“In that case, I guess it’s good I found you. Any man who has a friend shouldn’t drink alone.”
“That means you’re joining me?”
“Might as well.” Fines sat down in a comfortable wing chair opposite Chandler. “I’ve nothing else to do on this dreary night. It’s raining hard enough to drown the fires of hell.” Fines brushed water droplets from the sleeve of his evening coat.
“Why didn’t you send word you wouldn’t be attending any of the parties tonight and where you would be? I had a devil of a time finding you.”
I wanted to be alone.
“Just because I wasn’t in the mood for dancing and playing the gentleman tonight, I didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s evening.”
“You are in a temper. Since when do friends spoil each other’s evening?”
Recently, Chandler thought, but said nothing.
“We used to be part of a threesome and we rarely see each other anymore. I would have been here earlier, but this is the last blasted place I thought to look for you. You seldom come here. Is anything wrong?” Fines asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you frowning?”
“Maybe for the same reason you are?”
“I’m frowning because I spent the better part of two hours looking for you.”
Chandler managed a light chuckle. “That should have been a clue that there are times a man doesn’t want to be found.”
“I could believe that if you were with a lady but not since you are here at the club.”
“It’s just that I’ve been to parties and balls every night for the past few weeks. I needed a change from smiling, bowing, and dancing.”
“I guess that means you aren’t as interested in that Miss Blair as Andrew led me to believe, for surely you would have wanted to see her tonight.”
Chandler stiffened. He started to tell his friend that he didn’t want them talking about Millicent, but that would only make matters worse, so he simply said, “I’m not interested in Lady Lambsbeth either, in case you’re wondering.”
“No, I was clear on that. You are still worried because the raven hasn’t been found, aren’t you?”
Chandler’s mouth tightened. “Don’t start on that, Fines. I’m in no mood for your badgering on a sore subject.”
“It’s not me, Dunraven.”
Chandler raised an eyebrow of doubt before putting the rim of his glass to his lips.
“Truly. There’s talk on the streets, in the shops, and in the clubs. Everyone at the parties tonight was talking about it.”
“The raven?” Chandler asked incredulously.
“No, no. Not specifically. The Mad Ton Thief. You did hear about the stolen painting that was the size of a large parasol.”
“I heard it was a small.”
“What, the painting or the parasol?”
Chandler grimaced. “What the damnation does it matter, Fines? It’s ridiculous for anyone to think the painting walked out of the house by itself or in the hands of a ghost.”
“Of course it is, but you have to admit the rumor is delicious. Can you imagine anyone actually thinking that the thief is Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, and he is collecting objects for a house he occupies up on the northern coast?”
“Good Lord. Are you serious?”
“That was the topic of conversation at the parties tonight. According to what I heard it’s beginning to be an honor to have something taken by the thief and an affront on the quality of one’s possessions if nothing is stolen.”
And he thought being enchanted by a lovely gossipmonger was absurd!
Chandler shook his head, mystified. “I’m certain the robber is a common footpad who has managed to find a gentleman’s clothing. How do these outrageous ideas get started?”
“It’s called gossip, Dunraven. Ever heard of it?”
“Once too often,” he muttered, then finished off his drink. He nodded to the waiter, who set a glass in front of Fines, to refill his own glass. After the man walked away, Chandler said, “I’m not worried about the raven.”
“Truly?” It was Fines’s turn to raise an eyebrow of doubt.
“When the thief is caught, if the raven is not returned, I will simply have another made.”
“He says as his gut wrenches with guilt over having lost the original, knowing one cannot simply replace an Egyptian artifact.”
Chandler’s eyes narrowed. There was a time when Fines’s mocking comments hadn’t bothered him. He’d rather enjoyed them. Not anymore.
“Sometimes you’re a bastard, Fines,” he said, but with no real anger in his tone.
Fines laughed. “Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time. But I’m always a friend, Dunraven. Never have fear on that account.”
Chandler nodded. Was he fortunate or not to have such a dedicated friend?