Page 509 of From Rakes to Riches

There was that.

“Really, it was a bit of luck happening across that lad in a coaching inn,” continued Julian.

While Rake agreed, he hadn’t precisely considered it in that light. “How so?”

“It’s clear he was raised around quality stables,” Julian mused as only a man deep in his cups could. “There’s a story there.”

Rake’s thought precisely, spoken aloud.

Therewasa story there—and the fact that a man three sheets to the wind could see it meant it possessed a kernel of truth.

Out of the mouths of babes—and drunkards.

That was how Milton should’ve put it.

And Julian wasn’t finished. “Sometimes with a person, we only see what we expect to see, and not what’s really there.”

Julian’s smile fell away, and his clear blue eyes darkened, regaining the hollowed-out quality he’d entered the room with. He was no longer speaking of Gem.

“Take my father, for example,” he continued, almost conversationally. “I spent years thinking he was nothing more than a drunken sot determined to plunge the family into bankruptcy and land us all in debtor’s prison.”

“He was that,” said Rake. It was the truth, and it needed to be said.

“Ah, but there you’re only halfway right.” Julian wagged a finger at Rake. “It was really only a symptom of the problem.” His false levity fell away. “What hewas, was a drowning man.”

Rake held his silence. Julian had more to say—and needed to say it.

“He was a man being dragged under by the weight of his daughter’s death.”

And here it was—the thing on his friend’s mind. The thing that had him imbibing spirits for two days straight. The thing that needed to be said.

But Rake had something to say, too. “Your father had a choice.”

Julian cocked his head. “Do you have a choice when you’re drowning?”

Rake held his friend’s eye. “You learn how to swim—or you accept someone’s hand.”

Julian sat forward, his eyes a blaze of anguish. “But what if those closest to you take you for a lost cause and don’t bother extending one?” The pain and guilt in those words were evident.

Rake had no ready answer, but he did have something to say to his friend. “Your father’s death is not your fault. It was of his own making.”

The statement hung in the air between the two men, an obstacle to further conversation. Rake wished his friend would allow the words—and the truth they held—to sink into him and find purchase. Perhaps, in time, they would.

Julian pushed heavily to his feet and listed slightly to the left.

“Somerton has twenty guest rooms. Stay the night.” Rake wasn’t asking.

Julian shook his head. “Nay, old Petunia girl knows her way home blindfolded.”

“Even when you’re blind drunk?”

Julian shambled toward the door he’d entered through an hour ago. “I’ll see you in a day or two,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“It might take more than that to sleep this one off,” Rake returned, lightly, hoping to get a chuckle.

Julian snorted and waved the words away. “I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

Relief traced through Rake. It was the assurance he needed to hear to let his friend go into the night.

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