My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (8 page)

“Eh!” the bartender bellowed as he stood. “Dinnot insult my inn! These here surroundings may be humble, but the ale flows jest the same out of these here kegs as it does the fancy gentlemen’s clubs those fops in London frequent.”

“Here, here!” A jovial roar resounded from the small group of men who had been surrounding Harthorne.

Colin crossed his arms over his chest as he studied the barkeep. He was a large man, with a thick reddish brown beard and dark searching eyes, but the smile that crinkled his eyes and twitched at his lips showed his humor. Colin relaxed his stance. “Since I’m one of those fops who frequent the fancy gentlemen’s clubs in London,” Colin called across the small room, “I’ll take a mug of ale and let you know if it satisfies my thirst as well as the whiskey at White’s does.”

The bartender tossed the white rag he’d been drying the glasses with over his shoulder and laughed, a low rumble that built in volume. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr.…?”

“He’s no mister.!” Harthorne bellowed. “He is Aversley.”

Colin raised an eyebrow, only now realizing by the swirl of Harthorne’s words that the man was foxed, an unprecedented state for him. As Harthorne swayed dangerously on the wooden barrel, causing it to rock back and forth with a creak, Colin stepped nearer to steady him, only to have Harthorne wave him away. “I’m in absolutely no danger of falling, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace, eh?” a deep voice came from behind Colin’s back at the same moment a mug of ale was thrust in front of his face. “I should’ve known ye ’twas a real gentleman by yer fancy clothes. We dinnot get many of your kind in here, ’cept Lord Harthorne. But he bade us long ago not to treat him as a better.”

Colin met the bartender’s friendly dark gaze, eye to eye, an unusual occurrence since he was normally a good deal taller than most people. To his surprise, the bartender thudded him on the back. “How shall we treat ye in yer time here with us? Like one of us or one of them?”

“One of you, most definitely,” Colin said, glad to shed his identity so completely for a while. He understood perfectly why Harthorne came to this damp, disgusting pub, as Harthorne’s mother had put it in a tight voice earlier. Here, his friend could likely forget who he was and all the responsibilities and problems that went with it for a while in this cozy, candlelit, albeit dusty, room.

“Then raise yer mug to yer friend. He’s had a hard day with likely more hard days to come by the way he’s handlin’ it.”

As Colin raised his mug, he studied his longtime friend. Harthorne had appeared happy initially, but that was from a distance and with the shadows somewhat masking his features. Closer now, the dark circles under his eyes were visible, as well as his rumpled appearance and the reddish stubble covering his chin and cheeks that showed the normally fastidious Harthorne had not shaved. Colin held his silence, waiting for Harthorne to speak and give a clue.

“I thank you for your kind words, McNair,” Harthorne mumbled, offered a leg, and tipped right off the barrel as he did so.

Colin lunged for him at the same time the barkeep did. Together, they caught Harthorne on either side and hauled him upright before he landed on his backside. Harthorne rolled his head to the side and with one eye open and one eye squeezed shut gazed at Colin. “I’m glad to see you.”

The stench of liquor on his breath reminded Colin of the way his mother used to smell in the mornings before she took to sleeping in until two or three in the afternoon. Colin leaned back enough to breathe fresh air. “It’s good to see you, as well.”

Harthorne switched which eye was open and which was shut while frowning at Colin. “I see two of you. How many of me do you see?”

Colin met the barkeep’s stare behind Harthorne’s back.
Woman trouble
the barkeep mouthed. Colin nodded. Woman trouble could be a very good thing in deed if it meant his friend was not going to marry the conniving Lady Mary. “I see only one of you,” Colin finally replied. When Harthorne didn’t respond, Colin asked, “Shall we sit and talk?”

“Splendid idea,” he said on a hiccup. “This room is spinning. Need to steady myself.”

With McNair’s help, Colin got Harthorne situated in a wooden seat at the nearest table. The barkeep rapped his knuckles on the chipped wood. “I’ll leave you two to your private conversation.”

