ready for courting, but Bartholomew could at least give him friendship.
He used his walking stick to gesture toward Xavier’s midsection. “Hideous waistcoat.”
Xavier nodded. “What happened to your neck? Get tangled in a bed sheet?”
“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Going to show off your distinctive fashion sense at the Grenville musicale tomorrow?”
“I wasn’t asked.” Bartholomew paused. “Or perhaps I burned the invitation.”
“I’ll send you mine. I get invited to everything.” Xavier consulted his pocket watch. “I’m retiring to Chelmsford.”
“For a while?”
“Permanently.”
Bartholomew’s gut hollowed. Now that he was finally out of the house, he realized how badly he had missed his friends. And they were all moving on with their lives. “When?”
“Soon as I can. Oliver’s forcing me to attend an opera with him first. Wife’s orders.” Xavier rolled his eyes toward the pacing groom. “Not surprised he was the first to fall.”
“We’re too smart for that,” he agreed. Or too damaged. Bartholomew had lost part of his leg on the battlefield, but Xavier had lost part of his soul.
The door eased open and a round woman in a thick black coat slipped into the church.
“ Sarah .” Xavier sprang up and stared. “She looks so…”
“Pregnant?” Bartholomew finished wryly. He, too, could scarcely believe the transformation. “That cloak might disguise her face, but it’s doing nothing to hide her belly.”
“Even the bed sheet around your neck couldn’t hide that belly.”
“Could strangle you, though.” Bartholomew watched from the back of the church as Sarah waddled over to hug Oliver. “Could probably cut you, given its current cloth-to-starch ratio.”
“And mop up spilled blood all in one go,” Xavier said approvingly. “Well done. That much fabric could even double as a sail, should you need to escape by sea.”
“Your waistcoat could double as fool’s treasure,” Bartholomew shot back. He tugged a quizzing glass from his pocket and peered at Xavier’s tailoring. “What are the shiny flecks? Glass?”
“Paste. The very finest. I’ll sell it to you for ten quid.”
“For that monstrosity?” Bartholomew choked. “Not even if the ugly bits were diamonds. I’m hemorrhaging self-respect just by standing next to you. Do you have a valet?”
“Don’t require one. I’m retiring to Chelmsford, remember?”
Before Bartholomew could respond, Sarah turned from Oliver and plodded down the aisle toward Xavier and Bartholomew.
His good humor vanished as she approached, leaving his gut filled with guilt and pain. He hadn’t seen his brother’s fiancée since returning from battle. By the time the surgeon had pronounced Bartholomew well enough to receive visitors, she had already confined herself in her parents’ house for fear of being seen.
That she was here today either meant she was confident her disguise would protect her long enough to attend a friend’s wedding… or that she no longer cared what the ton thought and had resigned herself to a life on the margins.
“Sarah…” He swallowed. He’d meant to say more than just her name, meant to tell her he would’ve happily traded his own life if it could have saved Edmund’s. But his voice had broken on the very first word, and now Bartholomew could say nothing at all.
“I wish I could say it was good to see you.” Her voice was low, her eyes tired and red. “But you look exactly like Edmund. You always did. And it’s…” She jerked her face toward the vaulted ceiling and blinked far too rapidly for several seconds before returning her gaze to Bartholomew. “It’s hard . Terribly hard. You’re the only one who knows how I feel.”
He nodded, but of course it wasn’t the same at all. He hadn’t simply lost his twin brother, the mirror image of his soul. He’d failed to save him, which was altogether worse. He’d ruined his parents’ lives, and Sarah’s, and the
He used his walking stick to gesture toward Xavier’s midsection. “Hideous waistcoat.”
Xavier nodded. “What happened to your neck? Get tangled in a bed sheet?”
“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Going to show off your distinctive fashion sense at the Grenville musicale tomorrow?”
“I wasn’t asked.” Bartholomew paused. “Or perhaps I burned the invitation.”
“I’ll send you mine. I get invited to everything.” Xavier consulted his pocket watch. “I’m retiring to Chelmsford.”
“For a while?”
“Permanently.”
Bartholomew’s gut hollowed. Now that he was finally out of the house, he realized how badly he had missed his friends. And they were all moving on with their lives. “When?”
“Soon as I can. Oliver’s forcing me to attend an opera with him first. Wife’s orders.” Xavier rolled his eyes toward the pacing groom. “Not surprised he was the first to fall.”
“We’re too smart for that,” he agreed. Or too damaged. Bartholomew had lost part of his leg on the battlefield, but Xavier had lost part of his soul.
The door eased open and a round woman in a thick black coat slipped into the church.
“ Sarah .” Xavier sprang up and stared. “She looks so…”
“Pregnant?” Bartholomew finished wryly. He, too, could scarcely believe the transformation. “That cloak might disguise her face, but it’s doing nothing to hide her belly.”
“Even the bed sheet around your neck couldn’t hide that belly.”
“Could strangle you, though.” Bartholomew watched from the back of the church as Sarah waddled over to hug Oliver. “Could probably cut you, given its current cloth-to-starch ratio.”
“And mop up spilled blood all in one go,” Xavier said approvingly. “Well done. That much fabric could even double as a sail, should you need to escape by sea.”
“Your waistcoat could double as fool’s treasure,” Bartholomew shot back. He tugged a quizzing glass from his pocket and peered at Xavier’s tailoring. “What are the shiny flecks? Glass?”
“Paste. The very finest. I’ll sell it to you for ten quid.”
“For that monstrosity?” Bartholomew choked. “Not even if the ugly bits were diamonds. I’m hemorrhaging self-respect just by standing next to you. Do you have a valet?”
“Don’t require one. I’m retiring to Chelmsford, remember?”
Before Bartholomew could respond, Sarah turned from Oliver and plodded down the aisle toward Xavier and Bartholomew.
His good humor vanished as she approached, leaving his gut filled with guilt and pain. He hadn’t seen his brother’s fiancée since returning from battle. By the time the surgeon had pronounced Bartholomew well enough to receive visitors, she had already confined herself in her parents’ house for fear of being seen.
That she was here today either meant she was confident her disguise would protect her long enough to attend a friend’s wedding… or that she no longer cared what the ton thought and had resigned herself to a life on the margins.
“Sarah…” He swallowed. He’d meant to say more than just her name, meant to tell her he would’ve happily traded his own life if it could have saved Edmund’s. But his voice had broken on the very first word, and now Bartholomew could say nothing at all.
“I wish I could say it was good to see you.” Her voice was low, her eyes tired and red. “But you look exactly like Edmund. You always did. And it’s…” She jerked her face toward the vaulted ceiling and blinked far too rapidly for several seconds before returning her gaze to Bartholomew. “It’s hard . Terribly hard. You’re the only one who knows how I feel.”
He nodded, but of course it wasn’t the same at all. He hadn’t simply lost his twin brother, the mirror image of his soul. He’d failed to save him, which was altogether worse. He’d ruined his parents’ lives, and Sarah’s, and the
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