Chapter Two

Peter ran one hand over his eyes and slumped back against the carriage squabs. He had laughed so hard, his chest hurt. "Will you sit down, Henley?"

His brother grinned at him. "I am sitting down. You have drunk so much, it seems as though you cannot tell whether I am sitting or standing!"

"I am well aware that you are standing. " Though Peter had laughed at his brother's foolishness, he was not about to let Henley believe that he was as inebriated as he. "Sit down , Henley, before the carriage leaves and you fall over. You have done enough falling already!"

His brother frowned and, looking all about him, seemed to realize – albeit slowly – that Peter had been speaking the truth. With a grin, he seemed to half-fall, half-sit in the seat opposite Peter and then closed his eyes.

"You are not to cast up your accounts in this carriage, do you hear me?" Peter warned, seeing the color begin to drain from his brother's face as the carriage lurched back down the cobbled street towards Peter's townhouse. "I came to rescue you from Lord Yardley, as your message stated, only to find you so utterly overcome, you could barely stand! It would be shameful to then disgrace yourself in such a way."

Viscount Henley only let out a low groan, a line forming between his eyebrows as his face scrunched up into a frown.

"You are feeling unwell already?" Peter scowled and then shook his head. "Brother or not, I will have you out on the street if you dare think of being sick in my carriage."

"I will not cast up my accounts," Lord Henley mumbled, though Peter did not believe him given the color of his face. "Goodness, whyever did I send for you and your monstrosity of a carriage again?"

Peter sighed and closed his eyes, his mirth already leaving him. His brother and he had always been close given that there was only a year between their births, but of late, Henley had taken to keeping in poor company and his behavior was becoming a little more erratic. What was worse, he often called on Peter to come and rescue him from whatever situation he found himself in and, every time thus far, Peter had left what he himself had been doing and had come to the aid of his brother, even though he found himself rather displeased at the interruption.

"You sent for me because, as your message stated, Lord Yardley was forcing you to imbibe far too much brandy and was speaking of such dark things, you found yourself to be scared out of your wits."

"Oh." Lord Henley frowned, though his eyes remained closed. "It is just as well I always take my manservant with me. He is very good at sending you messages."

"Yes, he is," Peter agreed, dryly, "though I do not think that he is particularly pleased with the notion."

His brother snorted. "I do not care what it is that he thinks. He is to do as I instruct him and that is all." Lifting his head, his eyes opening suddenly, he smiled blandly at Peter. "Shall we stop at Whites? I am in mind of making a bet!"

"Certainly, we shall not," Peter replied, firmly, all hint of mirth now gone from his mind as he saw the ridiculousness of his brother's behavior. "It is the very worst of times to make a bet when one is as inebriated as you."

"You could always join me to make certain that I do not make any bets that are too ridiculous."

Peter rolled his eyes. "As though I should be glad to waste more of my time doing such a thing as that. In case you are unaware, brother, I was engaged in a matter of business when your message came. I was forced to leave that to come to your aid."

"Which is just as you ought to have done, given your standing as my brother."

Shaking his head, Peter looked out of the window rather than at his brother. He had caught sight of more than one disapproving look as he had laughed at his brother's attempts to climb back up into the carriage, though he had cared very little for what anyone thought. After all, it was not he who had fallen to the street. That was entirely his brother's doing and if Lord Henley wished to ruin his own reputation, then Peter could do nothing to prevent it. Yes, he would come to his aid but what Lord Henley chose to do was his own decision.

Though mayhap I ought to have been more sober-minded, he considered, his mouth pulling to one side. Perhaps in laughing along with him, perhaps in joviality, I have failed to show any sort of restraint or sober thinking.

Closing his eyes and letting out a huff of breath, Peter tried to sort out one thought from another. He was not his brother's keeper, of course, but his heart would not permit him to ignore his brother when his request for help came. That being said, Peter was beginning to fear that this situation was repeating itself – and would continue to do so until either he refused to come to Lord Henley's aid, or until Lord Henley himself realized the foolishness of what he was doing.

"At last, we have arrived!"

It took Peter a moment to realize that his brother was quite correct and that they were now outside Peter's own townhouse, rather than the townhouse which belonged to his brother. "I will instruct the driver to take you back home."

"No, I shall join you."

Peter put out one hand, pressing his brother gently back into his seat as Lord Henley made to rise. "No, Henley, you shall not," he said, with more firmness than his brother had expected given the way his eyes rounded. "I am to return to the matter of business I am considering and cannot have any distractions. Are you to attend the ball this evening?"

Lord Henley frowned but nodded. "I think so."

"Lord and Lady Colinsdale's ball," Peter reminded him, though no flash of recognition came into his brother's expression. "Might I suggest, then, that you go home, rest and recover before this evening's festivities?" He did not give his brother time to answer, did not give him opportunity to agree or to disagree but instead, opened the carriage door and stepped out before quickly instructing the driver to return his brother to his own townhouse. Watching it roll away, he sighed inwardly and turned to walk into his own house.

"Your brother, again?"

A gentle voice greeted him as he came into the hallway, quickly handing the butler his hat and gloves. "Good afternoon, Lady Symington." He kissed her cheek as she came near. "Though I do believe that he is your brother also."

His sister looked back at him steadily. "He is, though I confess that I am becoming a little concerned for him. He is often foolish these days."

Peter let his lips curve into a small smile. "Yes, he is."

"And he has not always been so."

"No, he has not." Stifling a sigh, he looked back into her eyes. "But pray, what can I do in this vexing concern? I have beseeched him with my disapproval of his excessive indulgence, yet he dismisses my counsel with indifference."

"Then I shall speak with him."

