Page 48 of Better Love Next Time
Julian hung his head.
Anthony nudged Julian’s splint with his boot. “I know why you did it.”
“Because I’m a bloody fiend.”
“That too. But she’s easy to love. Too easy.”
Julian lifted his head, swallowing the truth of it. What he refused to name love, but what had always been an affection bordering on a necessity.
“And we can’t be men and cling to a woman’s love,” Anthony continued. “We’ll doubt ourselves, make decisions outside of our best interest. And even as love makes us feel complete, we know we will never achieve our dreams if we take it into account.”
The only dream Anthony had was to be the greatest rake of the century. This vowed at the age of seven. “Are we talking about feelings?Yourfeelings? Rest easy, Philips, she’s not yours to love.”
The heavy silence was broken by a rap. Georgiana stood at the bedroom door with the rum, one leg kicked at the threshold and arms folded at her blue frock coat. “Who’s talking about love, and who loves who?”
“No one loves anyone,” Julian said.
Georgiana crossed the room and shoved the rum in Julian’s hand. She placed two glasses on the side table. “Anthony loves Kitty and Julian, you just realized you’re a first-rate scoundrel. Are we to have a duel? I know the perfect pla?—”
“No,” they replied in unison.
“I suppose it’s for the best. I’m not sure which cousin I would place my wager on.” She dove onto the bed, landing on her stomach and bracing her hands at her jaw. “So how then will you settle it?”
Julian and Anthony exchanged looks.
“I will settle it,” Julian said.
Anthony nodded to the bottle.
Julian poured them both a glass, and without a toast, they drank in silence. Anthony, with his air of sensitivity and innocent blue eyes, looked poised for victory. Julian’s chances of succeeding, just winning Kitty back as a friend, were as slim as his ability to scale a ratline at present.
Georgiana broke the peace. “So why are you here, Cousin?”
Julian relayed the events which had brought him to Farendon. The two stared in shock until the laughing started. And how they laughed.
Georgiana clutched her stomach. “The funniest thing I’ve ever heard! You—a man of letters! What next, a poet?”
Just like his father, no one thought he had a brain.
“Kitty can teach you French.” Georgiana snorted. “And I’ll torture you with Greek.”
Anthony wiped at the tears leaking down his cheeks. “And I’ll tutor you on natural sciences. Rest your fears, I’ll make it easy.”
Julian drawled into his rum, “I suppose I should learn to read first.”
A footman scratched at the door, two bandboxes balanced in one arm. “Sir, your uncle instructed me to deliver these to you directly.”
The blue boxes were painted with pink cabbage roses. Another footman placed three more boxes, these decorated in green and pink pagodas.
Julian waved the man in. He set the boxes two high and on the lone box, he laid a letter. Along the rim of each lid, the numbers one through five had been painted.
“Visited your modiste in London, I see,” Anthony said with a smirk.
Scowling, Julian cracked the wax seal.
Dearest Julian.
I wrote to you every day, with the hope that God had not taken you from me, and when He answered my prayers and you did write to me, I could give these to you.
