haven’t met her, but—” Andrew paused.
“But what?” Chandler was forced to ask, knowing that his friend wouldn’t quit the subject until he did.
“After I noticed that you couldn’t keep your eyes off her, I made an inquiry for you.”
“For me?”
“Did I not just say that?” He grinned playfully. “I dare say you’d be damned perturbed at me right now if I’d asked about her for myself. Right?”
Chandler frowned and turned to his friend. “Surely, I wasn’t being that transparent?”
“Only to me. I know you so well.”
“Obviously, too well,” Chandler grumbled under his breath while throwing a sly glance toward his friend. “Or perhaps, after all these years, I’m losing my touch.”
“Let’s pray it’s not that. Possibly for the first time in your life you are actually interested in a lady of quality rather than a dutiful mistress.”
“It would be a damn nuisance if that were true, wouldn’t it?” Chandler said.
“Damn nuisance, indeed.”
“But it’s nice to know I have a friend like you who is looking out for me, just in case I decide to turn from my wicked ways.”
“You know you can depend on me, Dunraven. I’ve always been there for you, always will.”
“That is a comfort, Andrew.”
“I find that I’m looking the ladies over more carefully this Season, too.”
Chandler’s eyes strayed to the dance floor. “I believe you mentioned that.”
“I passed thirty this year, you know. I guess it’s time to think about setting up a nursery. I wouldn’t want to pass the title on to my brother’s little hellion. My father would rise up out of his grave in objection.”
Chandler smiled and nodded a greeting to a gentleman who passed by. “Your nephew is still a babe, isn’t he?”
“Four, I think.”
“He’ll grow out of his fits of ill-temper.”
“God help us all if he doesn’t. I’m told by his father that no one can bear to be in the same room with the child but his mother.”
“There is plenty of time for you to have an heir.”
Andrew was shorter and slimmer than Chandler and his medium brown hair had started thinning on top. Recently Chandler had noticed that his friend’s middle was getting pudgy, too, but he’d thought better of teasing him about it. Maybe Chandler should suggest they get back into fencing and riding like the devil was after them. None of them were as active as they used to be. It was as if a change had taken place over the past year or two without either of them realizing it.
“Tell me, Andrew, has any of this year’s bevy of young ladies caught your eye?”
“They’ve all caught my attention at one time or another, Dunraven.”
“Of course. You’ve now looked them all over carefully and narrowed the list, I presume?”
“Exactly.” Andrew nodded and asked, “What do you think of Miss Bardwell?”
“Truthfully?”
A rueful smile lifted the corners of his lips and he sniffed quietly. “We don’t know any other way to be with each other, do we, Dunraven?”
“I think not,” Chandler said, but silently wondered.
That used to be so, but Chandler knew it wasn’t anymore, at least for him. Recently, he was keeping things from his friends. He was becoming more evasive and private about his personal thoughts and life. He’d lost the desire to be with them day and night laughing, talking, drinking, and gaming.
“Well, what do you think of Miss Bardwell?” Andrew asked again.
Chandler hesitated before saying, “Since you asked for honesty, I think her father’s purse is bigger than her heart, and a January day would be warmer than her bed.”
Andrew laughed. “It’s no wonder we have gotten along so well together these past years. We think so much alike. She does remind one of a cold cod with her pale complexion, light blue eyes, and blond hair. You know, according to the tittle-tattle, she’s determined to capture one of us this Season.”
“Be my guest,” Chandler said, knowing it best not to make a further comment about the young lady. Andrew could be seriously considering her for a match. “And tell me, since when do you know what the gossips say?”
“I read them from time to time just to see if they still think I’m worth writing about, and so do you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“I read them in hopes there will come a day I won’t find my name printed there.”
“The day they stop writing about us will be when we’re dead or married, and I’m sure they don’t care which comes first. Better they talk about us than forget about us. They were