They went to Andrew’s house to fetch a shirt, and then returned to the club.
“So,” Andrew commented as they settled down at a table, a plate of the day’s stew and bread before them. “I take it the evening at the theater was rather taxing?”
Nicholas had told him everything about Grandfather’s tiresome manipulations, but nothing, as yet, about having met Bernadette and what she was really like.
“No,” Nicholas said carefully. “What makes you think that?”
Andrew chuckled. “That?” he asked, indicating Nicholas’ hand, which was swollen and sore, resting by his plate because he was struggling to do so much as lift a spoon with it. “I don’t think you spend an hour boxing when there is nothing troubling your thoughts.”
“Oh. Mayhap yes.”
Andrew looked at him, brow raised. “Well, that’s more like it.”
Nicholas sighed. “You know, you wear on a person’s nerves.”
“Because I’m right so often.” Andrew grinned.
Nicholas laughed. He was grateful for Andrew, who took nothing seriously and always seemed to be laughing.
“Mayhap.”
“That, my dear friend, is undeniable,” Andrew assured him.
Nicholas chuckled. He reached for his spoon, doing his best to eat. He needed to dine hastily as he still wanted to return home to dress properly. Andrew’s shirt fitted well enough, but he would prefer clean trousers and a jacket that didn’t smell of sweat. As he ate, he recalled the events at the theater.
“It was hard,” he admitted.
“The lady was shy?” Andrew made a guess.
“Not really,” Nicholas murmured thoughtfully. “Mayhap at first. But she was quite talkative later.”
“She was?” Andrew raised a brow. “Well! Look at that, eh?”
Nicholas made a disgruntled face. “Is that so surprising?” he asked. He had never been anything but honest with Andrew about how he felt about his scar. Andrew insisted that people would like him and would not pay the thing a moment’s mind. Nicholas still didn’t believe him.
“No. Of course not, old chap. I just thought she might be shy. That’s all. So, what troubled you?”
Nicholas took a breath. “I saw someone in the foyer,” he confided.
“Who was it?”
Nicholas told him. Andrew hissed out a breath between his teeth. He shot him a compassionate glance, evidently understanding the awkwardness.
“Sorry, old chap. That’s horrid.”
“What are you sorry for?” Nicholas asked gently.
“Well...” Andrew cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I knew she was here in London again.”
“What?” Nicholas said loudly. “You knew she’d come back from the north?” Emily’s family came from York, on her mother’s side, and that was where she’d gone after the scandal of her running off with Quintus. Nicholas had thought she was still in the north, living with her aunt or some other relative, but apparently, she was in London, able to shock and surprise him at any time.
“Sorry, old chap.” Andrew’s voice was contrite. “I saw her cousin, Jackson, at a party and I couldn’t help the fact that he mentioned the fact. I didn’t want to say anything about it.”
“No. I understand,” Nicholas agreed in quieter tones. He couldn’t imagine what he would have said to Andrew if he’d mentioned that fact. It was no longer relevant—or it shouldn’t be, at any rate. If she preferred his cousin, that was plain and simple and rendered her life none of his business. If Andrew hadtold him as if he still cared for Emily, it would have hurt. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, old chap,” Andrew murmured. “I just didn’t tell you. And now you’ve got a shock.”
“Better that,” Nicholas said softly. “Better to see her than to have you remind me and confuse me.”
