep down," Orsino grinned, as they finally reached the door, "But he knows that a man without friends is nothing at all."
"How true."
