Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nathaniel glanced around the room, his deep blue eyes briefly observing the members of the gentleman's club. Some men were on their way to getting tipsy, while others were focused on playing cards and barely touched their drinks. Those were the serious gamblers, the ones who frequented illegal gambling halls and kept that part of their lives away from their public image. Nathaniel only knew about them because his younger brother, Richard, had friends in high and low places.

Richard had always been the fun, easygoing brother who easily made friends with anyone. He also had the ability to blend into whatever world he wished, be it an underground boxing club for commoners or riding with the Regent's party. Nathaniel enjoyed hearing Richard's stories, although he didn't approve of some of his brother's activities. He was never directly involved in anything illegal, but some of his behavior was questionable.

"Your play," his brother said, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Nathaniel nodded, inspecting his cards before selecting one and placing it on the pile. "Look at that," he said. "I win again."

Richard scowled and tossed the rest of his cards on the table. "I give up. I'm undoubtedly having a bad night."

"When do you ever win against me?" Nathaniel asked. "I taught you how to play. You cannot be greater than your master."

"Yes, yes, so you say," his brother replied. "But the day is coming when Nathaniel Radford will be great no more."

Nathaniel chuckled. "I have spent forty years being great—what will change that now? You will always have twelve years to catch up to me. You need to face the fact that the gap will never be closed."

Richard shook his head. "Everyone thinks you're a humble man, but you're frighteningly conceited. You do well hiding that flaw."

"What you call conceited, I call confidence," Nathaniel replied, shrugging. He pushed his empty glass toward his brother. "Fancy getting me a refill, little brother?"

"Fancy doing it yourself, big brother?" Richard countered.

"Is this how you repay me for all I've done for you?" Nathaniel asked.

He was merely jesting—he didn't need to be repaid for being a protective older brother. It was just amusing to use the reason and watch his brother squirm with indecision. His rebellious nature wanted to defy the order, but his respect and affection for Nathaniel usually fought against his stubbornness.

"Fine," he eventually replied. "But I'm only doing it because you finally agreed to come to London instead of playing the hermit on your country estate. I'll return in a moment."

Nathaniel grinned and nodded as he leaned back in his chair. It had been a while since he had spent time in a gentleman's club. His brother was right about him preferring to keep to his country estate. It was more peaceful and he could be alone with his thoughts far more than staying in London during the Season. However, Richard was relentless, so Nathaniel decided to take the plunge and be part of the insanity of the London Season. Balls, dinner parties, tea parties, riding parties, garden parties—the Season was relentless with social engagements, people finding marriage partners, building connections to further their influence and power, and simply having a good time.

Nathaniel used to relish the Season, but that was when he still had his beautiful wife by his side. Beatrice had been his sun, moon, and stars, the woman who made him relish the day and brought comfort at night. Losing her had been gut-wrenching and soul-crushing. He might as well have died right along with her because his world grew bleak and uninhabitable. However, as with all survivors of tragedies, life must go on.

He stood up to stretch his legs a little and considered going home a little earlier than expected. The gentleman's club didn't have the draw it once did years ago. Its brown, black, and green interior still looked largely the same. The leather armchairs dotted the room, round mahogany tables, walls lined with green wall-hangings, and paintings made up the quintessential man's club, devoid of any feminine touches. Nathaniel had to wonder if a woman's club would be just as respected. Some men might argue that a woman's home was her club—she didn't need a separate place for just women to meet, drink, and gossip. Although, on second thought, women could do that almost anywhere, just as men could.

"Your whisky, O Great One," Richard said as he returned. He slid the glass into Nathaniel's hand and plonked down in his chair. "I overheard a few fellows talking about an opera show tomorrow evening. Why don't we attend? I have a box."

"What play is it?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrow. "It's not precisely something I would expect given the instances of questionable behavior in the play."

"That is what makes it interesting to watch," said Richard.

"I suppose so," Nathaniel replied, raising his glass to his lips.

"So, shall we attend?" Richard asked.

Nathaniel shrugged. "I'm not against some Shakespearean entertainment. I think the last play I watched at the Theater Royal was Hamlet. I'm not keen on tragedies."

"Which is why A Midsummer Night's Dream will be perfect," his brother pointed out. He gathered the cards together and shuffled them. "I'd like to try again."

