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Clearly having the time of his life, Silas returned to the liquor table in good spirits to choose something else for Teresa.

“I would never do such a thing. Did Darnley not tell you that I was a champion of this match? I thought he would be a fool not to marry you, and I am doubly of that opinion now that I have met you.”

He brought back a different glass, the liquid a ruby red.

“I believe you could be very good for him, Duchess. Indeed, you have already achieved the impossible, getting him to apologize!” This time, he put the glass on the table.

“But you must tell me, what was the crime for which he is so very sorry?”

Cyrus sat rigid, an unusual flicker of guilt catching him unawares.

“I was due to dine with my wife,” he said. “Then, you arrived, Silas, and I did not notice the time passing. My oversight was deserving of an apology.”

Silas gaped at his friend. “You missed dinner with this lovely woman?”

“No, I did not notice the time,” Cyrus insisted, giving his friend a cold look. “I still intend to dine with her.”

Silas sipped his drink, shaking his head. “You lost that privilege when you were late. I insist on us staying here and enjoying ourselves.” He cast a sly glance at Teresa. “What might truly make you feel better about this sorry incident, Duchess? What can I do to improve the situation?”

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at his friend, not liking the way the conversation was going, and not at all liking the smiles passing between the other two: the easy rapport that they had created in such a short span of time.

If this was what Teresa wanted, then she had chosen to compromise herself with the wrong man; she would have been better off waiting to find Anthony or, indeed, Silas alone in a room.

The thing was, this was not how Silas usually behaved around ladies. His friend was charming, that was true, but never quite this obvious with it, and never so flirtatious.

It is the brandy. Silas had consumed rather a lot of it before Teresa had burst in, and Cyrus did not want to consider any other explanation. It would only exacerbate the burning, uncomfortable sensation in his stomach.

“Well…” Teresa hesitated, peering at Cyrus. “I felt rather foolish, sitting alone at the dining table for over an hour. So, perhaps something that might remove the sour taste of that feeling would be welcome.”

Cyrus did not look away from her, that flicker of guilt becoming a barbed entity in the middle of his chest. She looked so beautiful, and he had let her sit there by herself, not knowing where he was or if he was even coming.

He had excuses, of course, but none were sincere enough to soften that insult; there was no excuse for making a promise and breaking it.

“Say no more.” Silas grabbed a chair, bringing it closer to Teresa, flashing a devilish look at Cyrus before he began.

“When we were at Cambridge together, we would often walk by the river to get from one place to another—as you do—but on that river there just so happened to be a rather mean swan, and that rather mean swan took an immediate disliking to your husband here.

“He would say it was for no reason at all, while I would say it is because he was eating some bread and cheese one afternoon and refused to give the swan a crumb. That day, the swan swore vengeance against Darnley. No matter the time of day, or where Darnley was walking on the river, that swan would find him, and it would chase him, and if he did not run fast enough, it would bite his legs. Tore at least three pairs of trousers in a year, did it not, Darnley?”

Cyrus stared blankly at his friend, in utter disbelief at the betrayal. The story of the vicious swan was supposed to be a sacred secret, never to be shared, for it had been enough of an embarrassment back then.

“There is a myth that a swan is strong enough to break a man’s arm,” Silas continued, “and while I cannot confirm or deny that, I can confirm that a swan is strong enough to trip a man and send him flying into the river. And once in the river, a swan will not stop pecking the man until three boats have converged like a navy to rescue him. From that day on, for reasons unknown, the swan finally left him alone.”

It was, perhaps, the closest that Cyrus had ever come to punching his friend.

All of a sudden, Teresa burst into laughter: a bright, lovely, musical sound that did very little to ease his mortification. She was laughing at him. Laughing at the humiliating tale, likely imagining every moment in amusing detail, probably thinking he deserved it.

Does this make us even now? For a moment, he wondered if Teresa would have laughed like this if he had told her the story. Shaking off the silly thought, he turned his ire on Silas, for if his friend had not visited unannounced in the first place, none of this would have happened.

“I think it is time that you left, Silas,” he said sharply.

Silas raised an eyebrow at his friend, a small, sly smile on his lips. “Of course, Darnley. I have intruded for far too long.” Without protest, he got to his feet and headed for the door, tossing a final remark back over his shoulder as he left. “Enjoy your belated dinner.”

Rising from his chair, irritation still prickling under his skin, Cyrus offered out his arm. “Shall we?”

“I imagine dinner will be cold by now,” Teresa replied, though she stood up, eyeing his proffered arm.

He shrugged, coming around the desk to take her by the arm, weaving it through his. “Then we shall eat it cold.”

Perhaps, there was still time to fix his mistake.