Page 29 of Forever Her Bachelor
“Have a drink with a friend,” Edwards said in a calm voice, taking the seat across from St. Clara.
The African man was a fiercely annoying person whose demeanor and comforting ways were in direct contrast to St. Clara’s more gregarious personality. Edwards relaxed in his chair with his permanent smile in place. It was hard to fathom how someone like Edwards, an orphan born in the African country of Sierra Leone to British loyalist parents, could be so optimistic.
As he sat forward, St. Clara’s leg bounced, his body still vibrating from his altercation with Summerset. “I wasn’t aware that we were friends.”
It was hard for him to settle down. His mind wandered to Pippa and how she was faring. Worry for her plagued him. He could still see the pure hatred in Summerset’s eyes. St. Clara needed to see her, to know that she was well, but he couldn’t barge in to Wayford’s at such a late hour.
Edwards’ rich and hearty laugh pierced through St. Clara’s distress, his head tilting back to reveal stark white teeth. “Heartford is like a brother to me and Julia, a sister. Therefore, you are my friend, whether you want to be or not.” He shrugged his massive shoulder. “Besides, after Henry was shot last month,I found myself very fond of you and Miss Price’s devotion to Julia.”
Being a comfort to Julia in her time of need was no great hardship. She had become St. Clara’s friend despite his reputation in society as a supercilious bastard to the women in his family. Julia ignored it all, and they had formed a friendship while Heartford was away. After Heartford was shot, his connection to Julia was clear, and St. Clara supported his friend. Knowing her feelings for the oaf of a man, St. Clara visited daily to assure that his friend was well.
“Do I have no say in the matter?” St. Clara waved his hand toward himself for emphasis.
Edwards released a deep chuckle, his bulk shaking with the force of it. “No, you do not, and as your friend, I will give you some advice.”
“Your Grace, Mr. Edwards, pleasure seeing you two on this fine evening.” Flynn O’Brien, walked over to their table, his arms wide in welcome. O’Brien was the Duke of Summerset’s estranged cousin. Having left London when he was a young man, he never acknowledged his connection to the prestigious family. Now, O’Brien found himself the heir of a dukedom.
Elijah held up two fingers. “Mr. O’Brien, two of your strongest whiskeys?—”
St. Clara raised his hand in protest. “No, I’ll take brandy as you know, O’Brien.”
“Didn’t you know that the duke here hates Irish whiskey?” O’Brien placed his hand on St. Clara’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture.
“Hateis a strong word. My taste prefers the heavier taste of Scots whisky.” St. Clara looked up at the man fondly. “However, I enjoy your company.”
He had always had an easy camaraderie with O’Brien despite his taste in whisky. A father of a large brood of children,O’Brien often would speak to St. Clara, offering a kind word or unsolicited advice.
Although St. Clara had loved his own father nearly to the point of worship, it was becoming clearer to him first from the folders, then from Summerset’s comment, that he had not been truthful to his son.
O’Brien laughed, patting St. Clara’s back. St. Clara, who wasn’t a small man, jerked forward from the force of the pat. O’Brien, a former pugilist, was still rather large even in his advanced years. “I’ll send one whiskey and a brandy to the table.” He turned to leave but stopped. “One day I will get some Scots whisky just for you.”
“I hear that every time I’m here. I’ll believe it when I taste it,” St. Clara replied, feeling the weight of the evening dissipate.
“Aye, and one day I’ll make good on it.” O’Brien nodded before he left the table.
“He’s a good sort of fellow,” Edwards commented as the older gentleman walked away.
“There you are,” Bollingbrook’s loud voice called out from across the room.
Looking up at his friend, St. Clara took in his disheveled appearance and agitated state. “What are you doing here?”
Bollingbrook sat his sizable frame down in the chair closest to St. Clara. “I stopped by your townhouse, and you weren’t there, so I came here.” Bollingbrook looked around at the nearly empty establishment. “It’s a little tame for my taste, but since I cannot drink at Sinners, I need to drink somewhere.”
St. Clara released an exasperated sigh at his friend. “Mr. Edwards, allow me to introduce one of my oldest friends, Viscount Bollingbrook.”
“I’m your only friend,” Bollingbrook snapped at him.
St. Clara laughed, recalling the similar conversation with Heartford hours earlier. “You are not my only friend. Edwardshere just announced that he’s my friend, so now I have three.” He held up three fingers smugly.
As a lonely boy, he had no one until he’d return to Eton where Bollingbrook was waiting for him. When Pippa had moved in with her aunt, she was a breath of fresh air, someone that he could depend on. He wasn’t someone with a large group of friends like Heartford or the Duke of Karrington. St. Clara was selective; he couldn’t trust just anyone to be in his life. His mother’s affair had made both him and his father pariahs amongst theton. When he was a young man, his father had tried to control everything in order to prevent another scandal. Appearance was instilled in St. Clara from the moment he and his father left Archer Castle, but there was one thing his father couldn’t control: St. Clara’s relationship with Pippa.
“Viscount Bollingbrook, a pleasure.” Edwards leaned toward Bollingbrook in excitement. “I am Elijah Edwards. I believe my sister was a servant in your father’s household for years, Patty Edwards?—”
“Patty is your sister?” St. Clara asked in surprise. He had known the older woman for years. She was kind and motherly even though she was only a few years his and Bollingbrook’s senior.
St. Clara’s gaze drifted to Bollingbrook, taking in his stiff demeanor. It was a strange relationship between Patty and St. Clara’s godfather, the former Viscount of Bollingbrook.
“Yes, Patty worked for my father for many years, but she left after my father died last year,” Bollingbrook responded stiffly. Patty had worked for the former Viscount since St. Clara and Bollingbrook were boys.