Again, there was silence. This time it felt heavy, and Thomas fought the urge to lift it.
"Do you not wish to be married, Tommy?" Owen asked. It had been many years since Owen had used his childhood nickname and although it caused Thomas to smile, it also made him feel young and stupid again--a feeling he did not relish.
"One day perhaps, but not until I am ready." Thomas shrugged. "I am not entirely opposed."
"Then you ought to hurry before all the fine young women are taken because you do not want to end up the tired old Earl prowling for a bride amongst the young in several years’ time when everyone believes you too old to marry."
Thomas flinched at that, imagining the noblemen who had remained unmarried into their forties and fifties or those who had lost their first wives during childbirth, and he could not help but think how he most definitely did not want to be one of them. Even so, he would not allow his friend to see that his eyes had been opened to the prospect.
"I am sure I shall marry whenIam ready," Thomas insisted, "though if my aunt continues to tell me that she fears she will be dead before she sees me married, I may just have to decide rather quickly."
"Lady Denby is not unwell, is she?" Owen asked, looking quite shocked and Thomas quickly shook his head.
"She is in the finest of health though she often tries to tell me otherwise in the hopes of swaying me to marry so that I would not be alone." Thomas chuckled, rolling his eyes at the fact. His aunt was definitely growing more and more persistent with each passing year. "Though I cannot help but think that being alone after all these years might be a relief."
Owen looked at him with a deep scowl of distaste and shook his head, "I know you do not truly mean that."
"Do I not?" Thomas sighed, knowing deep down that his friend was right even as he said, "My father controlled my life from the moment that I was born. Now that he is gone it would be nice to control it for myself and grow into myself."
Thomas knew he could not have spoken to anyone else in such a manner without them laughing in his face, yet Owen's head bobbed with agreement at his words.
"I understand." Owen sighed and looked into his glass. Seeing that it was almost empty, he pushed himself to his feet and prepared to pour another. "I felt the very same way when I became viscount. Filling our fathers’ shoes is no easy task."
"Then you understand why I do not jump at every morsel thrown to me?" Thomas asked, feeling hopeful. "How can I possibly ask a young lady to join me in life when I do not know where that life is headed?"
“What of Miss Hyatt?” Owen asked, eyebrow raised. “The two of you were quite close the last time I saw you together.”
Thomas stifled a wince at his friend’s comment and shook his head. “It was never anything serious.”
Owen's silent nod of understanding helped to relieve Thomas' anxieties over their current conversation though they did not stop him from worrying about the fact that every chance his mind got, he was thinking of Miss Skeffington. Telling himself it was merely down to her being the only unattached woman in the manor, Thomas tried to force all thoughts of her away.
It would be improper and disrespectful of him to seek her out merely because he desired her, merely because he craved the touch of a woman's flesh. That was all it could possibly be—his lack of romantic interaction in recent days. At least, that's what he allowed himself to believe.