senses about Miss Arbuckle."
Why in the bloody hell did people think he wished to marry Miss Arbuckle? He glared at his brother. "Surely you, of all people, should know me well enough to know of my firm resolve to stay a bachelor."
"You forget, dear brother, I too was once possessed of such resolve."
Politeness decreed that he not remind Gregory of his significant financial incentive to marry—an incentive that Jonathan would never have.
"I am hardly in a position to take on a wife."
"I have always thought you understood that once you settle on a wife I could buy you a house in Bath. One can live rather cheaply here, and I know you are cautious with your expenditures."
Jonathan's eyes widened. "I understood no such thing, but it matters not. I have no intentions of marrying."
Gregory sighed. "Glee will be most disappointed."
"I am strongly possessed of the notion that your wife is behind Miss Arbuckle's metamorphosis." He studied his brother for a reaction, but there was none. "It is just like Glee to go putting notions of being married into Miss Arbuckle's superior head. I don't know what I should do if she were to marry. You know she's—even more so now that Melvin Steffington has wed—my dearest friend."
"You ought to marry her, then. A man could do worse. How many men can say their wife is their best friend? Besides me, of course. I cannot too highly praise the magic of sharing every day of your life with the one person most calculated to give you pleasure."
When one put it like that, marriage did not sound so bloody distasteful.
"What I wanted to ask you," Jonathan continued, "Is, if I want to find Appleton tomorrow, where would I go?"
"I'd suggest you try his house on Camden Crescent first. Failing to find him there, you might try Mrs. Vale's."
Jonathan's brows hiked up. Good lord, Mrs. Vale was a well-known courtesan! How could the reprobate even think of calling upon one of unblemished virtue like Miss Arbuckle while conducting an alliance with a tart? It simply was not to be tolerated.
In fact, Jonathan would call him out, but Appleton, being enamored of fisticuffs and activities that involved considerable strength and movement, would likely deprive Jonathan of life in a matter of minutes.
And then dear Miss Arbuckle would be deprived of her protector. Inept as he was.
* * *
Later that night, after the house had gone dark and quiet, he lay in his bed, thinking of his plans for the next day. He must not forget to go to the printers. It was imperative that he get his writings bound into attractive books to present as Christmas gifts to his family members. And Miss Arbuckle. Even if it would take every last cent he possessed.
Then his thoughts veered off into unfamiliar territory. He bolted up in bed as it suddenly occurred to him he had another selection to be bound. This once, in a true gesture of friendship to his dearest friend, he knew it would make him far happier to make her Christmas brighter than to gratify his own vanity. After all, the poor lady had neither father nor brother. And though he and she had never before exchanged Christmas gifts, he knew it was time to start.
He had never been more certain that she was his best friend.
He left the bed and gathered up the pages he would take to the printers in the morning, then returned to bed, disappointed that he would not be able to see her until he went to the Assembly Rooms the following night.
Once more, his thoughts returned to the silly notion Glee and Gregory both had that he should marry Miss Arbuckle, then he thought of his brother's perfect marriage. He was well aware that his brother and Glee shared a bed in the room next to his, and once again he grew strangely envious of them.
Despite that he was visiting in a home where he was loved, he had never felt lonelier. The lonesome howl of December winds seemed to be mocking him. He hoped it was not a portent of when Mama arrived. For he had hurriedly sent off his letter to her in
Why in the bloody hell did people think he wished to marry Miss Arbuckle? He glared at his brother. "Surely you, of all people, should know me well enough to know of my firm resolve to stay a bachelor."
"You forget, dear brother, I too was once possessed of such resolve."
Politeness decreed that he not remind Gregory of his significant financial incentive to marry—an incentive that Jonathan would never have.
"I am hardly in a position to take on a wife."
"I have always thought you understood that once you settle on a wife I could buy you a house in Bath. One can live rather cheaply here, and I know you are cautious with your expenditures."
Jonathan's eyes widened. "I understood no such thing, but it matters not. I have no intentions of marrying."
Gregory sighed. "Glee will be most disappointed."
"I am strongly possessed of the notion that your wife is behind Miss Arbuckle's metamorphosis." He studied his brother for a reaction, but there was none. "It is just like Glee to go putting notions of being married into Miss Arbuckle's superior head. I don't know what I should do if she were to marry. You know she's—even more so now that Melvin Steffington has wed—my dearest friend."
"You ought to marry her, then. A man could do worse. How many men can say their wife is their best friend? Besides me, of course. I cannot too highly praise the magic of sharing every day of your life with the one person most calculated to give you pleasure."
When one put it like that, marriage did not sound so bloody distasteful.
"What I wanted to ask you," Jonathan continued, "Is, if I want to find Appleton tomorrow, where would I go?"
"I'd suggest you try his house on Camden Crescent first. Failing to find him there, you might try Mrs. Vale's."
Jonathan's brows hiked up. Good lord, Mrs. Vale was a well-known courtesan! How could the reprobate even think of calling upon one of unblemished virtue like Miss Arbuckle while conducting an alliance with a tart? It simply was not to be tolerated.
In fact, Jonathan would call him out, but Appleton, being enamored of fisticuffs and activities that involved considerable strength and movement, would likely deprive Jonathan of life in a matter of minutes.
And then dear Miss Arbuckle would be deprived of her protector. Inept as he was.
* * *
Later that night, after the house had gone dark and quiet, he lay in his bed, thinking of his plans for the next day. He must not forget to go to the printers. It was imperative that he get his writings bound into attractive books to present as Christmas gifts to his family members. And Miss Arbuckle. Even if it would take every last cent he possessed.
Then his thoughts veered off into unfamiliar territory. He bolted up in bed as it suddenly occurred to him he had another selection to be bound. This once, in a true gesture of friendship to his dearest friend, he knew it would make him far happier to make her Christmas brighter than to gratify his own vanity. After all, the poor lady had neither father nor brother. And though he and she had never before exchanged Christmas gifts, he knew it was time to start.
He had never been more certain that she was his best friend.
He left the bed and gathered up the pages he would take to the printers in the morning, then returned to bed, disappointed that he would not be able to see her until he went to the Assembly Rooms the following night.
Once more, his thoughts returned to the silly notion Glee and Gregory both had that he should marry Miss Arbuckle, then he thought of his brother's perfect marriage. He was well aware that his brother and Glee shared a bed in the room next to his, and once again he grew strangely envious of them.
Despite that he was visiting in a home where he was loved, he had never felt lonelier. The lonesome howl of December winds seemed to be mocking him. He hoped it was not a portent of when Mama arrived. For he had hurriedly sent off his letter to her in
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