"Play with someone else," Nathaniel told him. "I'm leaving after this glass. I just want to go home and rest. I can send the carriage to return for you if you're not ready to go home."

Richard sighed and laid the cards on the table. "I should have known you would want to leave early," he said. "I suppose I'm also ready to leave." He leaned closer over their table. "There's just a bunch of old men and terrible gamblers here. No one of interest. I hoped to at least run into someone more exciting."

"Life is not all about searching for excitement," Nathaniel told him.

Richard rolled his eyes. "So says the self-confessed hermit," he said. "You're opposed to anything remotely interesting."

"I'm going to the play tomorrow evening," Nathaniel pointed out.

"One thing does not cover years of doing nothing but reading and writing in your stately home," said Richard. "I plan to liven your life so much this Season that you'll return home a different man. Or perhaps you will not return home for a long while and just enjoy what London has to offer."

Nathaniel snorted. "Do you honestly believe that? You'd be a fool."

"I always do my best work when the odds are against me," said Richard. "It makes winning all the more sweet, like the first sun-ripened peach in summer. Or strawberry. No, pineapple. Delicious fruit, that. Exotic, just how I like my women."

Nathaniel looked skyward and said nothing. Richard was a terrible rake and had a penchant for foreign women—the darker, the better. Women with golden complexions, dark hair and eyes, and voluptuous bodies were his Achilles heel. Nathaniel couldn't count the number of times his brother had succumbed to his baser desires and found himself in a duel with an angry husband or father. Instead of changing his ways after so many brushes with death, Richard received a rush of emotions that only those addicted to unfortunate substances could receive.

Richard undoubtedly had their father's love for women, especially those already taken. It was a thrill to have what others told them they couldn't have, but eventually, that euphoric feeling of staking one's claim had disappeared. It was probably why Britain desperately needed to colonize lands across the world. That power from conquering something couldn't be equaled to anything—apparently, Nathaniel wouldn't know. He had never felt the urge to overpower anything.

"It just occurred to me that this is whisky," he said.

Richard raised his dark eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

They had the same coloring—dark hair, eyebrows, dark blue eyes, and fair skin, but Nathaniel was a little taller. Not that it mattered since they were both over six feet and towered over most people.

"I said this is whisky," said Nathaniel.

"Yes, I realize you said that, but I'm wondering why," his brother replied. "This is your second glass. How can you only just realize you're drinking it?"

"Do you blame me?" Nathaniel asked. "Since when did this club serve something illegal? This is Scottish whisky. This comes from the Highlands—I recognize it."

He would know because he had bottles of it at home from a cousin who thought nothing about their laws. He was a Highlander through and through, and owned a distillery with some of the best whisky Nathaniel had ever consumed, and he believed he had every right to bring his whisky across the border. If the Lowlands could do it, so could he—that was his argument. However, since it was contraband, it was brought nestled among what his cousin considered inferior whisky from the Lowlands.

Richard grinned. "So, you picked that up. I wondered when you would realize it's our cousin's whisky. I was tempted to say something about it to those obnoxious old men who decide who joins the club and who doesn't, but I would rather have this than that awful stuff they sometimes serve."

"Well, things do certainly change around here," Nathaniel replied. "I'm pleasantly surprised."

He enjoyed his next sip even more, knowing just how much his cousin relished seeing the English drinking his contraband whisky. Perhaps he should send his cousin a letter and let him know about the development, although he likely already knew.

A coughing member caught his attention. The large man stumbled to his feet, knocking back his chair as he flailed about in distress. It took another moment to realize the man was choking, and no one knew what to do. Nathaniel had once watched a farmer turn a lamb almost upside down and hit the animal's back rather hard, but that would be impossible with the large man. His girth alone would prevent him from bending over. There had to be another way to help him.

"That man is going to be dead in a matter of minutes," he muttered, rising to his feet.

Richard stood up and followed Nathaniel. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Something," Nathaniel replied.

Men were panicking around the choking member. Some were tapping him on the back and bending him over the table, but nothing was helping. Nathaniel figured he was big enough to get his arms around the man and pump his chest several times to dislodge whatever was lodged in his throat. In theory, squeezing his chest seemed like it could work, but he had never done it before. Still, it was worth a try.