Colin nodded and then thought of the ale. “One moment, please.”

McNair raised his eyebrow. “Aye?”

“I need to sample your ale first.” Colin turned the tankard up as the man steadily watched him. The ale had a bitter taste that made Colin want to spit it out. Instead, he drank down every drop, swiped his hand across his mouth, and held out his tankard to McNair. “Excellent. I’ll take one more.” That should be enough to make the barkeep think Colin truly loved it. He did not want to wound the man’s pride.

The man laughed, his chest heaving with the force of it. “Yer an excellent liar, except for yer nostrils did flare a wee bit when ye drank the ale. ’Tis all right, Aversley. I would’na expect a gentleman like ye to appreciate hearty Scottish ale.”

“Bring me two more tankards,” Colin replied in a steady voice. “And I’ll show you just how tender I am.”

Both of McNair’s eyebrows quirked high on his forehead. “Ye just might have some Scottish in ye. We Scots are famous for never turnin’ away from a challenge.”

“My mother is Scottish,” Colin replied, feeling odd speaking about his mother. He never talked of her to anyone, but it seemed a safe enough topic here among people who didn’t know her, except for Harthorne. And he trusted Harthorne with his life.

“Aye.” McNair nodded. “I see the Scottish in ye, now that I look close into yer eyes. There’s a wee bit of a devil twinklin’ back at me. We Scots always have a tad of a streak that we have to keep constrained.”

Colin furrowed his brow. That sounded like his current problem. He’d let the devil in him loose, and it was time to tame him. “Ever seen a Scot or part Scot who didn’t keep his devil constrained?”

“Oh aye. Seen plenty. Makes a man jaded and miserable.”

“Any cure?”

McNair grinned. “Ale. Or the love of a good woman.”

Colin snorted. “I don’t believe in good women.”

“That be yer devil talkin’. ’Til ye come to yer senses, I’ll bring ye three more tankards, and if ye still be standin’ after the third, yer drinks are on the house any time ye be here. Ye keen?”

“Indeed, I do.”

As McNair walked away, Colin realized he’d not heard a word out of Harthorne. He glanced across the table and chuckled. His friend still sat in his chair, but his head was tilted back, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open with a line of spittle running down the side of his cheek.

“Wake up, man,” Colin snapped, rapping on the table.

Jerking his head up, Harthorne gaped at him. “I’m terribly sorry, Aversley. Was I out long?”

“Not long. I must say I was surprised to find you standing on a barrel, singing, and having imbibed so heartily.”

“Now see here,” Harthorne slurred, his face coloring a deep red.

Colin held up his hand. “You misunderstand me. I’m not judging at all. Just surprised. Care to tell me what the trouble with Lady Mary is?”

Harthorne’s shoulders sagged. “The trouble is me. I’m poor. And I told her the truth.”

Colin tensed. Women and their black hearts. They cared more for money than love and more for pleasure than fidelity. They were all the same, every damned one of them. “I take it the plan to turn the estate around has not gone accordingly.”

“It’s going as I hoped but too slowly. The creditors are hounding me, and I don’t yet have the blunt to repay everyone.” Harthorne plopped his head against his crossed forearms. “I know I can make the estate profitable again”―his words were muffled in his prone position―“given enough time, but time seems to be the very thing I’m running out of.” He rolled his head sideways and looked at Colin with one eye open. “Mary started talking about redecorating the house here and in London once we were married, but I sold the house in London. It was the only property I had that wasn’t entailed. When I told her the state of my affairs, how tight things would be for a while, she told me in no uncertain terms that she would not marry me.”

There were no less than a thousand scathing comments Colin could make about Lady Mary, but Harthorne likely would not want to hear any of them now. Tomorrow was soon enough to point out the merits of avoiding marriage, especially to a known lightskirt. McNair appeared at the side of the table bearing a metal tray teeming with six pewter mugs. He eyed Harthorne, raised an eyebrow at Colin, and then tilted his head toward the mugs. Normally, Colin was not one to encourage someone to imbibe to excess but tonight was an exception. Harthorne deserved to forget his heartbreak for a time.

