Page 92 of His Stolen Duchess
“Yes, thank you.” Lysander waved his hand to dismiss the butler. “No, no, wait. Have someone bring more brandy from downstairs, please.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the butler replied with practiced grace before leaving the two men.
“A card table?” Thomas asked. “When did you get that?”
Lysander looked at Thomas as if seeing him for the first time. “Yes, come in, won’t you? You’re making me nervous lingering at the door. I had it delivered today. A fine table, don’t you think?”
Thomas walked over to the card table with a curious smile. “And how much have you had to drink so far today?”
Lysander chuckled. His loud belly laughter filled the room. “You’re asking how much I’ve had to drink as if I’m a naughty child caught in the cellar. Do you not care to join me?”
“Of course, I will join you. That’s not the issue.” He sat down opposite Lysander and ran his hand over the table’s green felt top. “I only want to know what has put you in such a mood.”
“Again, I’m being made to feel as though I’ve done something wrong!” He grabbed the bottle of brandy from the drink cart stationed beside the card table and refilled his glass, then held the bottle aloft and tilted it as he searched for Thomas’s glass.
Thomas quickly grabbed a fresh glass from the drink cart for Lysander to fill.
“Haveyou done something wrong?” Thomas asked.
“I pride myself on not doing wrong,” Lysander said, beating a fist against his chest. “I’m happy, Thomas. I have good drink in me, and I wish to spend some enjoyable time with my friend. Afterwards, we might take to the town and find some women.”
“Aren’t you married?”
“Yes, but it’s only an arrangement, isn’t it? She knows that, and so do I, and you must know that, too. Now, where are the cards?” Lysander picked up the pile from the table. “I thought we might play some whist, but now that I think about it, it’s a game played with four people, so perhaps we can’t.”
“We don’t need to play whist,” Thomas said, taking the cards from his friend. He laid them on the table beside him, thenleveled his gaze at his friend. “I think you should talk to me, Lysander.”
“About what?”
“About whatever is going on to put you in this state.”
Lysander laughed again, but when Thomas didn’t laugh with him, he fell quiet. It was when the quiet came that his emotions threatened to burst through. He could calm them with noise, drink, and other distractions, but not with silence.
“You have a mask of happiness on,” Thomas pointed out. “Below it, you seem more miserable than ever, and I say that with the knowledge that you have had misery in your heart for a very long time, Lysander.”
“What do you know about misery?” Lysander snapped, sending drops of spittle flying onto the green felt.
“I know nothing compared to some people, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see it,” he replied. “I can see it in your eyes, Lysander, and I refuse to sit with a man who won’t be honest about the way he feels.”
“Then go!” Lysander shouted.
“Very well.” Thomas stood up and went to the door as a footman appeared with a full bottle of brandy.
“Oh, don’t be a cretin!” Lysander shouted after his friend. “Bring that bottle back with you, won’t you?”
Thomas took the bottle from the footman and motioned for him to leave. He then turned to face Lysander, not moving from the doorway.
“The anniversary is in a few days,” Lysander announced, his voice becoming broken. The last time he had cried was at his brother’s funeral, and he was coming perilously close to breaking his two-decade streak.
“Augustus,” Thomas said.
Lysander nodded. It would soon be twenty-one years to the day since his brother had perished.
Thomas brought the bottle to the drink cart and set it down, then sat himself down at the card table.
“Where is she?” Thomas asked.
“Where is who?”
