Page 3 of The Earl's Christmas Deal
Adam rubbed his hand over his face again, angry with himself for allowing his aunt to strongarm him into attending the Sternwood party. She would undoubtedly throw him at every eligible woman available and embarrass him horribly.
Adam grunted irritably and headed to his room to clean the ink from his fingers. He was hungry and out of sorts—perhaps some food and a change in company might improve that a little.
***
After supper, Adam sat in his study with his cousin, Lord Lionel Spencer.
Lionel was every bit the gentleman Adam was not. Although they shared the same blue-green eyes and chiselled features, Lionel was all affable positivity, while Adam was melancholy and withdrawn. His maternal cousin exuded warmth from every pore and was incredibly kind. He had been a steady force for good in Adam’s life and Adam was grateful to call him his closest friend.
They sat before the fire in Adam’s study, Lionel having arrived for supper and remained long into the night as was his wont.
Adam glanced at him over the rim of his brandy glass. Lionel was looking particularly handsome these days. He was five years younger than Adam, but they had been thick as thieves since they were children. His longer-than-fashionable dark hair was swept back from his face, high cheekbones reflecting the firelight.
Adam returned his gaze to the fire as Lionel yawned widely and stretched his long legs out toward the flames.
“What vexes you so?” his cousin asked, his head on one side, eyebrows raised in query.
“Mm?” Adam asked, feigning ignorance, though he knew he had been silent at dinner, and both his aunt and cousin had commented upon it.
“Come now, you are not always the most gregarious, but I have not heard you speak two words tonight. What is it? The Christmas soiree cannot be all bad. At least you do not have to host the thing; that would be far more onerous.” Adam didn’t reply, and his cousin looked over at him with concern. “What is it, dear cousin? You are not yourself.”
“Your mother wants me to remarry,” he said, feeling the bile rise in his throat at the thought. “She has not stopped speaking of it for several weeks.” Lionel remained silent, for which Adam was grateful. “I cannot even conceive of it. Anastasia may have been gone for many years, but her loss is still raw. I do not know if I could entertain thoughts of another, let alone be thrust among several eligible ladies at the party.”
“But these are my mother’s wishes, Bentley, not yours. You do not have to do anything you are not comfortable with.”
“I know, but a part of me is also aware that she is right. She has fears of the line passing to Frederick.”
Lionel grimaced. “Heaven help us all.”
Adam chuckled. “Exactly. If I do not remarry, I will never secure an heir, and a future where Frederick inherits is certain. But I cannot imagine opening my heart again. The loss of losing someone you love—it haunts me still.”
“Of course it does,” Lionel said softly with unending patience. “I have not lost anyone close to me, and for that, I am truly grateful. No one who has not lived it can understand it, and you cannot drag yourself out of grief for your aunt’s benefit.”
Adam stared into the flames, swirling the liquid in his glass and trying to gather his thoughts.
“I do sometimes wonder if it is of my choosing,” he muttered, finally voicing the worry that had plagued him for several months.
“What do you mean by that?” Lionel asked, sitting up a little in his chair.
“It is easy to work, to remain hidden from the world. The festive season holds no joy for me, and it is simpler to continue to hate it than try to love it.” Adam shook his head. “Sometimes it feels as though my mind is steering me down a darker path deliberately. That the darkness is more inviting somehow—easier to be in the shadow than face the light.”
“And if it is?”
Adam looked at him, Lionel’s face was all concern. “You do not think I should fight against the feeling?”
Lionel looked back into the flames, his lips thinning as they compressed together. He took a long sip of his brandy and rested it gently against his knee.
“I would not presume to advise either way. You have seen much pain in your life and have lost a great deal. To guard your heart is ingrained within you, and that is not to be criticised.” Lionel placed his glass on the table between them and leanedforward, fixing Adam with a gentle stare. “But all I will say is that you are your own person. You are free to choose what suitsyourlife, not your aunt’s, not your future fortune. You.”
Adam watched his friend’s earnest gaze become more resolute.
“What you say is true,” Lionel continued. “Pulling oneself out of melancholy takes effort, but you must do it at your own pace. I grant you that the party will be dripping with Christmas cheer, and your damnably handsome face will have the ladies swooning all about the place,” Adam scoffed derisively, “but itwillbe a chance to allow external influence to move you. Other people’s joy—other people’s company—can be a great help when one is downcast. Nothing is certain except that if you remain in your study throughout the season, nothing with change.”
Adam felt warmth spread through his chest at his cousin’s sentiment. Lionel was not advising him so much as reassuring him. It was a relief, having only had his aunt’s derisive and commanding comments over the past few weeks.
“Thank you,” Adam said. “You are right, of course. Andyouwill be at the party. If it is unbearable, I can spend my time beating you at billiards.”
“Hah! Fat chance of that,” Lionel said good-naturedly and then rose, bowing low to the ground and making Adam laugh before he bid him goodnight.
