Page 23 of Sloth: The Fallen Earl (Seven Deadly Sins #4)

W akefield had been carrying so much these past two days. He more than half expected the moment he stepped inside his sister and brother-in-law’s ballroom, he’d find every set of stares swing to him while the music came to a crashing stop and whispers ensued. As such, it felt peculiar to arrive at the Earl and Countess of Stanhope’s lively lavish affair and barely earn a curious look from a single one of some two hundred guests. But then these were the affairs his sister and her husband always hosted. They never put on an event that was anything less than extravagant and well-attended and sought after.

After having arrived at a late hour, Wakefield had also spared himself the scrutiny of an agonizing receiving line. Why, he was practically invisi—

“Benedict.” That excited squeal did manage to penetrate the enormous din of the ballroom.

So much for remaining unnoticed.

His sister, Lady Anne, came tearing past guests, flung her arms around his neck, and hugged him.

“Wherever have you been?” she cried.

“It’s hard to believe you’ve noticed my absence,” he said, after returning her hug and settling her on her feet “Given you probably have nine hundred and ninety-nine of the ton here.”

With a lilting laugh, she swatted at his shoulder. “I wasn’t referring to my ball, silly, and it’s hardly that crowded. Why, this one is much smaller than our last.”

Wakefield opened his mouth to disabuse her of that ridiculous statement. Over the top of her enormous golden hair, his brother-in-law, the Earl of Stanhope, caught Wakefield’s eye and gave a slight shake. His meaning was clear. It wouldn’t do to argue anything different with Anne when she reached a conclusion.

She too had noticed his absence. He had no interest in entertaining her questions.

“No, truly, Anne,” he said, “how many guests are here?” He asked in a bid to distract her from the clear path she’d been going down.

“You have not come by, but I understand you’ve been visiting Katherine.” Her lips formed a pout. “My little ones are most devastated, thinking they are second favorites to Katherine’s.”

“Never.” He scoffed. “I promise I’ll make it up to them.”

Both of his sisters each had four children of their own. Throughout the years, Wakefield had made sure to pay each child equal attention. As fact would have it, they were each, in their own way, a delight. There could be no favorites, but then try telling that to them or his sisters.

“You can tell them yourself when you come and see them tomorrow, dear brother.”

Tomorrow.

He started to groan and stopped himself, but it was too late. His sister had already heard. She narrowed her eyes.

“Did you hear that, Harry?” she asked, not even looking back at her husband.

“Most certainly did, love,” the glib-tongued, devotedly in love earl confirmed. He immediately shot an apologetic look at his brother-in-law.

So much for fellows supporting other fellows.

“And why is it such a chore for you to come and visit tomorrow?”

“It is never a chore to visit,” he said placatingly. “Hell, Anne, if I could visit daily, I would. I really do love your little ones.”

Tears misted her eyes. “But they aren’t so little anymore, are they?” She sniffled a bit.

Even as she turned, her husband was anticipating her move and made to cradle her close. He fished out a handkerchief and held it towards Anne. Anne gave a light blow of her nose.

“Yes,” Wakefield murmured. “How fast it all goes.” He’d found his out, or he thought he had. Anne’s tears vanished in an instant and her scowl was firmly back in place.

“You are not permitted to speak of it. You don’t yet have a wife or family, Benedict.”

He replied, “You are my family. Your children are like my own.”

“No, they’re my children, and Harry’s, of course.”

“Of course,” the old former rogue drawled.

“They are your nieces and nephews. And a couple of them are your godchildren, but you don’t have children of your own. And you really should. You’d make a great father and husband.”

“Preferably not in that order,” the earl said dryly.

That droll attempt at a jest hit Wakefield square in the gut.

“Yes, hopefully not in that order.” An image flickered forth of an imagined scene. One that involved Cressida. The spirited, peculiar minx cradling a small babe with her brown-blonde curls. He waited for the same wave of horror to hit him that had been a constant in his life for the past seventy-two hours. Strangely, it didn’t come.

“Benedict, Benedict,” Anne said more insistently.

He startled back to the present.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Hanging on to his sister’s nagging hadn’t been a skill he’d ever been truly good at. It appeared Henry, the Earl of Stanhope, was the only one who held that power.

“Katherine indicated that during your visit—”

Oh, Lord, here they went. The twin sisters. The Adamson twin sisters somehow managed to be both best friends and frequent nemeses, both at the same time. That inherent competitiveness between the two of them had apparently trickled into their adult lives and their relationship with Wakefield.

“Please, Anne,” he said.

A servant bearing a silver tray filled with flutes of champagne sidled over. He helped himself to a glass, as did the pair in his trio.

“I assure you there is absolutely no favoritism I have or have deliberately shown towards your children. Or Katherine’s. I love them all equally. But faulty decision making and my latest foray into dubious business arrangements have occupied much of my time.”

“Please, Benedict,” she chided like the elder sister she only sometimes acted as though she was. “I’m hardly concerned about that. I know you do love them all equally.”

