The Duke's Wife (The Three Mrs #3) - Jess Michaels Page 0,17
was that.
Chapter 5
Nathan dipped his quill into the pot of ink and began to write, but within a few strokes of the pen against the parchment, the tip snapped off. He cursed beneath his breath and tossed the quill aside, leaving a line of blotted ink behind on his letter.
He pushed to his feet and paced across the room, fists gripped at his sides, barely containing a shout of frustration from his lips. He had felt out of sorts for days, to be precise. Since the night he’d kissed Abigail in the parlor. How many times had he returned to that room to stare at the place where they had stood together? How many times had he been wracked by memories of the vanilla scent of her hair, the softness of her lips as she surrendered in his arms?
Too many. Especially considering she had not been seen since.
There was a knock on the door to his study, and Nathan pivoted to face it. “Enter.”
Gardner stepped inside. “The Earl of Leighton, Your Grace.”
Nathan blinked. He’d all but forgotten he was expecting Rhys today, despite having told Gardner to merely bring the earl to him upon his arrival. That was what an addled mind did, it seemed.
Rhys entered the room and crossed to him, hand extended. They shook as Gardner left them and closed the door behind himself.
“You look a bit out of sorts,” Rhys said as he settled into the chair across Nathan’s desk. “Rough night?”
Nathan grunted his response. “Just grappling with an irritating problem. Drink?”
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Rhys leaned forward as Nathan retook his place at his desk. “Anything I can help with?”
“No. And shouldn’t I be asking you that? How goes the great return to Society?”
Rhys’s smile fell and it was answer enough. “Eh, not well,” he admitted. “I’ve been petitioning to have my membership in White’s reinstated and…failing at it.”
“I thought you liked Fitzhugh’s,” Nathan asked. “It’s a superior establishment.”
“Yes, in every way that counts,” Rhys agreed. “But reputation-wise, a man of title ought to be welcome at White’s. Do you disagree?”
Nathan couldn’t, of course. Though Fitzhugh had more interesting membership, White’s was the place to be seen and accepted. “I’ll try to exert some more pressure there.”
“I’m not sure it will help,” Rhys sighed. “Many of our friends…your friends, I suppose now, since they aren’t mine anymore, are still unwilling to be seen with me. Until more of them come back to the fold, even just in public, I feel my ship is sunk.”
Nathan shook his head. “Poxy fools. I’m still shocked by their lack of faithfulness. They’ve known you since school, you’ve saved half their arses in one way or another, and they cut you?”
“Seems you are the only one fool enough to risk himself by remaining by my side.” Rhys held his gaze. “Gilmore, I appreciate your fealty in this horrific set of events, but if you wish to separate yourself a little more, especially with Ophelia coming to Town for the rest of the Season—”
Nathan held up a hand. “Enough of that. We are friends, through better and worse. It is not up for debate.”
Rhys’s face twisted a little. It was clear he was fighting an emotional reaction to that declaration. Then he said, “Thank you.”
Nathan dropped his gaze to give his friend a moment to collect himself and said, “Why don’t I host a ball? I intend to do so later in the Season, as well, once my sister arrives, but nothing says I couldn’t do it twice. I wager those arses we once called friends won’t refuse me.”
“That would be very helpful, yes,” Rhys said.
Nathan grabbed a fresh sheet of paper to write a few notes on. “I think I could manage it within the week. Invitations can go out tomorrow. I’ll ask Owen and Celeste, as well, so there will be friendly faces.”
“And Abigail?” Rhys suggested. “She could likely use the help in Society, as well.”
Nathan’s hand froze over the list at the mention of her name. He cleared his throat and tried to keep any emotion from his voice as he said, “I do not think she’d come.”
“Because of the bad blood between you?” Rhys asked.
Again, Nathan didn’t know what to say. Bad blood was not how he would describe his last encounter with the woman. And she had attended a great many events where he was present before he kissed her, even as she declared over and over that she did not like him.