Page 34 of Saved By the Rakish Duke

“Why would I aid you in insulting us?” Duncan chuckled, signaling for the servants to bring them a fresh teapot. “And speaking of fellows who don't get along, is Steepwharf in today?”

This question was apparently intriguing enough to finally get Fairhaven to straighten up in his chair. “I think I saw him in the Upper East lounge when I passed it earlier.” he answered. “Why? Does he owe you or something?”

“Nothing like that.” Duncan scanned their surroundings before leaning in. “I presume Harlington filled you in on my latest quest on Lady Penelope’s behalf.”

“He did, indeed.” Fairhaven nodded, leaning forward to grab a tart. “Are you looking for Steepwharf to take the fall, then?”

Duncan began to answer, but froze—after twenty odd years of friendship, Duncan knew better than to ignore an askew remark from Fairhaven, no matter how small.

Slowly turning his head towards his friend, “What exactly do you mean, Fairhaven?”

“You know,” his friend lowered his voice, “Steepwharf shall marry Lady Penelope at once and no one need ever find out that you er,” he looked down at the pastry in his hand, “put a bun in her oven.”

Duncan lightly slapped a hand across Fairhaven’s forehead, eliciting a surprised yelp in return.

“Lady Penelope isn’t that sort of woman,” he hissed, “nor am I that empty-headed or depraved!”

“You’re dead, Blackmoore!” roared his friend, jumping onto his armchair with so much force it fell backward and took both of them with it. As they rolled onto the floor, Duncan spit out his pipe, lest it cause some damage to the roof of his mouth during this scuffle—he remembered something similar happened to the Marquess of Southvale a few years prior.

“Get off of me, you fool!” Duncan called out, prying his hot-headed friend’s hands off his collar. “Don’t make me hit you! Or else you shan't be able to show your face to Lady Beatrice for the next month!” he warned.

But his friend only proceeded to tighten his grip and shake him even harder. “You’ll be sorry for that you-”

Suddenly, Duncan felt Fairhaven’s weight lift. He raised his head to see Harlington with his hands in his pockets, wearing a wide grin after having kicked their friend off of him. “After all these years, I still can’t trust you morons to go ten minutes without my oversight.”

Duncan rolled his eyes, but accepted Harlington’s hand to help him get up. “How was your billiards match?” he asked.

“How do you think?” Harlington replied with a glint in his eye as he waved his coin purse in the air triumphantly.

The friends helped the servants re-erect the fallen armchair. And Duncan thanked one of the men for returning his pipe to him and apologized for the commotion. “Next time, I’ll be sure to sit as far away from Fairhaven as possible,” he joked, fishing out his handkerchief to wipe down his pipe.

A chorus of lighthearted chuckles and “It’s all right, Your Grace’s” rang out before the servants dispersed. In truth, given Fairhaven’s foul mood and Duncan’s stubbornness, they had probably been expecting something like this to erupt.

At least now Fairhaven had gotten it out of his system, they could finally enjoy the rest of their stay in peace—or so Duncan thought.

Presently, Fairhaven was quickly striding towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going, Lees?” Duncan called after him.

“Wherever you’re not!” he angrily declared.

Once Duncan had explained to a confused Harlington everything that had transpired in his absence, the marquess could do nothing but shake his head and sigh,

“I meant to warn you that Fairhaven hasn’t been acting like himself lately either.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow in surprise, “How could you possibly tell when even Fairhaven barely understands what ‘acting like himself’ even is?”

“I can tell because I don’t spend every waking second endeavoring to rile him up.” Harlington rolled his eyes. “He says it’s because of Lady Beatrice, but I’d bet good money that there’s much more to it than that.”

“You better go make sure he doesn’t find a way to get himself thrown out—even Gillingham’s patience has its limits.” Duncan suggested, “I’ll come find you once I’ve spoken to Steepwharf.”

“Perhaps I should accompany you firs-”

“No need,” Duncan assured him. “He’s less likely to be hostile if I approach him alone.”

With that, the friends went their separate ways for the time being.

As Duncan ascended the steps to the next floor, he passed one of the servants who confirmed what Fairhaven had claimed earlier—the Viscount Steepwharf was indeed in the Upper East Lounge.

---