Page 39 of What a Courtesan Wants
Aubrey’s gaze fell on Dominick as the man took his turn, brow deeply furrowed and lips tight. He didn’t look like himself—his green eyes bloodshot with dark circles showing beneath them. In fact, he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, and was missing his typical expression of indolence. Now that Aubrey thought of it, Dominick had been unusually quiet all evening, hardly touching his food at dinner. A full tumbler of scotch sat on the edge of the table near his elbow, untouched. Even more alarming, Dominick hadn’t tried to goad them into making a bet on their billiards game or the impromptu arm-wrestling match—which was even more out of character than the fact that he hadn’t touched his drink.
“Nick,” he murmured as David approached the table to oversee the wrestling match. “Are you all right?”
Dominick looked up at him with an owlish blink as if he’d just been pulled out of deep thought. “I’m sorry?”
“You don’t seem like yourself tonight. Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” he said, striking with his cue but missing the white ball entirely, producing a noisy scratch on the green baize. “Shite.”
He straightened, bracing his cue against the floor while running his free hand through his disheveled hair. Giving his head a shake as if to clear it, he sighed.
“Nothing, it’s only … well, women are quite vexing, aren’t they?”
Aubrey raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear such talk coming from Nick, who hardly bothered with women outside bedding them and whispering filth in their ears—a specialty that had gotten him cast in the light of an exotic among the courtesans, just like him.
“What’s her name?”
Dominick flinched as if he’d been struck. “What?”
“The woman who is currently … vexing you. There must be someone. When a man looks as bad as you do and talks in circles, there must be a particular female involved.”
“This particular female has me grateful I’ve decided to avoid the institution of marriage altogether. I don’t care what Hugh says, this love nonsense seems like an altogether miserable business. I want no part of it.”
The furrows in Aubrey’s brow deepened as he tried to make sense of this somber side of Dominick. The man never took anything seriously and hardly bothered with any woman who wasn’t wrapping him in her legs.
“One hardly has a choice, you know,” Aubrey murmured, his heart sinking as he realized just how true that was when it came to him. “At least, there is no control over the realization bit of it. It’s rather inevitable. Whether or not anything comes of it … that’s where the choice must be made.”
Again, he knew this from experience. He’d wanted to marry Philippa, a choice he’d made because he had loved her. She had chosen someone else. Now, he feared he had lost his heart to a woman who would yet again choose another man over him. Yet, the late Earl of Lanhope was no longer flesh and blood, and not something he could compete against. Funny, how death could give the man an advantage, his memory forever cemented in a place in Lucinda’s heart that could never belong to Aubrey.
“In that case, I choose to get good and foxed,” Dominick muttered, taking up his tumbler and downing half the scotch in one swallow. He winced and coughed, then raised his glass to Aubrey. “Join me, won’t you?”
Aubrey took up his own drink, which he’d been nursing with slow sips throughout the evening. “As long as you’re certain you’re all right.”
“Capital! Just capital,” Dominick muttered, staring down into his glass. “A slip of a girl like Calliope Barrington will not get the best of me.”
Aubrey understood a little better now what was bothering his friend. Miss Barrington was his new keeper, the one who needed a public escort and had no desire for a bedmate—a matter that confounded Nick and the other courtesans. However, Dominick needed money and Miss Barrington was willing to pay for what she required. It would seem she was having an effect on her courtesan, who had never met a woman he couldn’t seduce.
Aubrey couldn’t help a small smile as he realized Dominick had likely met his match. The moment of amusement faded as he realized his friend seemed destined to be as miserable as Aubrey. Love and courtesan arrangements didn’t mix well, after all. That things had worked out so well for Hugh was a singular circumstance. Hugh had always been the romantic one, and had neared his eventual retirement from the business by the time he met Evelyn. Until Elizabeth was wed and the expansion to Rowland-Drake began to show itself profitable, Aubrey would have no choice but to continue on. Which mean the moment Lucinda was done with him, he’d be right back where he’d started. Only, he’d be all the more miserable for having gotten a taste of what he’d been missing, only to have it taken away. How could he ever find with another woman the soul-stirring passion, intimacy, and camaraderie he felt when he was with Lucinda?
With a deep sigh, he snatched up his tumbler and took a long drink, meeting Dominick’s gaze over the rim. Across the room, David’s whoops and cheers rang out along with Hugh’s groans of defeat and Benedict’s bellows of triumph.
“All right you weaklings, who’s next?” Benedict challenged before resuming his place at the table.
“Me!” David called out, practically shoving Hugh out of the chair to take his place. “Prepare for a thorough defeat!”
“Getting foxed sounds like a good idea,” Aubrey declared, reaching for the decanter of Benedict’s finest scotch.
“Good man,” Dominick agreed, thrusting out his glass for another measure.
Chapter 11
“I have recently noticed an infiltration of less than desirable people within the circles belonging to the most elite of society. Is it too much to ask for people to understand and remain in their place? Earning oneself a bit of money and purchasing a fine home, does not a gentleman or peer make. The upstart merchant class would do well to remember that.”
-The London Gossip, 9 October1819
While the weeks of preparation for Elizabeth’s birthday celebration and coming out had seemed to drag on, Aubrey awakened on the morning his niece turned eighteen feeling as if it had all happened too fast. Sitting on the edge of his bed as the house came awake for the day, he cradled the treasured miniature of his sister, cataloging the features she’d passed down to Elizabeth. It was the only portrait of Ellen that existed in the world and held a distinct place among his most prized possessions.
“Well, Ellen my dear, I think you would be proud,” he murmured, running his thumb over the glass encasing the woman staring up at him with somber dignity. “Elizabeth is going to do well, so you may rest easy. Though, I cannot promise the same will be true for me.”