Nathaniel pushed the other men out of the way without a word—there was no time to be polite. In his opinion, the English were obsessed with politeness.

"What are you doing?" a member asked angrily. "The man is about to die!"

"Calm down, sir," Richard insisted. "Allow my brother to help."

"Is he a physician?" another member asked.

He was rather young to become a member, which indicated that perhaps he didn't go through the usual thorough and tiring process to join the club.

"Hush, you idiot," an older man hissed. "That is the Duke of Devonshire. Do you want trouble heaped on your head?"

Nathaniel grinned. Perhaps his years of being a daredevil and not a man to be trifled with had not disappeared. While Richard certainly was the crazier of the two of them, Nathaniel couldn't plead complete innocence. He'd had his moments before he married Beatrice and became a responsible and mature man.

Grabbing the man above his protruding belly, Nathaniel gave a sudden and firm squeeze. The man wheezed slightly, but he continued to choke. At this point, he was growing reddish-purple from lack of air filtering into his lungs. Nathaniel didn't know if what he was doing was helping, but he continued to pump the man, nearly lifting him off his feet with effort despite his size.

Finally, mere seconds before Nathaniel gave up, the man violently coughed up what looked like a piece of Stilton cheese. The man slumped on the table, nearly upending it.

"Thank you," he panted. "Thank you."

Nathaniel patted his shoulder. "Just chew your food properly next time," he suggested.

Most of the spectators returned to their prior activities. They appeared no longer interested now that the man wasn't choking.

"Where on earth did he get the cheese?" Richard asked, wrinkling his nose at the slimy blob on the table. "They do not serve that here, or am I mistaken?"

"Benson keeps it in his pocket," a member commented when no one else replied. "It's why he usually reeks of it. Most unpleasant for the rest of us. The man is obsessed with Stilton."

That explained the offensive stench emanating from the large man. Nathaniel initially believed it was a lack of hygiene. Nothing a good bath or two wouldn't fix. However, it was just a matter of stinky cheese, so the matter was even easier to remedy.

"Well, Stilton nearly offed him, didn't it?" Richard carelessly pointed out. "Interesting end to our evening, though. Ready to go, brother?"

"Yes," Nathaniel said, straightening his attire. "I've had too much stimulation for one night."

After ordering someone to get the man something to drink, they left the club and got into their carriage moments later.

"You know, I'm surprised you've managed to avoid London for so many years," Richard remarked once they were settled. "Your bank is here, and so are our other investments. Surely, you would have needed to come here occasionally?"

"I had everyone come to me," Nathaniel replied. "Simple."

"I suppose power, influence, and wealth bring everything to you, even when you're out of the way," said Richard. "It also makes you lazy and too comfortable."

"I beg your pardon?" said Nathaniel. "Lazy and too comfortable?"

Richard raised his eyebrows. "You know precisely what I mean. Life is passing you by, and you're missing it. It's painful to watch."

Nathaniel sighed. He knew precisely what his brother meant. "I'm here, am I not?" he said. "I admit that my grief has kept me away from everyone for years, but it's not as numbing and consuming as before. I would still rather keep to myself and think about Beatrice, but I'm here. That must count for something."

"It does," Richard replied. "It does."

A weighted invisible blanket descended on the carriage, smothering them in a mixture of sadness and longing. Beatrice had not only been a wonderful wife but also the sister Richard never had. He had adored her and grieved her for months after her death. Some would think they were blood siblings. No matter how much he liked to think about his wife, Nathaniel didn't want to sink into a bog of pain and undo what little progress he had made moving forward.

"I haven't heard you mention anything about getting married," he said. "You may be the second son, but at twenty-eight, I think it's time for you to settle down. You cannot be a rake forever."

Richard looked at him for a moment before he threw his head back and laughed. "Being a rake is my life's calling," he said. "Why on earth can't I continue along this path?"

"Surely, I do not need to answer that?" said Nathaniel.

Richard grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps not, but I'm content with my current life."

Nathaniel wanted to point out the double standard. Richard didn't want to change his life despite the dangers it posed, yet he expected Nathaniel to move on and live. As far as Nathaniel was concerned, they both partook in activities that were not necessarily good for them. They were undoubtedly two peas in a pod.