Chapter 12
Grayson circled the small ballroom, keeping the puce monstrosity in sight the entire time. He stalked surely but stealthily so Tobias wouldn’t see Grayson sidle up beside him. “The last time we spoke you assured me your sister was as good as married. I find she is not.”
The other man didn’t even startle, but his head swung slowly toward Grayson, revealing a sly grin. “No proper hello for an old friend?” His brows drew together in a fake frown. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such bad manners. Not at all what I’d expect from a future duke.”
Tobias’s voice cut through the air with a sharp edge. Why? They’d not spoken for almost a year, but Grayson held no ill will toward the man. It seemed natural that their friendship would fade after his engagement to Henrietta ended.
Unexplained edge to his voice or not, the infuriating man had a point. As a future duke, Grayson would have to handle this conversation the way his father would—address the annoyance with elegance and grace, then discard it with precision. And above all, not make a scene. “We need to talk. Follow me,” he commanded before turning and cutting his way through the crowd. He didn’t turn to make sure Tobias followed. Grayson knew he would. The man loved drama as much as he loved a hideous waistcoat.
He entered the first empty room he came to, drawing close to the fire. It wavered low in the dark, and Grayson poked it a bit until its blaze illuminated the entire room.
Tobias quirked laughing lips at him from across the flickering shadows.
Grayson pointed to a chair by the fire. “Sit.” He wanted to see Tobias’s face fully when he answered this question. The emotions crossing there could offer a glimpse into Henrietta’s own emotions over the last year.
Tobias obliged, sinking low in the chair and propping one booted foot on a nearby table. He smiled up at Grayson, oozing more confidence than the highest-born duke and more disrespect than such a duke could ever imagine. Grayson used to find Tobias’s nonchalance refreshing. Now it irked him. Did the man care about nothing?
Grayson wouldn’t sit himself. Too much energy coursed through him. “I have an important question to ask, and I wish you to speak the truth.”
“It’s been almost a year since we last spoke. A year of lost time between friends. My loss has been great, my life bereft. But now we are reunited. Can’t we dispense with the—”
Grayson snorted. “No fucking dramatics tonight, Tobias. I’ll have the answer to my question.”
“I forgot. You’re a plainspoken sort, but I can answer your question without you asking it. The fabric for my waistcoat comes, of course, from my father—”
“Was she or was she not engaged?”
Tobias snapped his lips together. He studied the fire.
“Well?”
“An interesting question. Yes, she was engaged. A secret affair to the second son of a duke.” Tobias’s lips pulled into a frown. “But things soured when the spare became the heir, and—”
“You’re playing with me. You’re talking about Henrietta’s engagement to me. You know what I speak of. She’s never been engaged to a man other than myself, has she?”
Tobias sank lower in his chair. “I wondered if you’d notice that little detail about Hen. Speaking of, you’ve not thanked me for the service I did for you last year. No matter. The heroic never expect gratitude for their selfless deeds.”
So many words, ideas, and accusations rushed through Grayson, he found it hard to choose which one to voice first. “Was she ever engaged?” He knew the answer, felt it in his bones, but he wanted to hear his friend say it. Friend? He questioned that as well.
“No. You’re the only man she’s ever been engaged to. But she’s an attractive girl. Someone will court and marry her eventually.”
Grayson’s palms stung. Without conscious thought, he had clenched his fists so hard, his nails bit into his skin. Familiar rage and grief swamped him. “You told me that day”— he took a breath, unclenched his fingers—“you told me she was marrying another.”
Tobias shrugged. “She would have. She will, eventually. It wasn’t a lie. Exactly.” He sighed, stood, and strolled through the room, opening cabinets and drawers. “Surely they keep something to wet the whistle in a room like this. Ah.” He pulled a glass and decanter full of golden liquid from the cabinet and tilted them at Grayson. “Want a pour? It’s clear you need it.”
“No.” Grayson ground his teeth.
“There’s no hard feelings, surely, Lord Rigsby.” He poured the liquid into a glass and strolled back across the room toward Grayson, taking a sip as he walked. “What was I to do? A distraught future duke shows up demanding to see the woman whose heart he’s broken. Should I have let you speak with my sister?” He waved the glass casually above his head, but his voice cut the air, sharp as glass. The man took nothing serious but his sister.
Grayson growled in frustration.
Tobias prodded him with the half-empty tumbler. “Look, old fellow, why are you here?”
To get the necklace. To propose. But not to Lady Willow. “It’s a house party. Why does anyone attend such a thing? To be entertained.”
“Not what I mean. Why are you here in this room with me?”
Because precisely one year ago, Grayson had dragged his battered heart out of mourning long enough to realize he couldn’t let the woman he loved walk away from him with no explanation. Yes, she’d left him alone after but a week’s engagement; she’d abandoned him at his deepest hour of grief and confusion, but he’d thought—known—she loved him, and he’d hoped to win her back. So, he’d shown up—a bit tipsy, yes—at her front door, begging to speak with her.