Lonsdale frowned. “You join every year.”
“This year is different,” Wolfstan told Lonsdale.
Because every year he regretted it more than the last. The only reason he attended was because of the proximity to Westbridge Park. And every year he would listen to Rebecca dreamily sigh at the mention of Langley’s name, an infatuation that had followed her for Christ only knows how many years.
Wolfstan had reached his limit of those sighs.
Which was why he had decided to forgo merrymaking this year altogether. Distance seemed pivotal to get a grip on himself. If there was any grip to be had, he mused bitterly. Yet the cruel irony still amazed him. The moment he decides to pass over the winter frolics, Langley decides to take a wife?
He must be cursed with rotten luck.
Rebecca had never spared him a second glance, at least not one with stars in her eyes. Wolfstan was all too aware of how firmly planted in Langley’s shadow he stood. Rebecca must be walking on bloody clouds.
Wolfstan was not at all sure his heart could take the thrashing of his cousin and Rebecca falling into each other’s arms. If watching her moon over Langley had been disheartening, bearing witness to her soft blushes and dreamy eyes as she fawned over his cousin. That Wolfstan could not do. Refused to do.
Rebecca was not one to fawn.
True.
And Langley might choose not to court her, but his cousin would be a fool to let Rebecca slip through his fingers. Langley was no fool. Who the hell could resist all that luscious copper hair waiting to flow through a man’s fingers like a waterfall of silk. Bloody Hell. Wolfstan balled his hands into fists at the mere thought.
You are the deuced fool.
Yes.
Yes, he was.
He dragged both hands through his hair. Not as vibrant as hers. Bland really. A color he shared with the bark of a tree. He preferred sunsets to earth.
“Cannot see how this year is different.” Lonsdale’s sharp eyes honed even more. “Are you troubled by circumstance?”
“Absolutely not,” Wolfstan lied. He had never told his friend he hungered after his sister. And yet hunger was properly inadequate. What he felt ran much deeper. It simmered in his soul. Ever present. Never offering any peace. Her scent intoxicated him. Her lips beckoned. The melody of her voice enticed the beat of his heart. He collected the notes of her laughter like a pirate hunted for jewels at sea.
A hopeless moonstruck fool.
Lonsdale smiled. The sort of half-smile that spoke more than any words and gave Wolfstan gooseflesh. “Perhaps the time has come for you to take a wife as well.”
If you only knew, old chap.
Wolfstan would have married Rebecca in a heartbeat had she fallen in love with him and not Langley. Age, to him, was of little consequence since he had surely been cursed with the sentiment of romance. Fated to love a woman in love with another man.
“Not interested in matrimony?” Lonsdale queried.
“Undecided.”
Lonsdale nodded thoughtfully. “I married young and I’ve been happily married for five years.”
“Five-and-twenty is not all that young and you might sing another melody in another five years.”
“I will forever sing this one.”
Hopeless. The both of them. Plagued by fantasies and starry-eyed dreams. Beyond saving. Lonsdale, at least, had won the woman he loved, so in a sense, while in some ways the same, they were polar opposites.
“Rebecca will miss you if you stay in London.”
Wolfstan inwardly scoffed at that. Miss him? Rebecca? He doubted she would even notice his absence, let alone his presence. Not entirely inspiring for a man such as him—a man conflicted by unrequited love. Sometimes Rebecca made him wonder if he hadn’t fallen into delirium. He wanted to snap out of the spell she had cast over him. Sooner rather than later. His moods, lately, had become fouler, every day worse than the day before. Even the sight of his cousin, blissfully unaware of his feelings, was enough to set off his ire. Poor fellow.
“Have you picked names for the infant yet?” Wolfstan decided to steer the subject to a less maddening topic.
