Page 11 of Playing the Scoundrel

There was a slight twinge in Henry’s heart. Something akin to resentment or envy. He was pleased that James had found such a happy match with Isabel, and to see them so in love together and completely in sync, it almost made Henry want something similar.

But no, it would never be. For as Henry’s father would undoubtedly remind him the moment he arrived for his summons, Henry was a rapscallion, a good-for-nothing. Could not accomplish the one request of obtaining a wife and heir. And if that’s all his father would believe, no matter how Henry had tried to prove the old man wrong, then that’s all Henry was going to be.

Maybe he was a wastrel, after all.

“Well, while I appreciate Isabel’s vote of confidence, at least in my case,” Henry paused, lifting his glass, “I’m afraid she’s going to be severely disappointed.”

There was that word again; his drink soured in his mouth, making him want to cringe and wrinkle his nose.

“Same for me, as well.” Thomas had a good-natured smile on his face, though his voice held a rare edge. “I think Lady Finley is a charming woman, and I have yet to find fault in her. In fact, I have every plan to propose by the end of the season.”

James put up his hands in defense and laughed. “I am merely the messenger here. You can take up your grievances with her in the drawing room. Just know that she cares for both of you a great deal and wants to see you happy, the same way she and I are happy. Not just because you’re my friends, but because she is genuinely worried for you.”

“Well, she did save you from a rather boring and miserable existence, so she can only imagine the kind of lives we lead.” Henry thought for a moment then chuckled. “Perhaps that’s why we’ve held together for so long. Our family lives are… shall we say, lacking desirable environment.”

It was easy enough to see, and Henry was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner. They had been immediate friends in school when they were young, but it wasn’t long after that they became inseparable, and had clung to each other ever since. All because of the suffering they’d endured in the homes that should have been havens for them. James had witnessed the deterioration of his parents’ marriage firsthand, Thomas’s parents had died when he was young, leaving him to be brought up by his staunch grandparents. And all the death that Henry had seen had left him to bear the brunt of his father’s bitterness alone. It wasn’t that they were just good friends. They needed each other.

“We do rely on each other a good deal, don’t we?” Thomas looked down at the drink in his hands.

“I understand what you’re saying, Henry. I was right there with you, thinking I would never marry,” James said gently. “But so many of the things wrong with my life changed for the better when I met Isabel, and that’s all she wants for the two of you.”

Henry nodded. Isabel did have the patience and the hopeful perspective of a saint, and he couldn’t be more grateful that James had married someone like her.

“But just so it doesn’t wear on your minds, nothing will change, regardless of who you marry, or if you marry. You’ll always be welcome in my home as my friends.”

Henry’s heart warmed with uncomfortable emotions, making him clear his throat when he couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

Thomas again saved the moment by placing a hand on James’s shoulder. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Ah!” James shoved his arm off. “I told you, none of that title business, not in my own home. I want to be at my leisure here. Or would you rather I kick you out now?”

“Very well. Perhaps we should join the ladies.” Thomas stood from his chair.

Henry nodded, downing the last of his drink. “Hopefully all the fashion talk is over.”

---