Chapter 8

Charles did not return home upon leaving Lady Felicity"s estate. Rather, he made for Harry's estate instead, figuring that what he needed right now was a drink, a friend's ear to voice all of his concerns into, and an assurance from said friend that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

He found Harry at home, as was to be expected. And in a good mood, as was also to be expected. Ever since the engagement, Harry had been frustratingly boisterous, likely because of how darn happy he was. Not a bad thing, of course, and Charles was truly elated that his best friend was so in love. It did, however, make it rather difficult to have a serious conversation with the man.

Point in case. Charles found Harry walking through his garden around the back of the manor. Alone. Nobody in sight. Just him and the flowerbeds, the sun, and the birds. There was a big smile on his face, a skip to his step, and when he saw Charles appear suddenly, somehow that smile and that skip grew.

"Your Grace!" Harry cried joyously, a strange enough greeting as Harry was perhaps the one person in the world who never called Charles Your Grace. "The Duke of Walford! In my own home! Happy days!"

Charles suppressed a groan. "Is everything all right, Harry?"

"Of course it is!" Harry cheered as he skipped toward Charles, positively beaming. "The sun is shining. The birds are cooing. Oh, and I simply must show you the English Roses. They are in fresh bloom and absolutely heaven on the olfactory senses."

"Have you been drinking?"

"What?" Harry chortled. "Of course not."

"Then it's about time we start."

"For a drink?" He slapped Charles on the back. "What need is there for liquor when we have a day as gorgeous as this one to sate our thirst with? Come now, a walk is what you need. Not a drink."

"No..." Charles sucked through his teeth. "When you hear what I have to tell you, I think you'll agree that a drink is necessary."

Finally, the smile slipped from Harry's face and the exuberance faded just a little. "Charles..." Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned back. "What did you do?"

"Like I said..." Charles rested a hand on Harry's back and turned him toward the manor. "A drink first. And then an explanation."

"I suppose I can go for one. But only one."

"Oh, and will you do me a favor," Charles began as the two men started toward the manor. "Ease up on the whole happy-go-lucky charade, will you? It's beginning to make you impossible to be around."

"Ha! Never!" Harry laughed and slapped his friend on the back.

They walked inside. And then to the drawing room. And then to the bar, where they poured a whiskey each. To the couches by the window next, blinds open so the day's natural sun could bathe them, settling into its warmth as Charles took a large sip of his drink... and then another for good measure.

It was only once the first glass was finished, and he'd refilled it with a second helping, that Charles finally explained to Harry what he had done. A decision that had seemed wise at the time but, on a retelling, came out sounding far more ridiculous, hopeful, and all-around foolhardy than Charles had initially considered.

As to his friend's reaction? A week ago, he might have warned him off it. A month ago, he certainly would have. But the new Harry, the one who was in love and the happiest he had ever been in his short life, reacted in the exact way that Charles should have expected. Whether or not it was a good thing...

"Welcome to the club!" Harry cheered and slapped Charles on the leg. "Who would have guessed, you and I to be wed in the same Season. It's kismet, Charles. Such serendipitous timing that it can only be fate."

"She has not agreed to it yet," Charles muttered.

"Oh, but she will." He took an excited sip of his whiskey, smacking his lips. "And what's better, you and I will be brothers-in-law! Gosh, just when I thought this day could not get any better!"

"So, you do not think it a bad idea? Desperate? Hopeless? Maybe even sinister and dishonest?" Charles asked, reaching for an excuse, any to justify the way his stomach turned.

"Most certainly," Harry agreed. "It is all those things. But let us be real, if you were ever going to marry, I would not expect anything less."

"Well... thank you for that, I suppose," he said dryly. "For your honesty, if nothing else."

Even Harry's optimistic attitude wasn't enough to remove completely the seed of doubt that had planted itself in Charles' stomach, left there to slowly grow and suffocate because, at the end of the day, he was his own worst enemy. There was a reason that Charles' had never once before considered marriage, and it had everything to do with his revulsion of the concept.

But surely a marriage to Lady Felicity would be different? He had chosen her for that exact reason. She would not want to get close to him or develop feelings of any sort. She would not desire anything more than a pure marriage of convenience. Heck, if she said yes and this went through, he half expected her to request that they never had to be in the same room together. Such was the way he viewed her perception of him.

Alas, as if Harry could read his mind, a knowing smile spread over his face that reached his eyes. "And do not think it escapes me, who it is that you have chosen."

"Wh -- what do you mean?" Charles stammered.

"Lady Felicity..." He clicked his tongue and chuckled. "Remember what you asked me, the day you two first met?"

"What I asked you?"

"You wanted to know more about her – now, I warned you off, of course. Yes, she is my betrothed's sister, but her reputation leaves much to be desired. But you, Charles, have never been one to take good advice seriously. Or at all. Do I sense a romantic inclination?"

"Now you go too far," Charles warned him.

"Do I? Ha!" Harry took a sip of his whiskey. "Do not misunderstand me. I believe the reasons you have given for why you chose her as a potential bride. And indeed, it is a smart choice. If she says yes, it will almost certainly help your reputation like nothing else could. A reputation that needs all the help it can get."

"But?" Charles pressed, sensing the ball about to drop.

"But..." He pumped his eyebrows. "The two of you are more similar than you might be willing to admit. All fire and brimstone, both of you. A powder keg awaiting a spark. Put you both in a room together and --"

"And chaos will ensue," Charles cut him off. "Not exactly a recipe for romance."

"Maybe..." He shrugged, still grinning stupidly. "But do not forget, I know all too well the women who you have dated in the past. For want of a better word," he chuckled at that. "And Lady Felicity is as different to them as a bird is to a fish. My thinking is that maybe, just maybe, she is exactly what you have always needed."

"Needed? Needed for what, exactly?" he asked coldly, warningly, fixing his friend in a glare.

"For love."

"Are you sure this is your first drink?" Charles scoffed. "Because only a drunk would make such a comment. If you know me as well as you claim you do, you would know that love is the last thing on my mind. And if you had seen me and Lady Felicity together, even once, you would know that the chances of us falling in love are as likely as... as... as..." He sought a comparison. "The moon rising in the middle of the day. Or perhaps, to double down on your metaphor, a cat suddenly learning how to bark."

"Ha! Maybe," he chortled as he finished his glass of whiskey. "We shall see."

Charles narrowed his eyes at his best friend. "You know, I liked you a lot more before you were engaged."

"Fell in love, you mean." He winked. "And I do not care if you did or not. This is me now, so you best get used to it."

"I don't think I can."

"Oh, do not say that, Charles. And if you are lucky, perhaps, soon enough, you will understand firsthand what it is like to feel this way. Resplendent. Heavenly. As if my heart floats on a cloud over a bed of roses as angles chorus their transcendent melody behind me."

Charles' lips curled. "If I ever speak as you are right now, you have my permission to push me off a cliff."

"Noted," Harry chuckled.

Tomorrow then. Charles nodded to himself, ignoring the twisting of his stomach. He would pay her a visit, and she would either agree to this marriage or deny him. A denial would be a shame but not the end of the world. And if she agreed, it would be a simple thing. A quick betrothal, a hasty marriage, no fuss, no feelings involved, no chance of romance because Charles knew that neither of them wanted such a thing.

It would be a marriage of convenience, and that was all.