Jerome
unfolded himself and stood, casting Lucas a glance before he
departed and saying, “It is nice, my friend, when you do not take
your life so seriously. If I did not know that you had at least
kept a mistress in your prime, I would call you a monk, so seldom
do you relax that aloof and intimidating reputation of yours, and
amuse yourself.”
Lucas merely smiled wryly and nodded,
watching him leave and then swiftly following, nodding, bowing,
doing the whole formal leave taking again, before he made it out of
the rooms, on the street, and into his coach.
He arrived in Upper Brook Street and his
townhouse, stepping inside and shedding his coat and hat, the
scarf, groaning mentally as his butler, Cubbage gestured to the
overflowing tray of calling cards and invites.
“They have come steadily all morning, m’lord.
Shall I put them with the others?”
“Yes. Please, Cubbage. Just dump them on my
desk. I’ll go through them later.” He headed up the stairs and to
his rooms, where his valet Feyer had already laid out his formal
black and white.
“I’ve ran your bath, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll see to the rest, Feyer.” He
was tugging off the neck cloth as he waved off the slender man.
“Very good, sir.” The man turned on his heel
and left.
Lucas tossed the neck cloth and his jacket on
a chair, removing his collar as he walked to the tall windows in
the sitting room, which set in the center of the upper apartments,
between his bedroom and the bathing chambers.
As he noted the first minute flakes of snow
trickling down, he also observed all the elaborate doors of his
neighbors. The rows of mansions across the street had wreaths and
bows, the trappings of holiday décor. As did his own, though he
could not say if there were bows, bells or holly, because he had
been in a distracted mood, since the New Year meant another year
added to his age.
A coach churned up the street, squeezing
between the many closed carriages and hacks going to and fro. The
public vehicles sporting red ribbons on the lanterns, bridles with
bells jingled merrily. He undid his shirt and pulled out the tails,
feeling a tinge of envy for Jerome and his peers. If he had it to
do over, he would have taken into consideration what his life was
going to be like when his fortune and future was secure, and there
was nothing left but to live.
However, he had missed his chances, and there
were a dozen young and wealthy lords for every deb and unmarried on
the mart. He was out of the race before it started. Raking his hand
though his hair, Lucas turned away and went to the bathing room,
stripping down to his swarthy, broad shouldered, and still muscular
frame, and easing into a large steaming tub.
He went under the water and emerged, slicking
his hair back and laying a moment in that preoccupied muse, trying
and failing to recall the mistresses and affairs, the sexual trysts
he fit in between his busy hours. He did not consider time then, in
context of what the future would look like. Just as he did not
realize that every hard-earned success and every ounce of respect
he’d gained, may work against him in some aspect of his
existence.
He had everything that he had been determined
to achieve, wealth, preserving the holdings, estates, and
investments, a reputation that was taken seriously. Nevertheless,
what he had missed and what passed him by now, was so glaringly
apparent.
Almost two hours later, he stood by that
window again, dressed formally in snug black trousers and polished
Hessians, white shirt and cravat, a formal black coat. His shoulder
length mane tied in a que, which threw his aquiline features in
prominence, marking that blue blood that Jerome loved to tease him
about.
He enjoyed another cheroot while watching the
congested vehicles carrying titled and gaily dressed guests to a
dozen balls. The Fairchild’s being the coveted one, for the duke
and duchess’s gatherings, particularly during the holidays, was the
place to be.
He
unfolded himself and stood, casting Lucas a glance before he
departed and saying, “It is nice, my friend, when you do not take
your life so seriously. If I did not know that you had at least
kept a mistress in your prime, I would call you a monk, so seldom
do you relax that aloof and intimidating reputation of yours, and
amuse yourself.”
Lucas merely smiled wryly and nodded,
watching him leave and then swiftly following, nodding, bowing,
doing the whole formal leave taking again, before he made it out of
the rooms, on the street, and into his coach.
He arrived in Upper Brook Street and his
townhouse, stepping inside and shedding his coat and hat, the
scarf, groaning mentally as his butler, Cubbage gestured to the
overflowing tray of calling cards and invites.
“They have come steadily all morning, m’lord.
Shall I put them with the others?”
“Yes. Please, Cubbage. Just dump them on my
desk. I’ll go through them later.” He headed up the stairs and to
his rooms, where his valet Feyer had already laid out his formal
black and white.
“I’ve ran your bath, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll see to the rest, Feyer.” He
was tugging off the neck cloth as he waved off the slender man.
“Very good, sir.” The man turned on his heel
and left.
Lucas tossed the neck cloth and his jacket on
a chair, removing his collar as he walked to the tall windows in
the sitting room, which set in the center of the upper apartments,
between his bedroom and the bathing chambers.
As he noted the first minute flakes of snow
trickling down, he also observed all the elaborate doors of his
neighbors. The rows of mansions across the street had wreaths and
bows, the trappings of holiday décor. As did his own, though he
could not say if there were bows, bells or holly, because he had
been in a distracted mood, since the New Year meant another year
added to his age.
A coach churned up the street, squeezing
between the many closed carriages and hacks going to and fro. The
public vehicles sporting red ribbons on the lanterns, bridles with
bells jingled merrily. He undid his shirt and pulled out the tails,
feeling a tinge of envy for Jerome and his peers. If he had it to
do over, he would have taken into consideration what his life was
going to be like when his fortune and future was secure, and there
was nothing left but to live.
However, he had missed his chances, and there
were a dozen young and wealthy lords for every deb and unmarried on
the mart. He was out of the race before it started. Raking his hand
though his hair, Lucas turned away and went to the bathing room,
stripping down to his swarthy, broad shouldered, and still muscular
frame, and easing into a large steaming tub.
He went under the water and emerged, slicking
his hair back and laying a moment in that preoccupied muse, trying
and failing to recall the mistresses and affairs, the sexual trysts
he fit in between his busy hours. He did not consider time then, in
context of what the future would look like. Just as he did not
realize that every hard-earned success and every ounce of respect
he’d gained, may work against him in some aspect of his
existence.
He had everything that he had been determined
to achieve, wealth, preserving the holdings, estates, and
investments, a reputation that was taken seriously. Nevertheless,
what he had missed and what passed him by now, was so glaringly
apparent.
Almost two hours later, he stood by that
window again, dressed formally in snug black trousers and polished
Hessians, white shirt and cravat, a formal black coat. His shoulder
length mane tied in a que, which threw his aquiline features in
prominence, marking that blue blood that Jerome loved to tease him
about.
He enjoyed another cheroot while watching the
congested vehicles carrying titled and gaily dressed guests to a
dozen balls. The Fairchild’s being the coveted one, for the duke
and duchess’s gatherings, particularly during the holidays, was the
place to be.
He
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