Page 16 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
The men threw themselves into their sparring match with renewed vigor. Each delivered a punch or series of jabs, and after Finlay landed a particularly punishing hit to the baron’s ribs, Featherington held up his hand.
“I can’t say I’m glad you decided to pay attention,” he spat out, accepting a towel from an assistant. When he reached his hand up to wipe his face, a grimace pulled it taut.
“I hope it’s not too debilitating.”
“I’ll be fine,” Featherington said with a dismissive wave. “It won’t affect my ability to sit at the card tables or visit my mistress, and I may just receive some extra attention from Cordelia because of it.”
The baron’s brow waggle made Finlay roll his eyes. “So glad I could be of assistance.”
His friend laughed, and the men chatted as they washed up and changed out of their sparring clothes.
“I’m supposed to go to the tailor to get fitted for a new frock coat.” The baron frowned. “My purple one is already fitting snug in the shoulders.”
Finlay was not surprised. His old friend led a decadent lifestyle, and it was quickly catching up to him.
“I hope it will be ready in time for Belling’s house party,” the man continued. “What day will you be arriving?”
“I’m not attending,” Finlay said, adjusting a cufflink.
“But…you left early last year.”
He nodded. After Charlotte had fled his room and not returned, the party lost much of its allure.
“And you’re going to miss it completely this year? You’re the one who gave him the idea to throw it in the first place.”
Finlay studied his cravat in the mirror, determined not to make eye contact. “I can’t afford to be away from the Court that week.”
“You’re returning to Herefordshire?” Disbelief colored the baron’s words. “What on God’s green earth could be more important than Belling’s bloody house party?”
“We’re breaking ground for the new pressing mill.”
An odd silence rang loud in the room. Finlay turned to find his friend staring at him, his jaw slack. He hastened to explain.
“We’ve been sending our orchard harvest to pressing plants outside of London for at least twenty years. But Allie calculated how much we’d eventually save if we built our own plant on Rockhaven property. Plus, we can take in crops from neighboring estates and charge for pressing them or buy them outright to sell ourselves.” Catching Featherington’s eye, he stopped.
“I cannot believeyou, the famed rogue, are once again missing Belling’s infamous house party for a pressing mill.”
“You always were a tad slow.” Finlay snorted. “Don’t act like you’ll be upset by my absence. Without me there to attract all the courtesans’ attention, you lot won’t have to fight for the pickings.”
The baron drew himself up. “I had no problem charming my way into Cordelia’s bed.”
“That’s because I supplied you with the words to woo her. I was your very own Cyrano.”
“Yes, well.” Featherington tapped his top hat on his hand. “When you declined to accompany us to Madame Tremaine’s, I assumed you were ill. When you skipped the card room at the Ashwood ball to speak with the duke, I assumed you had a common investment venture.” The baron frowned. “I never dreamed you were actually taking this whole running-the-estate business seriously.”
“Of course I’m taking it seriously. Rockhaven is my inheritance, and with my father away on the Continent, I will not let it flounder.”
“Why the devil did the earl go away in the first place?”
The question made Finlay blink. Not because he hadn’t expected it at some point, just not for Featherington to raise it. It was a dangerous truth that the Earl of Rockhaven was traveling the Continent not on a grand adventure, as he and his sister had spread about, but instead because he’d been sent into exile for his treacherous misdeeds. Pushing down his anxiety, he aimed for a carefree smile. “When a man has reached a certain age, he wants to see the world.” He shrugged. “That’s what he told me at least when he boarded his ship.”
“He has that a bit backward, doesn’t he?” Featherington wrinkled his rather large nose. Lord knew it was the perfect target during their sparring matches. “Aren’t noblemen supposed to take a grand trip after university but before they settle down with a bride?”
“Swintons have never done things quite as they ought.”
After making plans to meet the following day for a rematch, Finlay took his leave and thanked Mr. Jackson as he left to his club.
He endeavored to keep his steps measured as befit a man of his station, but nervousness urged his feet to hasten. Inverray had asked him to speak with Earl Matthews, a key member of the party whose support could mean the difference between victory or defeat. Finlay had never met the earl, but his father had mentioned the man several times. Rumor was the older gentleman was not terribly friendly or easy to pin down, so when Finlay learned he took lunch at his club every Tuesday, he had to seize the opportunity.
