grinned suddenly. Who could stay angry with a dunderhead like Braddon? He sat down again.
“That’s right. I marched up to the front door the next morning at ten o’clock, only slightly fortified with brandy. Got the question out pat with her father. But it didn’t fly with her.”
Patrick felt a curious rush of protectiveness, remembering Sophie’s large uncertain eyes. She hadn’t expected him to come, that was clear. Which didn’t say much for his reputation. But there he was declaring his intentions. And she’d said no. He didn’t really want to discuss why she refused him.
“I can’t believe it,” Braddon said in a numbed voice. “I—I, Braddon Chatwin, took a woman from one of the Foakeses? I mean, I don’t count Arabella. Remember!” he said, rounding on Alex, who was grinning away in his armchair. “Remember when you came back from Italy and I told you about the most beautiful woman in London, the one I wanted to marry, and damned if two weeks later you weren’t engaged to her?”
Alex laughed. “My wife,” he said, bowing his head ironically. “I owe it all to you, Braddon.”
“Sophie York turned you down and accepted me?” Braddon asked Patrick.
Patrick rolled his eyes. For a minute he thought his friend was going to cut a caper.
Alex came to his feet. “Gentlemen, I regret to say that, fascinating though this conversation is, I must go home.”
Patrick looked up at him. “Henpecked?” he asked.
His twin smiled at him unashamedly. “Charlotte worries if I’m out too late. Sarah is still occasionally waking up to nurse at night—”
“Ugh!” Braddon broke in. “I can’t fathom why you have allowed your wife to nurse the child herself, Alex. It’s disgusting.” His lower lip jutted out, a sure sign of deep thought. “I shan’t allow Madeleine to do anything of the sort, I warrant you. A good wet nurse, that’s the ticket. I won’t have Madeleine turn herself into a milk cow.”
“I shall ignore the implication that my wife is a cow,” Alex murmured. His eyes met Patrick’s. “Will I see you at dinner tomorrow?”
“Of course he’s coming,” Braddon broke in. “He’s my best man, isn’t he? He has to come to the engagement dinner!”
Patrick rolled his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I? I want to see those little calves of yours, brother.”
“Ugh,” Braddon repeated, with emphasis. Then he looked alarmed. “You don’t suppose that Sophie will pick up this nursing business from your wife, do you, Alex? Because I won’t have it. Not in my house. It’s disgusting.”
Alex looked at his twin warningly.
Anger was burning a hole in Patrick’s backbone. But he took silent note of Alex’s unspoken opinion. Sophie York, and the way Braddon talked about Sophie York, was not his business.
“Well.” Braddon pulled down his embroidered waistcoat cheerfully. “Would you like to go around and say hello to Arabella, Patrick? You know she’s appearing at the Duke’s Theater in Dorset Garden these days, and I’m sure she’d like to see you. She’s playing Juliet, a pretty good role for her, eh? Although Bella’s no Juliet to die for love. Do you know that when I broke off our attachment she wrote me a note, as cool as you please, saying that I was her life and joy, or some such nonsense, and since my passion for her had decayed, she felt the need for security—and the upshot of it all is that she wants me to give her a house. Vixen.”
Patrick was striding ahead of him, out of the ballroom. “And are you?” he tossed over his shoulder.
There was a pause. Patrick threw Braddon an amused glance. “You’re an easy target, aren’t you?” He fell back a pace and walked next to his friend. “You tell me when she’s found a house and I’ll plunk down the blunt for half,” he said as their boots clattered through the empty marble halls. Viscount and Viscountess Dewland had long ago retired to bed and only a weary-eyed butler bade them good night.
“I
“That’s right. I marched up to the front door the next morning at ten o’clock, only slightly fortified with brandy. Got the question out pat with her father. But it didn’t fly with her.”
Patrick felt a curious rush of protectiveness, remembering Sophie’s large uncertain eyes. She hadn’t expected him to come, that was clear. Which didn’t say much for his reputation. But there he was declaring his intentions. And she’d said no. He didn’t really want to discuss why she refused him.
“I can’t believe it,” Braddon said in a numbed voice. “I—I, Braddon Chatwin, took a woman from one of the Foakeses? I mean, I don’t count Arabella. Remember!” he said, rounding on Alex, who was grinning away in his armchair. “Remember when you came back from Italy and I told you about the most beautiful woman in London, the one I wanted to marry, and damned if two weeks later you weren’t engaged to her?”
Alex laughed. “My wife,” he said, bowing his head ironically. “I owe it all to you, Braddon.”
“Sophie York turned you down and accepted me?” Braddon asked Patrick.
Patrick rolled his eyes. For a minute he thought his friend was going to cut a caper.
Alex came to his feet. “Gentlemen, I regret to say that, fascinating though this conversation is, I must go home.”
Patrick looked up at him. “Henpecked?” he asked.
His twin smiled at him unashamedly. “Charlotte worries if I’m out too late. Sarah is still occasionally waking up to nurse at night—”
“Ugh!” Braddon broke in. “I can’t fathom why you have allowed your wife to nurse the child herself, Alex. It’s disgusting.” His lower lip jutted out, a sure sign of deep thought. “I shan’t allow Madeleine to do anything of the sort, I warrant you. A good wet nurse, that’s the ticket. I won’t have Madeleine turn herself into a milk cow.”
“I shall ignore the implication that my wife is a cow,” Alex murmured. His eyes met Patrick’s. “Will I see you at dinner tomorrow?”
“Of course he’s coming,” Braddon broke in. “He’s my best man, isn’t he? He has to come to the engagement dinner!”
Patrick rolled his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I? I want to see those little calves of yours, brother.”
“Ugh,” Braddon repeated, with emphasis. Then he looked alarmed. “You don’t suppose that Sophie will pick up this nursing business from your wife, do you, Alex? Because I won’t have it. Not in my house. It’s disgusting.”
Alex looked at his twin warningly.
Anger was burning a hole in Patrick’s backbone. But he took silent note of Alex’s unspoken opinion. Sophie York, and the way Braddon talked about Sophie York, was not his business.
“Well.” Braddon pulled down his embroidered waistcoat cheerfully. “Would you like to go around and say hello to Arabella, Patrick? You know she’s appearing at the Duke’s Theater in Dorset Garden these days, and I’m sure she’d like to see you. She’s playing Juliet, a pretty good role for her, eh? Although Bella’s no Juliet to die for love. Do you know that when I broke off our attachment she wrote me a note, as cool as you please, saying that I was her life and joy, or some such nonsense, and since my passion for her had decayed, she felt the need for security—and the upshot of it all is that she wants me to give her a house. Vixen.”
Patrick was striding ahead of him, out of the ballroom. “And are you?” he tossed over his shoulder.
There was a pause. Patrick threw Braddon an amused glance. “You’re an easy target, aren’t you?” He fell back a pace and walked next to his friend. “You tell me when she’s found a house and I’ll plunk down the blunt for half,” he said as their boots clattered through the empty marble halls. Viscount and Viscountess Dewland had long ago retired to bed and only a weary-eyed butler bade them good night.
“I
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