Page 92 of Molly Boys
Ev tried to feel something, reached deep for some hint of sadness or regret… even love… but there was nothing, just an empty void. Maybe the sadness would come in time, but he doubted it. When his mother had died, he’d grieved, he’d cried and cried until he thought he would run out of tears. He hadn’t, and his father had locked him in his room until he’d learned to keep himself under control. Two weeks he’d been locked in that room, no one allowed to speak with him—not Hugh, not the servants. It had taught Ev one thing: never to show weakness to his father again. He’d emerged from his room a different boy and had been summarily shipped off to school barely a week later.
Ev silently shifted through his memories looking for a single good one of his father but he failed. Even before his mother had passed away, the Marquess had never particularly cared for Everett in any fashion.
The first shovelful of dirt and snow hit the top of the coffin with a loud thud and Ev still felt nothing. He knew his brother grieved but Ev couldn’t help him, couldn’t offer him any words of comfort. Hugh’s father had been vastly different than Everett’s despite the confusing dichotomy of them both being the same man.
The sermon concluded and Ev could feel the weight of the bishop’s scrutiny on him as he tried to catch Everett’s gaze. Ev kept his eyes averted, but he had no doubt Bishop Goodwin would corner him at the earliest opportunity. The man was determined to have Everett’s sizeable inheritance for the church and was undoubtedly chagrined that Ev hadn’t been safely ordained before the Marquess passed away. Ev’s future was now in the hands of his brother. The bishop’s nervousness boded well for Everett; at least he hoped it did. Perhaps Hugh would allow him an alternative career path than their father had demanded.
The crowd behind him stirred and a low hum of conversation began. Ev turned and watched the assembled guests, a sea of black gowns and suits against the pristine fields of snow. They trudged toward a long line of waiting carriages, each one baring a different crest, including that of the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough.
“Lord Francis,” Hugh said stiffly as he looked at the man who had moved to stand beside Everett.
“Lord Hugh,” Francis replied just as coolly.
“Will you be joining us at the house then? I should imagine you’d be anxious to return to London.”
“Not at all,” Francis replied. “Everett was such a comfort to me when my own parents passed. I would be a poor friend indeed if I were not to return the courtesy.”
“Hm,” Hugh hummed, aware that although he and Francis shared the same title as Marquess, Francis was a lot higher up the social scale in terms of lands, fortune, and influence. “Are you riding with us then?”
“How kind.” Francis gave a smile, his gaze flat. “But his grace has offered for me to join him and her grace in their carriage for the ride back to the estates.”
Hugh gave a strained smile at the mention of the duke and Francis’ obvious favour with the man who was notoriously picky as to whom he considered a friend.
He took Mary’s elbow as she held their small daughter on her hip, and with their two young sons following obediently behind them, they turned toward the carriages, which were already beginning to depart.
Leaving a few paces between them, Francis and Ev moved to follow; they’d barely moved a few steps when a loud and ingratiating voice called out to Everett.
“Lord Stanley!”
Everett turned around to find the bishop hurrying toward him, his huge paunch rippling beneath the tightness of the cassock stretched across his wide body. But before he could reach Everett, Francis stepped directly into his path, bringing him up short.
“Bishop Goodwin,” he greeted coldly. “How kind of you to offer your condolences to his lordship.” Goodwin opened his mouth to speak but Francis didn’t let him. “I’m sure that you wouldn’t want to intrude on this time of grief for Lord Stanley, who I believe would wish to spend this sad time with his family,” he said firmly, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“Of course not.” Bishop Goodwin stepped back slightly at the coldness in Francis’ eyes. “My condolences, Lord Stanley.”
Francis turned back to Everett and nodded to him to continue walking. When they’d reached a certain distance, Ev let out a resigned breath.
“Thank you, Francis,” Ev said quietly although there was no one left to hear.
“Of course, darling. I’m here for you no matter what, whether that involves getting you drunk, sucking your cock, or playing guard dog.”
Ev huffed out a laugh.
“But I suppose one of those things is now less likely,” Francis mused, casting Ev a sideways glance. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on with you and your delicious bit of rough, Inspector Franklin?”
Ev glanced at Francis. “Aren’t you going to tell me becoming involved with him is a bad idea?”
He laughed. “Oh, it is undoubtedly a terrible idea, but it’s all so delightfully scandalous.” He continued to smile although his eyes now held a hint of seriousness. “He has saved your life twice now, so I believe I may hold a tiny hint of affection for the man.”
“Really?” Ev smiled in amusement.
“The tiniest amount, almost nonexistent.” Francis lifted his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger together.
Ev let out a resigned sigh.
“Are you in love with him?” Francis asked, cocking his head as he studied his best friend.
“The truth is, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Ev shook his head, avoiding the question. “My life is complicated right now. I’d resolved myself to speaking with my father, to tell him I wasn’t going to join the church, even if it meant he disinherited me.”