Chapter 6
It was a relief when the parlour finally emptied. Though Miss Skeffington seemed to have departed at least an hour before, Thomas had still found himself on edge, unable to admit to himself that it was because he was aware that she still presided somewhere within the house.
What does that matter to me?he asked himself before quickly trying to push all thoughts of Miss Skeffington from his mind entirely. Though his conversation with her had ended hours ago, Thomas found that he was still flustered, still able to see her face whenever he closed his eyes.
"Are you well, Thomas?" Owen asked even as Thomas moved across the parlour where he had been keeping to himself, awaiting his friend's attention.
"Quite well now that the charade is at an end," Thomas responded, gesturing with a wave in the direction of the parlour door where the butler had just disappeared to ensure all was well with their guests at the lord of the manor's request.
"Yes, my wife does have a love for charades." Owen sighed and Thomas watched him swirling the brown liquor in his crystal glass at the end of the armchair, watching how the light from the fireplace danced within the liquid. "Do sit down, Tom, you're making the place look untidy."
After Miss Skeffington's announcement on why they had really all been invited to Kendall Hall, Thomas was less than eager to drop down onto a seat with his old friend and find himself questioned at length about his time with the woman, and so he took a moment to cross the room to the drinks table, asking over his shoulder, "Would you like another tipple?"
Owen shook his head and gestured to the door, hiccupping slightly as though he had had quite enough to drink before he said, "If you wait, the butler will pour you something."
"I am quite capable of tipping my own bottle," Thomas pointed out to his friend, rolling his eyes though he stood behind the Viscount now and was aware he could not see him. "There was a time when you would have poured your own too. Neither of us had any problem pouring liquor during our days at Oxford."
"Do not roll your eyes at me, Lord Warrington!" Owen snapped and even though Thomas could not see his friend's face, he was certain that he would be scowling. After being surrounded by people he could fool all evening, Thomas had forgotten that Owen knew him well enough to know his facial expression merely by the tone of his voice.
"You have changed, friend," Thomas said. Having poured himself a glass of whisky, Thomas crossed the room once more and slapped a hand upon his friend's shoulder, "Marriage has changed you."
"For the better, I hope," Owen stated, glancing up over his shoulder at Thomas as though this time he needed to see the earl's expression to know what he was thinking.
"I think it has certainly mellowed you out, though I do believe I shall need the rest of the week to decide as to whether it is for the better or not," Thomas responded, dropping down onto the couch opposite of Owen and swinging one leg up to lay it on the seat so that the sole of his boot was just shy of the edge.
"Do not let Lady Kendall see you reclining so." Owen chuckled though Thomas could tell from the tone of his voice that he was merely jesting after the comment he had just made.
"Your wife may have you by the balls, Owen, but she will not have mine also," Thomas insisted, hoping to also make a point, rather discreetly, that he would not be dragged into whatever shenanigans his wife was conjuring up. He eyed his friend, willing him to take notice of the barely veiled protest.
"Really? I think you would quite like it if you were to just give it a try," Owen responded, offering Thomas a sly smile and a glimpse of the young man he had been before he tied the knot. Back in the day they had drunk and gambled and whored their way through London, balancing upon the precarious line of propriety so that they would not anger their fathers.
Now all had changed, and they sat in their fathers' places. Thomas could not help but think that Owen seemed to have it far more together than he himself did.
"How do you do it, Owen?" Thomas asked, though he spoke beneath his breath, not really meaning for his old friend to hear. He could feel the weight of his father's reputation pressing down on his shoulders, threatening to topple him at any moment.
He was almost certain that the older and more experienced noblemen would be able to see it on his face or even smell it about his person, his fear of failure, his concern that he would not match up to his late father. And yet, here was Owen, seemingly without a care in the world.
"How do I do what?" Owen asked, opening one eye from where he had been leaning his head back against the top of the armchair, looking for all intents and purposes as though he had fallen to sleep. Again, he swirled his drink before taking a deep swig as he awaited Thomas' answer.
"How do you make it all look so easy?" Thomas asked, knowing that he could never admit his fears or his failures to anyone but the man who had been his best friend since their early years. This man had lied for him on more than one occasion, even taking the blame upon his own shoulders when their fathers learned of their antics, knowing that Thomas' father had always been much more scolding than his own.
Where the late Viscount had been determined that boys would be boys, Thomas' own father had been adamant that boys ought to become men rather quickly, especially when they were placed in positions of power such as their own.
Thomas sighed deeply now, wishing he had taken his father's reprimands more seriously, had taken on board all the knowledge he had wished to bestow upon him.Maybe I would not feel so lost now if I had paid more attention when he was here,Thomas thought begrudging, a spear of grief slicing his heart for only a moment before he cleared his throat and forced it away.
"You appear to be thriving as Viscount," Thomas said, hoping that his friend would not fear the uncertainty in his voice, "How do you make it look so easy?"
Owen had closed his eyes once more, seemingly having given up on waiting for Thomas' response, but when he opened his eyes again, he looked Thomas dead in the eye and responded, "Having someone to share in the burden certainly helps."
Thomas' stomach clenched at his friend's words. Though he could see sincerity in the Viscount's gaze, he could not help but feel as though perhaps he was merely saying the words because of his wife's agenda.
"Owen, why did you truly invite me here this week?" Thomas blurted the question, unable to stop himself. He had to know the truth. He would not be able to rest until he was certain that his closest friend found this entire charade as ludicrous as he did.
Owen scowled at him deeply, giving such an expression that Thomas could have no doubt as to his friend's motives, even before he stated, "I invited you here to keep me sane. I invited you to drink and eat and play and hunt."
He glared at Thomas as he spoke almost as if he was challenging the earl to accuse him of lying. Thomas tried his hardest to try and see through his friend's facade, tried to be sure that he was telling the truth. And the truth was that deep down, Thomas knew he could trust Thomas.
It is Nancy that I cannot trust,he told himself, remembering how his father had always warned him not to fall for a pretty face and although Nancy was Owen's wife, Thomas could at least admit that she was fair upon the eye.