Sipping at his champagne, the earl lifted one spare palm as if to say, “That’s Anne.”

And, yes, it was Anne. She flitted about from discussion to discussion the same way a honeybee moved about flowers.

“Katherine indicated that you took flight during a meeting you’d scheduled to attend with Frost. She was most concerned, which means I am even more concerned because, as you know, I don’t take everything to be as life or death as Katherine.”

“Naturally,” he said drolly.

“So, what is it? Where did you rush off to?”

I’m sorry, chap , his brother-in-law mouthed.

Wakefield tossed back half the contents of his champagne, grimaced, and said gravely, “I’m afraid I have terrible news for you.”

Her eyes widened and she leaned in. “Yes.”

He couldn’t sort out whether she was eager to be in possession of information that Katherine was not, or whether she was truly concerned. He suspected it was most likely a combination of the two.

“I am not a lad anymore. I’m not up to mischief with my tutor. I’m, in fact, a grown man with a great number of business responsibilities and commitments.”

Anne promptly sank back on her heels and folded her arms at her chest. “Whelp.”

He took mercy on her. After all, he loved her, and she was his big sister. She’d always been a friend and did care deeply for him.

“Anne,” he said, this time more gently, “I assure you I am fine. I’m just busy. My commitments are great, but I am up to no trouble. I promise you that.” He tried to figure out if he’d ever lied to her before this. In his recollection, this would be the first time.

“I…” His words trailed off as, from across the way, he caught sight of a familiar young lady. Her cheeks were fuller than they’d ever been. Her smile shined just as bright. Her figure was fuller, and her infectious smile still managed to reach across the room. Marcia.

They’d been friends as children, and she’d been the first and only woman he’d ever loved.

Just the sight of her, after she’d wed Wakefield’s former best friend, had brought such a physical pain that he’d had to run from it.

Anne followed his stare.

“Oh, Benedict,” she said with such sadness, “I know you’re hurting still.”

Yes, he was. Or, yes, he had been. He’d become so distracted by his recent circumstances, he’d not thought of Marcia once. Though, in fairness, he’d begun to think of her less and less. This past year, he’d grown resentful and angry and then felt nothing at all.

“You should speak to her, Benedict.” His sister’s words cut across as musings.

“Are you joking?” he scoffed.

“Yes. Well, you’re friends, and you cared very deeply for her.” His sisters had long suspected that he’d been in love with Marcia.

He’d never sought to deny it. When they’d gently quizzed him following her marriage to Andrew, Viscount Waters, he didn’t bother denying it.

“I’m fine. I really am.”

And at least where the Viscountess Waters was concerned, he really was fine. It was another darker-haired minx who had him reeling and hungry as he’d never been for anyone, not even Marcia.

“Harry, please tell him.”

The Earl of Stanhope gently and also firmly interrupted Anne before she said anything further. “Anne, it is not our place to interfere in matters of your brother’s heart.”

The earl looked back at Wakefield. “Unless, that is, he asks for help.”

“I am not in need of help,” Wakefield said emphatically, taking his brother-in-law’s cue.

What need he do to reassure his sister and get her and Katherine off of him?

“In fact, I can demonstrate just how unaffected I am by visiting and speaking with the viscount and viscountess. Would that make you happy?” His words and offer had opposite the intended effect.

“Absolutely not. Benedict, I would never encourage you to go put yourself before someone and bring yourself such pain.”

Oh, for all that was holy. Wakefield downed the rest of his drink and handed it over to his brother-in-law, who obligingly took it.

“Benedict. Benedict. Where are you going?” his sister called urgently after him.

Wakefield made his way down the side of the ballroom, circumventing various lords and eager mamas who sought his attention, until he arrived in front of the viscount and viscountess. His former friend had been a notorious randy rogue.

Viscount Waters noticed Wakefield first. His former favorite chum—and really his only chum from his youth—shot his eyebrows up before quickly regaining his composure.

“Wakefield,” he greeted.

There was an almost relief and disbelief warring in the other man’s voice.

It had been so damn long since he’d talked to Barrett. They’d been inseparable. And then that cord had been severed so quick, a product of two men who’d fallen in love with the same woman.

Marcia followed her husband’s gaze and turned to look at Wakefield with the same expression her husband wore.

“Benedict,” she greeted happily and with such warmth he could almost believe there hadn’t been a passage of two years since they’d all last spoken.

“So good to see you, old chap. So good,” Waters said, shooting a hand out.

Wakefield took it automatically, and the two men shook while, all around them, London looked on.

“It’s been too long.”

And what began as first slightly uncomfortable, casual pleasantries became less stilted and more comfortable as they caught one another up on what had transpired in their own lives, and the couple’s marriage, these past years. After he’d escorted Marcia onto the dance floor for a lively country reel, Wakefield welcomed, if even for just a moment, that things were returned to normality and not the chaotic world he had been in since his life collided with Cressida’s.