Page 5 of A Perfect Gentleman

“Don’t bother, Mother. I don’t intend to bring Abigail home. I am going to make sure she leaves.”

chapter 2

Two hours later, Graeme was on the road in James’s carriage, rolling toward London.

“The train would have been faster,” Graeme remarked, twitching aside the curtain to gaze out.

“I’ve found that other passengers tend to resent having Dem on board.” James nodded toward the brindle mastiff lying sprawled across the floor of the carriage. The dog responded with a thump of his tail against the door.

“Can’t imagine why. After all, he does leave a few inches open where one can place one’s feet.”

The corner of James’s mouth twitched in something that might have been a smile. “Buck up, coz, it doesn’t take long. Even my mother managed it.”

“That would have been something worth seeing.” Graeme tried to imagine his luxuriously dressed aunt in close proximity to the animal.

“Mm. There was a bit of a contretemps over his drooling on a ruffle.”

“One would think you’re more attached to that dog than you are to your own brothers.”

James shrugged. “Well, you’ve met my brothers.”

“Point taken.” After a moment, he went on, “You didn’t need to haul me back to the city, you know. I would have gone anyway.”

“Ah, but I have a direct order from the dowager countess. I wouldn’t dare do otherwise. It doesn’t matter—I would have returned in a day or two anyway. My cousin Maurice has graced us with a visit; over a day in his company, and I would likely be jailed for homicide.” He cast a sideways glance at Graeme. “I saw a letter from Miss Hinsdale on the entry table.”

Beside him Graeme tightened. “She has kept up a correspondence with Mother. Her late mother was my mother’s friend, you know. Don’t worry. I have no correspondence with her.”

James quirked an eyebrow. “You think I care if you write her? That my morals would be offended?”

“No. You simply were—and always are—the voice of cool reason.”

“It comes in handy now and again.”

“I rarely see Laura. Only sometimes at a party when she comes to London to visit her aunt and cousin. I don’t pursue her.” Seeing her now and then was difficult enough—her slim, serene blond beauty awakened far too many thoughts it was better to keep buried, reminding him all over again how much he had lost. “I wouldn’t cast any doubt on her honor. No doubt that strikes you as laughable.”

“No. Unfamiliar, perhaps.” James studied the other man for a moment. “You still . . . feel the same about Miss Hinsdale?”

“Do I still love her? Yes, of course. Did you think I would just forget her? Like a lost toy?”

“It’s been ten years, Graeme. Even widows move into half mourning eventually.”

“Love doesn’t die just because time passes,” Graeme shot back. “But that is something you wouldn’t know about.” He stopped abruptly, and the temper that had flared in his eyes died. “I’m sorry, James, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? It’s common knowledge that I am unacquainted with the gentler emotions. As I remember, you told me the same thing after my, um . . . conversation with Miss Hinsdale.”

“I stopped laying the blame for that at your door long ago. I know you had the best of intentions when you convinced Laura not to marry me. You did it for the family’s sake.”

James snorted. “To hell with the family. If you think I gave a farthing for your dragon of a grandmother or the Parr name or that beloved land of yours, you’re mad as a hatter. I spoke to Miss Hinsdale to keep you from making a foolish, lovesick mistake.” James turned his gaze to his cuffs, tugging them into perfect alignment. “Besides, if I’d let you follow your love into poverty, I would have had you and your beautiful lady turning up on my doorstep, as well. It’s bad enough having to support my siblings.”

“Ah, of course.” A faint smile hovered on Graeme’s lips. “Well, you needn’t be concerned, cousin. I assure you that I do not weep into my pillow every night or spend my days bemoaning my fate. I am well content with my books and managing my ‘beloved land’ and the occasional foray into London for a bit of recreation.”

Graeme saw no reason to mention the ennui that seemed to tighten its hold on him almost daily or the loneliness that would settle on him in the evening. He would not reveal the way his heart sped up when he happened to see Laura at a party or how eagerly he went forward to take her hand in greeting. How he would stand across the room, drinking in the way she looked, so that he could take out the memory later and savor it. Least of all would he tell James of the emptiness that dwelt deep inside him, a hollow space that neither duty nor brandy nor even the soft, warm body of an occasional mistress could fill.

“There.” Molly settled the decorative pin in her mistress’s curls and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There won’t be a lady there who can hold a candle to you, Miss Abby.”

“Thanks to you.” Abby smiled into the mirror at her maid. Molly was not what anyone would consider a proper lady’s maid. She had been Abigail’s nurse as a child and had simply grown into the role as Abigail got older. Though Molly had proved to have a surprisingly adept hand at creating coiffures, she often seemed as much mother as employee to Abigail, readily scolding or cosseting or giving Abigail the benefit of her advice.

“Och, without that bonny face of yours, wouldn’t anyone notice the way your hair’s arranged.” Her voice carried a faint trace of her Scottish ancestry. “What jewels will you be wearing tonight, then?” She eyed the delicate dragonfly of diamonds and silver wire that she had just secured in Abigail’s dark hair. “Diamonds?”