“And just how did you meet this woman with storytelling eyes?”
“I can hear the condescension in your tone, but I’m choosing to ignore it,” said Oliver, making the corners of Carver’s mouth twitch up. “I met her at an informal ball the other night. The poor girl was driven to distraction.” Sensitive females never failed to annoy Carver. But they seemed to be just Oliver’s type.
“She snuck out of her uncle’s house to attend a card party a few nights before the ball,” said Oliver. “There were a few high flyers at the table that took advantage of the fact that she was a green girl and—well…she lost a good bit of money.”
Carver lifted his chin for Brandon to begin arranging the cravat around his neck. “She told you all of this in the ballroom?”
“Of course not.” Oliver leaned back in his seat again. “She told me outside of the ballroom in the gardens where I found her crying.” Oh, yes. A much better place to share personal information with a stranger. “Kitty—that’s her name—didn’t have enough pin money to cover the debts she had accumulated, and she was worried that her uncle—who is something of a brute apparently—would send her to work at a girl’s school if he found out about her misstep.”
“How dreadful for our poor Kitty,” said Carver while stepping into one of his boots.
Oliver leveled him a glare. “I know you think this is funny, but you should have seen the poor beauty. She couldn’t even enjoy the ball because she was terrified it would be her last.”
Never having to attend another ball actually sounded rather nice. But he and Oliver were different in that way. They were both tall and broad and generally considered good looking, but Oliver enjoyed spinning ladies around the ballroom whereas Carver much preferred Cribb’s Parlor and bare-knuckle fighting until at least some part of him was bleeding.
“Very well, I can see why you felt compelled to help her. How much did the girl set you back?”
There was a long pause before Oliver finally responded with, “Five hundred pounds.”
Carver’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Kitty’s eyes must tell some fantastic stories.”
Oliver ignored his barb and stood up. “I know it’s a lot. But believe me, she’s worth it. She’s going to Bath for the month to visit a friend, but I plan on offering for her the moment she returns.”
“After only spending one evening together?” asked Carver.
“One evening is all I needed to see that she’s perfect for me in every way.”
Again, Carver suppressed a groan.
If he thought for one moment that Oliver would ever end up actually going through with offering for the girl, he would have lectured him on the dangers of proposing to a woman he hardly knew. But it was Oliver. The man had been in love more times than Carver could keep track of. But th
ey never lasted. Eventually, Oliver would come to his senses and begin the pursuit of some other pretty female.
“Well then, I wish you happy,” Carver said untruthfully while assessing his newly tied cravat and slate blue jacket in the mirror.
As one who belonged to the sporting corinthian set, dark blue was possibly the most extravagant color that he would ever allow his valet to dress him in. Poor Brandon. The man insisted that Carver had the shoulders and calves of a Greek god and should allow himself to be dressed as such. But since dressing the part of a mythological deity apparently consisted of flamboyant colors, skin-tight pantaloons, and a dozen glittering fobs, Carver chose to continue his look of a mere mortal.
“You’re leaving for Dalton Park today, are you not?” asked Oliver, steering the conversion in a direction that Carver wasn’t sure he wanted it to go.
“I am. And you leave for your hunting trip today?” Were other friends so in tune with each other’s schedules as he and Oliver were?
“Just as soon as I leave here. Will you be alright going home without me?” Oliver said with a twisted smile.
“As remarkable as it sounds, I believe I’ll manage.”
“Will you, though?” Disheartening that he felt the need to ask again.
“Yes, believe it or not, darling, I am fairly sufficient on my own.”
Oliver did not even register the sardonic pet name Carver called him. His face grew more serious. “What I meant was, will you be alright traveling to Dalton Park without me? I know you haven’t been able to make the journey since—,”
Carver cut him off. “I’ll be fine, Oliver.” But really he wasn’t sure himself.
Would he actually make it all the way home this year without turning back after reaching the halfway point? He would not even be going if it wasn’t for the ball his mother was throwing in honor of his father’s birthday. And he couldn’t avoid the place forever, could he? Probably not, considering he was to inherit it one day. No, he needed to go home. He just wished the memories didn’t live there along with his family.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you? I was already planning on attending the ball, but if you need me to travel with you I can cancel my hunting trip.”
Carver chuckled, hoping that if he seemed light-hearted and unaffected, Oliver would drop the subject. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ve already hired a nursemaid to hold my hand in your absence.”