Colin nodded and gestured for McNair to put the mugs on the table. Once the tankards were settled and McNair started to turn away, Colin grabbed the bartender by the forearm. The man turned back, his brow creased. “Did I forget something ye need?”

“You forgot the challenge. Don’t you need to drink with us to ensure I consume all three mugs myself?”

“Wha’s that you say?” Harthorne slurred, raising his head and staring, with bloodshot eyes, at both men.

McNair pulled out a stool. “Yer friend here thinks he can drink three of my best tankards of ale and remain standing.”

At this pronouncement, Harthorne raised himself upright and propped his chin against his left hand. With the other hand, he grasped a tankard and slid it, liquid sloshing over the side, close to his chest. “Then I shall drink a tankard with you, Aversley. After all, what are friends for?”

“Indeed,” Colin agreed, supremely glad to see a lopsided smile on Harthorne’s face. Tomorrow morning would undoubtedly bring regrets for drinking the bitter brew, but helping Harthorne forget his woes tonight was worth it.

McNair was the first to raise his tankard. “Ta keeping the wee devil in us all constrained.”

“To capturing the love of a good woman,” Harthorne added.

Colin rolled his eyes. Helping Harthorne to accept the reality of women was not going to be easy. The man was too much a romantic. Time to plant the first seed of truth. Colin lifted his tankard toward the others while catching McNair’s gaze. “To Scottish ale. The far wiser choice to tame a man’s demons than a beautiful yet volatile woman.”

Amelia pressed her nose against the glass pane to get a better look at the magnificent ducal carriage ambling up the drive. The dark night made it impossible to properly distinguish the details, nevertheless, she squinted, trying to do just that. Botheration. She could not make out much. As the conveyance rolled under one of the burning torches, it cast tall shadows against the stone walls that rose up on either side of the courtyard entrance. The carriage was surely breathtaking and overwhelming in size ―quite like the man who owned it.

“Stop, stop, stop
,” she hissed, mortified that she had not shaken the impression the duke had made on her with nothing more than his looks to recommend him. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He had gone back out into the night after just arriving to get her brother. For that she would be eternally grateful.

Mayhap the Duke of Aversley was just as honorable as Charles. “Impossible,” she muttered. Charles was the finest man she had ever known, besides her father. Never mind she did not really know any other men. As the carriage drew to a stop in front of the estate, Amelia unfolded her legs and slid on her slippers. With a fluttering heart, she raced out of the sunroom toward the library. She could hide behind the door and still hear what the men were saying as they came in. A little niggle of guilt prickled her, but she pushed it away. Better to eavesdrop and position herself to help Philip if he needed it than to remain ignorant. Philip would never admit the depths of his devastation to her or anyone else, for that matter. Other than his best friend.

Amelia scurried down the hall on her tiptoes, darting a glance toward the stairs, half fearing and half hoping to see her mother descending the steps. At the sight of the empty staircase, Amelia sighed, regret and relief filling her chest in an odd tangled up mixture. Clearly, mother had not bothered to stay up as Amelia had to see if Philip returned safely. On the bright side, at least Amelia would not be commanded to return to her room without learning of the precarious state of Philip’s heart. The small comfort didn’t quite make up for the fact that Mother had been acting increasingly withdrawn and uncaring.

Amelia skirted behind the library door just as the front door creaked open and loud jovial singing filled the room. Pressing her nose to the crack between the door and the wall, she stared into the candlelit foyer and could not help but smile. Philip stood―if one could call what he was doing standing―between the duke and his coachman. Her brother looked more like he was hanging like a wet noodle than actually using his legs. His arms were flopped over both men’s shoulders and the men, in turn, each had their hands clasped around Philip’s as if to hold him up.

Despite Philip’s obviously foxed state, she smiled. She knew her brother. He had a tender heart and felt things deeply. No doubt, Lady Mary’s breaking their engagement had wounded him severely. He’d been in a black mood since it had happened this morning, but now he was singing.