Stephen Greenwald was a lot of things, but never brief.
Henry stalked to the door, whipped it open, and glowered at his friend.
“Doing a bit of housekeeping?” Stephen asked.
Henry was still clutching the broom and dustbin piled high with shattered china. “Now is not a good time.”
“It never is with you.” Stephen weaseled his way past Henry and strode into his apartment, stopping abruptly at the kingdom of books piled high on the floor. He removed his top hat, revealing the long silver scar that cut across his face from a carriage accident during his Oxford days. He wore his dark auburn sideburns bushy in an attempt to distract from the injury.
“You don’t have to leave London. You will be back to take your seat, you know.”
Stephen was the second son of the Viscount Rawlings and solicitor to the Duke of Maitland.
“I realize that.” Henry closed the door, emptied the dustbin, and returned the dustbin and broom back in the closet. He gathered up the pile of blankets on the armchair and sank down with a sigh. “It’s only this place isn’t practical for when I return. It’s halfway across Town to start. Perhaps someplace bigger for when…”
Stephen froze with his eyebrows arched high, waiting.
“I’ll need an heir, Greenwald. I am not searching for a love match, only for a woman who is from a respectable family who has a comically large dowry to help the estate dig out of debt.”
“Right, practical.”
“I am nothing if not consistent.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in two days, and the dark stubble covering his jaw scratched against his palms. “Do you have any need for these law texts? I thought about donating them. I could bring them to Cliffstone with me, I guess.”
Stephen removed his top hat, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes toward his friend. “Have you slept?”
“At some point in my life, yes. Recently? That would be up for debate.”
“I feel terrible for coming here today. If I knew you had this to contend with, I wouldn’t…”
“What do you need?”
“Well, a favor. A friend of mine is in a spot of legal trouble and could use your counsel.”
“He’s welcome to write a letter. I have—”
“It’s a delicate matter. One best discussed in person.”
Henry rolled his eyes, instantly understanding. “You know I will not help one of your well-off friends who think they are above the law.”
Stephen nodded. “You are now among the Upper Orders, dear Henry. Privilege does come along with money, but you will soon find out it comes with a whole host of other problems. Problems that are best kept out of the papers.”
“My inheriting an earldom does not change my views. I will not use my position to do whatever I please. A title is a great responsibility. It is a duty, and that position should be respected.”
“And you do so love to uphold duty, don’t you?”
Henry jumped to his feet, eager to have this meeting over with. “If I had known you were going to invade my privacy and mock me, I would have left the door locked.”
Stephen darted a glance around the room, shifting from foot to foot. “No, that’s not… hell, I haven’t slept either. Can I start again?”
“If you must.”
“You are a right arse sometimes.”
“And now you insult me.”
Stephen laughed. “I came to ask if you would consider visiting the Duke of Maitland. He’s in need of some legal advice that I cannot give as his solicitor. In return, the duke has offered you a room. He’s hosting a Christmas house party, and I will attend as well. I have business here in Town to handle before I travel, but I can arrange for you to head to Haddington Court alone.”
“No.”
“What if you only went up for the meeting and left? No house party.”
Henry Davies, now Lord Devlin as he so liked to remind himself, did not do house parties. Not now, not in the future.
“There might be a few marriage-minded young ladies there as well. It might be easier to meet them at a house party than at a ball.”
Stephen had a point, still, Henry knew his limit. He would never be agreeable enough to last an entire house party. “Then I would need to contend with their mothers… or worse yet, their chaperones.”
“I will be there to assist with them. Mothers love me.”
“Does that explain why you have an incurable fondness for widows?”
“One day, friend, you will understand.”
His chest ached suddenly. It was happening more and more. The most minor thing could set it off. A mere memory of that night a few months ago, and his body rebelled. It made no sense, and he disliked it very much.
One kiss and he became sentimental.
“Tell me you will think about it. I can arrange everything since I know you are busy with other matters. It would mean a great deal to me, this favor. I can arrange for you to travel there for the day and return the next. No need to spend Christmas in one of Britain’s finest homes with a duke and his dearest friends.”
