“What a horrid person you are, then.”
Townsend couldn’t deny it, even though Wescott’s words were rude.
“You were never like that before,” Wescott said. “You were the steadiest of all of us, except maybe August. You believed in honor and wisdom and doing the right thing.”
“I still do.”
“No, you don’t, because you have a charming, loving wife who idolizes you, and instead of returning that love, you’re pining over my wife.”
It was the plain truth, even though Townsend hated it. Wescott followed up his scathing lecture with a tight laugh.
“And for the record, my friend, Ophelia is not the idyll of perfect femininity you’ve built in your mind. She can be moody and headstrong, and sometimes has terrible taste in the colors of her gowns. She likes boiled Brussels sprouts, which I detest, and she’s constantly begging to visit my crazy relatives in Wales.” He shrugged, more fondness in his expression than irritation. “Ophelia’s imperfect, just like your naturalist Jane, but I still love her because she loves me, and we are there for each other every hour of every day. It’s a wonderful feeling to love someone when that love is returned.”
Townsend knew the wisdom of these words. Ophelia, imperfect? Of course she was, like any woman. He still wished he’d had a chance to explore his feelings for her. He said so to Wescott, who replied, simply, “My friend, that is water under the bridge.”
They stopped walking. Wescott faced him and offered a handshake of reconciliation.
“Look, Towns, I can only tell you how sorry I am that things worked out the way they did. I miss your friendship and I want you to forgive me. It’s time for all of us to move on.”
Townsend hesitated only a moment before extending his hand in kind. “I’m sorry as well. I had no more right to Ophelia’s love than you did. I suppose it’s time to put all this behind us, for our wives’ sakes as well.”
The men shook firmly, their gazes holding without rancor for the first time in a while.
“And our friendship’s sake,” said Wescott wryly. “August and Marlow have been at me to the point of distraction, wishing for us to fix our differences.”
“Me too. They meddle like old women.”
Having shaken on things, Townsend felt an ease he hadn’t enjoyed in many months. They turned back toward their wives, who were strolling from the opposite direction on their friends’ arms.
“Are we at peace again?” Marlow asked as they joined them.
“I can see it in your faces.” August nodded in approval. “You don’t look like you want to kill one another anymore.”
“For the moment, we’re at peace,” said Wescott.
“For the moment,” Townsend echoed. As close as they were from earliest childhood, they’d had their share of petty disagreements and probably always would. He took Jane back from August and they bid goodbye to their friends.
“Did you enjoy your stroll with Lord Augustine?” he asked as they walked back toward their home.
She laughed. “Both your friends are charming as can be. Lady Wescott and I could barely catch our breath from laughing.”
“Indeed, they’re both buffoons.”
“It was good, wasn’t it, for you and Lord Wescott to mend fences before Felicity and her husband arrive?”
“Of course it was. We could not stay enemies forever.”
“Sometimes you have to forgive. And now that June’s so happily married to Lord Braxton, much of the sting of Wescott’s disloyalty is gone.” She studied him with a regrettable level of instinct. “Or was there more between you than June’s jilting?”
He shrugged, playing off his deeper feelings. “There was some question whether he behaved honorably toward Lady Wescott amidst the whole debacle. I’d rather not discuss it, for her privacy.”
“I see. I don’t know anything about that.”
Nor do I wish to tell you more about it, he thought. As Wescott said, it was all water under the bridge, and the most honorable thing to do—in both their cases—was to move on and make the most of their marriages as they were.
“Shall we play cards tonight after dinner?” he asked.
“Yes. I want to get better at my gambling before your sister and her prince arrive.”
“Your gambling? My dear, bezique is hardly gambling, and at my parents’ parties they always play whist.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, I’m very good at whist already. Do you think my nieces and nephews will like me? I haven’t any yet, except for the ones in your family.”
“They’ll adore you,” he assured her. “Once they’ve settled in, you’ll have to invite them over to meet Mr. Cuddles and Bouncer. They’ll consider you the best, most interesting aunt of all time.”
This idea seemed to please her greatly. Sweet Jane, whose dearest hope was to please others…and become good at gambling.
“We’ll play for bonbons rather than points,” he suggested. “I fear if we play for money, you’ll bankrupt me.”