"I do not think that it will do any good," Peter replied, gesturing for her to join him as they walked to the drawing room. "I do hope Lord Symington has not been too frustrated with my absence?" At the time of his brother's message, Peter had been discussing a business proposal with Viscount Symington, his sister's husband, and all had been going well. Had it been unwise of him to depart so hastily in order to help his brother not do anything foolish?

"No, you will find my husband enjoying your very fine French brandy," his sister told him, a quiet laugh in her voice. "Symington is patient to a fault."

"A trait I am very grateful for, given the circumstances," Peter replied, gesturing for the footmen to open the door for them both to step inside. "Thank you for understanding, Julia."

"But of course." Letting out a small sigh, she looked up at him, her eyes holding a good deal of concern as she gazed into his face. "Is it seemly for me to harbour such apprehension for our brother, or am I behaving as a foolish, overly anxious sister?"

Peter could not answer her, finding his own heart still uncertain. "I do not know," he offered, honestly. "Let us pray that he sees good sense… and that he sees it soon."

***

I do not know why, but there is something familiar about that young lady.

Peter frowned, his eyes fixing to a dark haired young woman who was standing with a lady he also vaguely recognized. He could not say why, could not understand why his mind tugged to her but there was something about her that seemed recognizable to him.

"Now, who is it that you are staring at?"

Peter started, then rolled his eyes as Lord Symington leaned in towards him, a knowing smile on his face. "I am not staring at anyone in particular."

"That young lady, is it?"

Without meaning to, Peter glanced towards the dark haired young lady again and Lord Symington immediately chuckled, making Peter's irritation burn.

"It is not that I am studying her for any other reason but I find her familiar… though I do not know why."

"Is it because she has caught your eye, mayhap?"

Peter quickly shook his head. "Not in the least."

"Then why?"

"Because… because she is familiar to me, though I do not know her name nor truly recognise her, if that makes sense to your ears?" Peter tried to explain but found himself failing. "It seems strange to me that I would see her face as recognisable but not know her title."

"Mayhap you have merely passed her in the street and taken note of her beauty."

Peter let out a heavy sigh, though his brother-in-law only grinned. "I do not have any interest in any young lady at present, whether they be beautiful or not."

Lord Symington tilted his head. "Do you not think that young lady – the one you have been watching – could be considered beautiful?"

Having no wish for Lord Symington to mock him any further, Peter gave her only a cursory glance before shrugging his shoulders. "She has fine features, certainly, but she does not speak to anyone. She simply stands there, silently, while the lady with her speaks to the two ladies with them."

Lord Symington frowned. "Why should such a thing matter?"

"Because it is clear she either has no interest in what is being spoken of – in which case, I might consider her a little rude – or she has no confidence to join in the conversation, which I might then consider to be a lack of character. All this is to say that yes, whether she be beautiful or not, I would not even think to consider her."

"I see." His friend smiled suddenly, making Peter frown at the response. "It is interesting to me that you are doing your level best to claim that you have no interest – and could have no interest – in the lady whatsoever. Are you quite certain that you do not find her at all intriguing?"

"Only because I do not know why I find her familiar, that is all." Speaking crisply, Peter looked back at his friend. "I am here to enjoy the Season, as you are."

"Ah but there is a difference between you and I."

Peter frowned. "Namely?"

"That I am wed and you are not." Lord Symington chuckled. "Therefore, I can truly enjoy the Season for what it is while you must continually be considering the young ladies around you and wondering whether or not any of them will be suitable enough for you."

Shaking his head, Peter let out a low chuckle. "I can assure you, I have no intention of doing any such thing. When I marry – and yes, I am aware that I must marry in order to produce the heir – it will be by arrangement only. Mayhap a second cousin or the like. Someone who will be entirely suitable."

Lord Symington lifted an eyebrow. "And you will not permit your heart to say anything in that regard?"

"Certainly, I will not!" Peter scoffed. "I do not think that any gentleman who has any wisdom would permit their heart to have any sort of say in who they marry. That would be foolishness, surely, given that one's heart can be so fickle."

There came a long silence and as Peter looked back at his friend, he realized with agonizing slowness, that he had managed to insult him. Closing his eyes, he winced, letting out his breath in a hiss.

"I came to care for your sister before we ever considered engagement," Lord Symington said, quietly. "And I do not think that I lack wisdom."

"I would not suggest for a moment that you were in any way foolish," Peter said quickly, a flush of heat rising up his chest and into his face. "Forgive me, I did not think that through with any sense of true consideration."

"No, you did not," Lord Symington replied, a little dryly. "Though I shall forgive you, given that we are family."

Peter put one hand to his heart.

"And I should tell you that there is ample opportunity for any gentlemen of good standing and of wisdom to fall in love with a young lady," Lord Symington continued, firmly. "You ought not to shut yourself away from it."

With a small, wry smile, Peter shook his head. "That is not for me. I have no interest in allowing my heart to feel anything, not in that regard at least. It seems a good deal too tiring."

"Tiring?" Lord Symington laughed. "I can assure you, falling in love does nothing other than bring joy and happiness to my heart rather that fatiguing me. I have always been grateful for the day that I met your sister. It has brought me life!"

"And I am glad to hear that from you," Peter replied, firmly, "but I have always been practically minded and have no intention of allowing emotion to cloud my judgment."

All the same, when he turned his attention back towards the room at large, his gaze seemed to demand that he draw himself back to the young lady whom he recognized. He did all he could not to look at her but his gaze found him back there time and again to the point that, eventually, he turned himself away completely so he would not stare at the lady and wonder at her. Her memory continued to niggle at him and, desperate for relief, Peter went in search of a brandy and a game of cards, determined now to put the whole matter out of his mind.