In fact, his friend truly did look as if he was being led to the executioners to dance the jig at Tyburn. He had to marry.
But James? He would tower alone, unfettered, uncompromised, and free of the responsibility of ensuring another human’s happiness.
Blackbrook leveled him with a hard stare. “You already found Lou’s husband. And I don’t think I could tolerate the idea of your arranging what happens in my bedsheets.”
James choked on a laugh. “Now, you needn’t put it like that.”
“Good God, man, have you nothing better to do? Haven’t you a country to run?” Blackbrook asked.
“Indeed, I have,” he agreed, waving to one of the porters to bring him a glass of champagne. He enjoyed brandy, but he preferred to save that for the evenings. The bubbly, bright liquor of a well-made wine was ideal for late afternoon.
Within moments, a silver-haired porter brought over a full bottle, uncorked and chilled. Deftly, he poured it out into a flute.
James took it and downed it in one go. One needed a bit of a brightener when one’s friend looked as if they were already getting close to three sheets to the wind.
He took the bottle from the porter and poured himself another glass, then gestured for the servant to depart. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to a ball this evening to help your sister find a match?”
Blackbrook wiped a hand over his face. “Don’t remind me. Jacqueline has been in a tempest over this for weeks. She’s always loathed the idea of getting married. Poor girl. I loathe the idea of it for her. She’s going to make a terribletonwife.”
James was on dangerous ground. Perhaps he should tell his friend exactly what had occurred the night before. But he also liked the idea of living, and so he did not.
“Well, perhaps she doesn’t need a society husband,” he offered.
“Are you suggesting she marries a farmer?” Blackbrook scoffed.
“Would it make her happy?” James asked honestly.
“Only if the farmer had thousands and thousands of pounds.” Blackbrook shook his head. “No, every one of us must marry like ducks in a row. As soon as Geoff reaches his majority and as soon as Agatha is out of the schoolroom… Bloody hell, how did it come to this!?”
James nodded his sympathy. He truly felt sorry for his friend’s unfortunate and surprising circumstance. The old marquess had not been a bad man. He had just been truly misguided, and then to die so suddenly, well, it had left the entire family at a complete loss.
His own father had been a challenge. Mercurial was the word, if one was being kind. The old duke had been a difficult person, a surprise to both himself and his mother more often than not, and not in a pleasant way.
He’d not always been so…unpredictable. It had grown and grown until it had overwhelmed him and then nearly ruined those close to him.
James would not say that he was glad his father was dead now. But the wordrelieveddid come to mind.
At least his mother was no longer tormented and able to live her life without constantly worrying what subject matter would be in the news sheets. And she didn’t have to lift her head bravely and be just as wild as her husband to show the world she was not completely overcome.
There was only one thing for it. He could never allow his dear friend to make a terrible match. He’d organize it, as he did most things, and then all would be well.
A bad marriage was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. It meant a lifetime of misery for all involved, including the children. Perhaps especially the children.
He took a deep drink of his champagne, savoring the brisk notes, and eyed the empty fireplace. It was already quite warm. Surprising for the early summer months. London did not often get terribly hot, not until September. But it was definitely warm enough this June that he wished he did not need to bother with a cravat. But society had its dictates for gentlemen, too.
Still, he was rather glad that the fashions had swung away from thick, heavily embroidered brocades. He was damned glad he could get away with a linen shirt with a matching waistcoat, a simple black cutaway coat, and fawn breeches.
His friend appeared the same. But one of his cuffs showed a touch of wear. A moment of negligence? Or a sign his friend couldn’t pay his tailor?
And from the way he was surreptitiously looking at the porters and the porters were looking at him, James wondered if Blackbrook was concerned about being able to continue on at their club.
The fees were not insubstantial.
Of course he could.
Blackbrook’s name was ancient.
There was no way the club would cast him out unless he did something truly deplorable. And he could not imagine Blackbrook doing anything of the sort, at least not at this moment.