Now, Richard swung his head so he could look directly at Harry. He squinted to focus his eyes. He’d known his friend for so long, he couldn’t even recall the day they met. His own mother, the Dowager, had enjoyed a close friendship with Amelia and Mary Ann Petraford. When the three ladies married, not a year apart from one another, they naturally maintained their bond.
That meant, during the summer months, the Duke and Duchess of Braxton would take Richard to Pearl House. Harry, his mother, and his father all lived in one of the cottages on the property, so that meant the three children grew up playing in the river, digging for freshwater mussel pearls.
“Richard—” Harry tapped his fingers on the heel of his boot impatiently. “Are you still listening to me, or have you fallen asleep?” While thinking over their shared history, Richard allowed his eyes to close, but now, painstakingly, he opened them once more.
“I am listening,” he mumbled, even though he had no idea if Harry had just said something important, and he’d missed it. He did his best to scoot himself upward, so while his lower body still lay flat on the bed, he was propped up on his elbows. “Just tell me one more time…ah…whatever it was you just said.”
“Sure,” Harry shrugged good-naturedly as that was his way. And that was the thing about Harry Hudson—he never let anything bother him. Even now, with his friend slobbering all over the pristine white and scarlet bedding, Harry sat relaxed, simply soaking in the scene. He leaned back a little in his chair but not far enough to make it seem as though he were disengaged. His face, which Richard knew most women considered handsome, was set in an amused fashion, but he was not openly laughing at Richard’s struggles. “I was just urging you to come outside and socialize with the guests.”
Richard grumbled, “I am afraid I am much too busy with work.”
“Work?” Harry scoffed, sitting forward in his chair, and making a show of looking about the chamber, scouting about for any sign that Richard had been planning to do work there. He stood then, his movements still casual and relaxed, and he began to pace about the chamber. First, he stopped by the desk. “I don’t see any documents that need your attention here.” He riffled through a stack of pages then set them down once more on the desk.
Richard cringed. “Please,” he croaked which made Harry laugh heartily.
“What? Did I forget to put the pages back in the right order or…” and now he gasped dramatically, obviously mocking Richard, “did I not place the pages at the correct angle?”
Using every ounce of energy he could muster, Richard rolled onto his side, pushed himself up to a standing position, and walked toward Harry and the desk. “You know I like to keep my things nice and tidy.”
“I do,” Harry said, his eyes widening innocently as he nodded his head in mock seriousness. “And that’s why I would never endeavor to make a mess of your things.” Then, he reached forward and plucked three pages from the pile. As if he were shuffling a deck of cards, he placed the pieces of parchment back in the stack. “Oops…sorry.”
Richard growled. “Are you just being more annoying than usual, or am I really that drunk?”
“Perhaps a little of both,” Harry replied, giving Richard one of his roguish smiles. “But now that we’ve got you on your feet, the best thing to do is make you presentable and usher you downstairs and outside as quickly as possible.”
“Must we?”
Harry’s left eyebrow twitched upward, and he gave Richard a quizzical stare. “Is something going on here that you are not telling me?”
Richard could not hold Harry’s gaze for long as he was sure his friend would be able to read his mood just by looking into his eyes, so he dropped his head and stared at the red and white carpet once more.
“Nothing’s going on—” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I am perfectly fine.”
Harry laughed in a crisp barking way. “You are going to have to do better than that if you want to convince your guests.” He put both hands on Richard’s shoulders. “Come on, now. Chin up. Eyes level…yes, that’s it,” he said as he coached Richard on his posture. “Now, repeat after me: I am simply delighted to be marrying the woman of my dreams.”
Reflexively, Richard’s lip curled in distaste, and as his head was beginning to clear a little, he knew that he’d just made a mistake. He quickly sucked his lips against his teeth, trying to hide the expression that had popped into place, but he couldn’t keep anything from Harry, especially as they were standing so closely to one another.
“Isthatthe problem? You don’t want to get married?”
“It’s not that,” Richard replied quickly. He tapped his front pocket where he’d nestled his list earlier while in the library. “Idowant to get married.”
“That’s a bit closer—” Harry said, tipping his head to the side as if he was thoughtfully digesting Richard’s words. “Let’s try it again though. This time, put the stress on the words ‘I do.’”
Now, when the grimace popped onto Richard’s face, he didn’t even try to hide it. Instead, he reached for his list, took it from his pocket, and unfolded it so he could share it with Harry. “You see?” he said, pointing to the notation about getting married. “I’ve found a wife, and now I am going to marry her.”
“Yes,” Harry returned with sarcasm lacing both his tone and his expression. “I see how you’ve put a check mark next to it and everything. How very studious of you, Your Grace.”
“Idowant to get married,” Richard said, trying as Harry had instructed to make his words sound more determined.
Harry snickered. “While the sentiment is right, I think you need to infuse it with some zest…a little verve so that your guests will not only believe you, but they won’t think Miss Loery has shackled your wrists and made her father force you down the aisle.”
“I am trying…” Richard returned, unable to keep the petulant quality out of his voice, “but this is really hard.”
Now, Harry laughed in earnest, but his mirthful interlude was cut short. All at once, he pulled himself upright and clapped a hand once more on Richard’s shoulder. “It wouldn’t be so hard if it was actually something you wanted to do.” Richard waved the list in his friend’s face.
“Itissomething I want to do.”
“No,” Harry replied, “those items on the list are things you told yourself when you were three-and-ten that you wanted to achieve. But now, you are an eight-and-twenty-year-old man. You are the Duke of Braxton. You’ve done everything in this world you set out to do, but now…if you don’t want to marry Miss Loery, you needn’t push yourself into this marriage.”