“Are you telling me that the tightrope act won’t lure even you out of your apartment for the evening and away from your precious law texts? There will be fireworks as well,” said Benjamin.
Henry scoffed, glancing back over his shoulder as his friends chased at his heels. “I study the law so that I am the best.”
“And you are,” Stephen said, tossing his arm around Henry’s shoulder. “You are the very best at what you do. Your mind is something men will study for years to come.” He held out his free hand and waved it. “Your passion, your devotion to the law…”
“They’ll say ‘What a prized, legal mind Henry Davies possessed.’” His friend Michael Webb jogged a few steps ahead, descending through the front entrance, about to burst out onto the streets of London.
Henry might as well have been a wallflower, trying his best to remove Stephen’s arm and retreat into the small sliver of silence London had to offer—his apartment.
“One night. That’s all,” Michael insisted, spinning to address him on the street after they all poured out of the courthouse. He tore off his wig, revealing a head of black matted curls.
“Better yet,” Stephen said, pulling a flask from his jacket and draining the well-worn vessel, “give me one hour. Surely you can afford to spare one hour from your evening?”
Henry normally hailed a hackney to convey him home, but tonight, even that wouldn’t be fast enough.
“No.” He glanced up the street, then down, searching for any escape as his colleagues encircled him.
“I promise it will be the best night of your life.” Stephen reached for Michael’s flask and handed it to Henry, who flatly refused. “May I remind you about my first point? There will be women there—”
Henry growled, shoving the flask back against his friend’s chest.
“At some point, Henry,” Benjamin cut in, “you will need to admit that your unpleasant arse needs female companionship.”
Complete rubbish. He needed nothing of the sort. More like he needed a quick escape, so he could retire to his apartment. Alone. Have that brandy and enjoy a book. That was what he needed.
Women, love, even his bloody acquaintances… he had no time for such nonsense. He had no interest in spending his nights rambling around London drunk and gambling and visiting the brothels. He left that to his younger rake of a brother, Lieutenant Rafe Davies, lately of the Royal Navy.
Henry knew his strengths, which consisted precisely of the law and being the dutiful eldest son. He considered anything else a waste of his time, which he fiercely guarded. He considered time a far more valuable and precious currency.
“You are beautiful when you blush,” Michael teased, elbowing Henry as he stretched up onto his toes to search the busy street for a hackney.
This was London, late in the afternoon, on a beautiful September day. Where were all the damn hackneys?
“I am not going. I wish you a happy birthday. Now, excuse me…”
“Wait!” yelled Stephen, grabbing Henry’s arm. “I can arrange a dinner with Judge Leeson.”
Henry froze, studying his boots and playing over the name in his mind. He had tried to have his dinner with Judge Phineas Leeson for almost two years now. Knowing him would serve Henry well. He wouldn’t always be arguing civil cases. He had ambitions. There would be nothing more pleasing to him than spending his days seeing those who commit wrong in the world pay their due.
“Come for one hour this evening, and I will see it done.”
Everything within Henry tensed, and he swore he felt the beginning twinges of a headache pulse at his temples. The temptation of home was all too alluring, but he pushed past the knot in his throat and glanced up at his ruddy-faced friend with narrowed eyes.
“He owes my father a favor. It can be arranged next week.”
There was something to be said about merit. Henry wished to be recognized by his talent, not necessarily by his connections. His time in London had taught him otherwise. It was not necessarily who you were, but who you knew. And Henry craved to become something. He was hellbent on making something of himself.
He would do nearly anything as long as it was legal, of course. That was often the moral sticking point for barristers. The better ones, at least.
He whacked his top hat against his thigh, glancing up at the September pink sky as dusk quickly approached.
“Fine. One hour.”
The group cheered and pulled him down the street in the opposite direction from his apartment. Carriages rumbled by on the street, and a little girl stood by a fruit stall clutching a wilting handful of flowers.
“One last thing, Henry,” Michael said. “You’ll need a mask for the masquerade.”
“I didn’t agree to costumes.”
“Technically,” Stephen started, “you agreed only to an hour. There was no discussion of attire for that hour.”
There was no point in arguing with a solicitor, especially one who excelled at discovering the loopholes in a case. He might as well have been a hound smelling out a fox.
“Very well. One hour and a mask. I will not make any further exceptions.”
“Of course not. We wouldn’t want to ruin your carefully planned evening of poring over law cases.”
Fifty-five minutes into the agreed-upon hour, Henry was lost among a swarm of people descending upon Vauxhall Gardens with such merriment, the excitement buzzing around him was almost catching.
Almost.
Henry was convinced the excitement was more because he was nearly five minutes closer to freedom.
He snapped his father’s timepiece shut. Four now…
The warm September night wrapped around him, but he swore he could smell the faint hint of autumn. Time was on a cusp, and Henry stood there, overlooking the party, and felt rather adrift. He felt far too restless lately, and he couldn’t shake the feeling.
