Page 29 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

Is that his next trick to be rid of me—following my parents’ rules of engagement?

After all, it had worked for them. They no longer had her in their home, or had to think about her ever again.

“Lockie,” Vincent said with some surprise, for he had not expected to find his friend already waiting in the entrance hall. “When did you arrive? I was not informed.”

Duncan sat as still as a statue on one of the upholstered chairs in the alcove of a bay window, his gaze colder than Vincent had ever seen it. “A while ago,” he said. “Long enough.”

Did he hear any of that conversation?

A slight creep of embarrassment made its way up Vincent’s neck. “Well, shall we go to my study? Are you in need of refreshment?”

“I thought we might take a walk before we begin,” Duncan said, getting up.

He gave Vincent no real choice in the matter, as he walked right out of the front door. Vincent had hoped that the discord between them after the events of Beatrice’s little party and the game in the old ballroom had been forgotten. However, it seemed that that was wishful thinking on his part.

I should apologize for my behavior that day. Taking in a determined breath, he followed Duncan out onto the driveway. From there, they started their wander on a partially worn trail that cut across the gleaming lawns, meandering toward the orchards in the near distance.

“I thought some more time might have changed your attitude toward her,” Duncan began, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. “Yet, I see that nothing has altered since the last time I was here.”

Vincent cast his friend a sideways glance.

“With respect, you should try living with her before you cast judgment on me. Just last night, she was drinking port in the drawing room with Prudence until almost dawn.” He frowned.

“Come now, Lockie, you cannot truly be angry with me. What concern is she of yours?”

“She is my wife’s cousin,” Duncan shot back. “She is the woman my wife adores most in the world, and when Beatrice is sad, my wife is sad, and I do not like to see my wife sad.”

Vincent scoffed awkwardly. “Beatrice is not sad.”

“You claim to be so very observant, yet you see nothing,” Duncan chided.

“She visited Thornhill Grange not so long ago, and when she departed, my wife wept all evening. Beatrice is sad, she is wounded, she is… somewhat broken beneath that facade of hers, yet you cannot show her the least bit of compassion.”

A heavy sensation pressed down upon Vincent’s chest as he thought back to his conversation with Beatrice.

Not the merry one of last night, but the one where she had explained why she did not want to marry again.

She had claimed to be exhausted, and she had sounded exhausted. Weary to the marrow of her misfortune.

She thought she had her freedom, at last, and then I came along and layered more bad luck upon the mountain she has already received.

“She has been through enough, Wilds,” Duncan added. “I said this last time, and I shall say it again: this attitude is beneath you. You are too harsh with her, and I know that Valeria would appreciate it if you could be… kind to Beatrice now and then.”

Vincent laughed tightly. “She is still here at this residence. What is that, if not kindness?”

“It is, Wilds, the least she deserves,” Duncan replied, shaking his head.

“Befriend her, and you will find that she is not the person you think she is. I was not fond of her at first, finding her too brash and too coarse, but since getting to know her through her sojourns with us at Thornhill, I have learned that she is worth knowing.”

Vincent did not like the feeling of being so harshly judged, though the irony was not lost on him. “I have been doing my best,” he insisted curtly. “If you view her as family, then perhaps you should take her back to Thornhill with you.”

“A place at our home has been offered many times, after every tragedy,” Duncan replied, as if he had expected the suggestion.

“She refused, because I suspect she does not want to be a burden. But now, I think it is also because she loves this manor and will not give it up until she has no other choice.”

“Yes, well, sometimes we do not get what we want,” Vincent muttered, the sunlight too bright, the morning already too warm for his comfort. “Maybe, you would be better off trying to convince her to come to Thornhill than bothering me about being kinder, when I am doing all I can.”

If I were to do more, I dread to think what might happen…

He remembered the soft skin of her cheek beneath the brush of his fingertips, and how dearly he had longed to stay there at her side while she slept.

Being close to her was dangerous, being gentle with her was dangerous, and he did not need anyone else confusing his mind.

“I do not need to befriend her,” he added stiffly. “I do not believe men and women who are not related can be friends, as you well know. Your situation with her is different to mine.”

Duncan shrugged. “She does not seem to have any difficulty being friends with Frederick.”

“Then let him take care of her!” Vincent snapped, a hot sensation splintering up through his chest, fierce and furious.

“Let him marry her, if he is such a good friend to her. I will not alter my beliefs. I will not be her friend. If she does not like that, if you do not like that, then that is not my problem.”

He had almost forgotten about Frederick. The memory of that man’s close relationship with Beatrice burned like harsh liquor down his throat, awakening a feeling that he refused to name. He would never admit, for as long as he lived, that he was jealous.

“I think, perhaps, we should have our meeting another day,” Vincent said, halting. “Good day to you, Lockie.”

He turned and marched away from his friend, for if anyone could recognize jealousy, it would be Duncan. And Vincent could not allow anyone to see that weakness in him, not even a dear friend.