“Don’t ask,” Blackbrook drawled, wincing ever so slightly as he reached for his crystal snifter of brandy.
James waggled his brows. “If I don’t ask, how can I know how to assist you?”
“There is no assisting me at present,” Blackbrook ground out. And then continued with surprising melodrama, “My state is doom. The only thing you can do for me is sit, mourn my lost youth, and have a bloody drink, man.”
He only just refrained from stifling a laugh at the rather grand claim. But seeing that Blackbrook meant it, he did indeed keep it to himself.
Was the entire Peabody family at sixes and sevens? It seemed so.
“That I can do,” James replied easily. He threw himself down onto the leather chair across from his friend, adjacent to the mahogany table polished to such a sheen he could see every feature of their visages on it.
The gentlemen’s club off of Pall Mall was abustle with men smoking, drinking, reading news sheets, debating parliament…and the latest ladies on the mart, both the official and the more scandalous.
At present, there was a great deal of news circling about the latest horses to run at New Market as well. Talk of fillies of all kinds filled the air. It was a bit galling the way gentlemen assessed their future mates as they did horses about to run the quarter mile, but they did.
Those fellows? He’d keep them well off his list for Jack.
It was the height of theton’s exclusive season, and several young men, whether they liked to admit it or not, were actually on the hunt for wives themselves. Hence the debate in droll, bored tones about balls, soirees, and routs. They might wish to seem as if they were above such things, but they unequivocally were not.
Oh no, it wasn’t just the ladies who were looking.
The men looked, too, only with a more wary air and a hint of discretion, for they did not wish to seem as if they were eager to be caught. He found it incredibly hypocritical.
Ladies were judged time and time again, especially mothers, for their pursuit of marriage. And yet it was the vital thing which kept the aristocracy in continual power, the formation of lineal allegiances.
Yes, without marriage-minded mamas, they would all be in an utter disaster. Truth be told, he had a surprisingly good deal in common with mamas. Far from disdaining them, he admired them greatly. If they were given the command of armies, Napoleon never would have left Corsica.
With his power and his position, James was able to make marriages happen without all the drama that ladies were restricted to. The fluttering of fans or the swooning of young ladies could be avoided.
His friend Blackbrook, however, did not look as if he was discreetly planning on marrying at present. Even though James knew he’d put his mind to it upon the commencement of the season.
Instead of looking like a man contemplating conjugal bliss, his friend truly looked as if he had been tossed rather forcefully by the tides of fate.
He pounded the table, hoping to shake Blackbrook from his doom and gloom. “Do tell me, man, whatever has gotten you so low. For you do look as low as a puddle.”
“A soot-ridden London puddle,” Blackbrook said, groaning as he sprawled back in his chair, a completely ungentlemanly thing to do even at their club.
Blackbrook grabbed his snifter of brandy, lifted it to his lips, and tossed it back. In one.
It was going to be an interesting night.
Blackbrook’s dark brown hair, a very similar color to his sister’s, was wild about his strong face. He grimaced. “If you must know, I stayed out after the opera far too late last night and a certain lady was involved.” He pulled at his cravat before he admitted, “And I was called out. I narrowly avoided a duel. Instead, fisticuffs arose. And while I have no idea if the other man looks as awful as I do, I have sworn off singers.”
James cocked his head to the side. “I thought you were on the straight and narrow, old boy. Aren’t you seeking a wife?”
“Yes,” Blackbrook agreed, his eyes closing with dread. “I am supposed to be looking for the perfect marchioness to lift us out of impending disaster, but I find it a great deal more difficult than I had anticipated. After all, when one’s father spent the entire amount of one’s inheritance and managed to break the entailed estates funds?” His eyes opened, his gaze full of resignation. “Well, it does make finding a bride rather difficult.”
Before James could stop himself, he blurted, “I’ll take care of it. I’m sure I’ll find the right bride for you.”
Blackbrook gaped at him. “What the devil do you mean you’lltake care of it? You and I agreed we would be bachelors until we were at least forty. I never thought I’d be the first to drop the torch,” he said, cradling his head in his hands.
The truth was, forty or not, James wouldnevermarry. He’d sworn to himself he’d remain a bachelor. A much wiser decision than the completely terrifying prospect of choosing to be a husband, especially when he considered…
No, he couldn’t think about it. If he did, the entire night would descend into melancholy, and then he and Blackbrook would likely call for gin.
And he couldn’t let Jack down.
“You do look rather glum about it,” he replied honestly.