defeated you in straight sets before,” Paul said as he accepted the handshake, but then he frowned at Aidan over the net. “I say, you’re not ill, are you?”
“Ill? Of course not. Just having trouble concentrating, that’s all.” He pulled his racquet from under his arm and gestured to the building nearby that contained baths and changing rooms. “Shall we?”
The two men walked together. “Do you have plans for the Whitsuntide holiday?” Aidan asked as they entered the changing rooms. “If not, we ought to be able to play quite a bit. With everyone in the country for the holiday, London should be empty. We wouldn’t even have to reserve a court.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Paul replied, taking a towel from the attendant. “But I’m off home for the holiday. My mother and I are having a house party at Danbury Downs. Dozens of people have been invited—” He stopped, then cleared his throat, looking pained. “You’re welcome to come,” he added awkwardly. “I would have invited you already, but . . .” He paused again, took a deep breath, and said, “Julie’s home from Europe.”
“Yes, I know,” Aidan said, also taking a towel before turning to his locker, and felt impelled to fill in the sudden silence. “Surely you didn’t ask me to tennis just to tell me Lady Yardley was in town, did you?” he asked, working to imbue his voice with just the right amount of amused indifference.
“Not precisely. I just thought this might be a good time to try and smooth things over between our families.” He paused. “I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to go to the devil.”
That genuinely astonished him. “Why should I? None of what happened was your fault.”
“Still, you haven’t had much luck in your relations with the Danburys, and as head of the family, I can’t help feeling badly about it. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for quite some time, but it just hasn’t seemed like the right moment. I mean, first Trix, then Julie.” He paused and grimaced. “Sorry. Hell, this is awkward.”
Aidan saved him any further distress. “Paul, that business with Beatrix is all water under the bridge, and I wish her nothing but happiness. As for Lady Yardley . . .” He paused to take a deep breath. “She and I are indifferent acquaintances. Despite . . . certain events, we are nothing more than that.”
“I see.” Paul paused, then added unexpectedly, “Yardley’s a rotter. Always was.”
Aidan had already concluded that much, but he didn’t find the confirmation particularly comforting. “Enjoy your house party. Perhaps when you return to town, we can arrange a rematch? Be warned, though,” he added when Paul agreed to his suggestion with a nod, “I intend to extract revenge for today.”
“If you can.” Paul laughed. “You’ll have to regain your ability to concentrate.”
Aidan set his jaw. “From this moment on,” he vowed, more for his own benefit than Paul’s, “that shall not be a problem.”
During the remainder of the day, Aidan was forced to use all his considerable self-discipline to keep Lady Yardley in the past where she belonged.
He had a bathe at the tennis club, changed into a fresh shirt and dark blue morning suit, and went on with his day. He called at his boot maker, and then his tailor, and whenever a thought of that woman entered his head, he shoved it out again at once.
By the time he lunched at the Clarendon with Lord and Lady Malvers, Aidan felt as if he was beginning to regain his equilibrium. Thankfully, Malvers and his wife were unacquainted with Lady Yardley, and there were no associations that could connect her to them in Aidan’s mind. The consequence was a most agreeable luncheon.
Afterward, he met with Marlowe, and he found their business negotiations distracting enough to prevent any memories associated with that woman from entering his brain. The two men were able to come to an agreement favorable to both parties.
By the
“Ill? Of course not. Just having trouble concentrating, that’s all.” He pulled his racquet from under his arm and gestured to the building nearby that contained baths and changing rooms. “Shall we?”
The two men walked together. “Do you have plans for the Whitsuntide holiday?” Aidan asked as they entered the changing rooms. “If not, we ought to be able to play quite a bit. With everyone in the country for the holiday, London should be empty. We wouldn’t even have to reserve a court.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” Paul replied, taking a towel from the attendant. “But I’m off home for the holiday. My mother and I are having a house party at Danbury Downs. Dozens of people have been invited—” He stopped, then cleared his throat, looking pained. “You’re welcome to come,” he added awkwardly. “I would have invited you already, but . . .” He paused again, took a deep breath, and said, “Julie’s home from Europe.”
“Yes, I know,” Aidan said, also taking a towel before turning to his locker, and felt impelled to fill in the sudden silence. “Surely you didn’t ask me to tennis just to tell me Lady Yardley was in town, did you?” he asked, working to imbue his voice with just the right amount of amused indifference.
“Not precisely. I just thought this might be a good time to try and smooth things over between our families.” He paused. “I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to go to the devil.”
That genuinely astonished him. “Why should I? None of what happened was your fault.”
“Still, you haven’t had much luck in your relations with the Danburys, and as head of the family, I can’t help feeling badly about it. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for quite some time, but it just hasn’t seemed like the right moment. I mean, first Trix, then Julie.” He paused and grimaced. “Sorry. Hell, this is awkward.”
Aidan saved him any further distress. “Paul, that business with Beatrix is all water under the bridge, and I wish her nothing but happiness. As for Lady Yardley . . .” He paused to take a deep breath. “She and I are indifferent acquaintances. Despite . . . certain events, we are nothing more than that.”
“I see.” Paul paused, then added unexpectedly, “Yardley’s a rotter. Always was.”
Aidan had already concluded that much, but he didn’t find the confirmation particularly comforting. “Enjoy your house party. Perhaps when you return to town, we can arrange a rematch? Be warned, though,” he added when Paul agreed to his suggestion with a nod, “I intend to extract revenge for today.”
“If you can.” Paul laughed. “You’ll have to regain your ability to concentrate.”
Aidan set his jaw. “From this moment on,” he vowed, more for his own benefit than Paul’s, “that shall not be a problem.”
During the remainder of the day, Aidan was forced to use all his considerable self-discipline to keep Lady Yardley in the past where she belonged.
He had a bathe at the tennis club, changed into a fresh shirt and dark blue morning suit, and went on with his day. He called at his boot maker, and then his tailor, and whenever a thought of that woman entered his head, he shoved it out again at once.
By the time he lunched at the Clarendon with Lord and Lady Malvers, Aidan felt as if he was beginning to regain his equilibrium. Thankfully, Malvers and his wife were unacquainted with Lady Yardley, and there were no associations that could connect her to them in Aidan’s mind. The consequence was a most agreeable luncheon.
Afterward, he met with Marlowe, and he found their business negotiations distracting enough to prevent any memories associated with that woman from entering his brain. The two men were able to come to an agreement favorable to both parties.
By the
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