Chapter 15

Later that afternoon, Vander was preparing to depart for Vauxhall when there was a knock at the door of his bachelor apartments.

His valet, Richards, went to answer. "Lord Trundley is here to see you, sir."

Shit. What was David doing here? To be sure, David used to drop by all the time, but that was before he'd started courting Emily. These days it was all Vander could do to get David to meet him at White's for a drink.

If he'd bothered to come here, it could only mean one thing—he had seen Vander and Letty step out onto the balcony, and he knew exactly what they'd been up to in the gardens.

Well, if he was going to get punched in the face, he probably deserved it. A scoundrel like him had no business sniffing around Letty.

He just hoped this wouldn't be the end of his friendship with David.

Vander eyed his friend warily as he stepped into the room. But David had a broad grin on his face. "Vander! I've been trying to track you down all day. I guess Throckmorton didn't give you my message last night."

"Oh, er—"

Fortunately, David ploughed on without waiting for a response. "Then this morning, I sent a note to see if you could meet me at White's. Imagine my surprise when the response came back from Richards that you were at Beauclerk Marine Casualty."

"That's right. My father wants me to start learning the business."

"That's grand." David glanced around. "Aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"

"Of—of course." Vander gestured hastily to the sofa. "Let me get you something."

At the sideboard, he made a show of considering the half-dozen bottles. But what he really wanted was a moment to compose himself. David seemed… remarkably normal. He gave no indication of being on the cusp of punching Vander in the face.

Although appearances could be deceiving…

Vander cleared his throat. "Fancy a glass of Quinta do Noval? I've the Waterloo Vintage."

David responded with a low whistle. "‘Course I do. You always have the good stuff."

Vander poured two glasses and handed one to David before taking the chair next to the sofa.

"Cheers, mate," David said, clinking his glass against Vander's. They both drank, and David settled back against the cushions. "So, how've you been?"

They chatted for a few minutes, about how Vander's life had changed since his father's ultimatum. "Letty's actually helping me search for some woman who would be willing to have me. In fact, I'm supposed to meet your family at Vauxhall in an hour," he said apologetically.

David drained his glass. "I know all about it. I'm going too, of course. I thought we could share a wherry across the river, seeing as we haven't caught up in a while."

"Great. I'd like that." Vander's voice didn't sound very enthusiastic to his own ears, but he tried to look pleased at the prospect. "Shall we, then?"

In the hackney carriage on the way to Westminster, David asked Vander how everything was going at his father's insurance office.

"I'm leading the company in bold new directions," Vander noted. "Under my guidance, Beauclerk Marine Casualty is about to corner the market for Peruvian bird shit."

David barked out a laugh. "Quit bamming me."

"I'm dead serious."

Vander told David about his days at the insurance office. In turn, David told Vander about his budding campaign for Parliament. "I'm actually leaving first thing in the morning. I'll be canvassing for votes over in Colchester. I'll be back by Tuesday, though. Got to be there for Lady Sunderland's ball. That's when Letty's announcing which of her suitors she's going to accept."

"That's on Tuesday?" Vander shook his head. "I didn't realize it was so soon."

David peered at him across the carriage. "Which of them do you think she should choose?"

Vander slouched down against the squabs, not bothering to conceal his lack of enthusiasm. "I don't know. If I'm being honest, I can't really picture her with either of them."

David muttered something that might have been, "If only she had another option."

Vander gave his friend a sharp look. "What was that?"

Abruptly, David was all smiles. "Nothing, old man. Nothing at all. So, done any boxing recently?"

They chattered about their usual topics for the remainder of the carriage ride, and Vander began to relax. David seemed like his usual self. Maybe he hadn't seen him leave the ballroom with his little sister. Maybe he wasn't going to strangle him and throw his body in the Thames.

It wasn't until the wherry had pushed off from the dock, when Vander had no hope of escape, that David said, "I saw you dancing with Letty last night."

His eyes shot to David's, wary. "What of it?"

David's voice was careful. "And then you two stepped out onto the balcony."

Vander had the rear-facing seat, meaning he had a view of the docks receding behind them. If he jumped out now, he could swim the distance. It wouldn't be easy, as he was wearing boots, but he could manage it.

Of course, failing to die of drowning meant he would have a painful, lingering death from whatever diseases he would catch from the Thames.

"Well?" David was looking at him, his expression curiously blank.

"It was a Scotch reel, you know," Vander said in a rush. "Very fast. So we were both a bit winded, and the ballroom was so crowded. Crowded and loud. And I needed to talk to her. About Miss Seymour, the woman she'd introduced me to that afternoon at the British Museum. It's the reason I was there—so we'd have a chance to talk. So, that's why I took her out on the balcony. So we'd have a place where we—"

"Could talk," David said with him in unison. "So, that's the only reason you took her out on the balcony?"

"Of course!" Vander tried to chuckle. It came out sounding like his father's laugh, high-pitched and nervous. "Come on, David. You don't think me and… and Letty?"

David tilted his head. "No?"

"Absolutely not," Vander hastened to reassure him.

"Oh." David gazed out at the river. After a moment, he nodded, then grinned at Vander. "Well, if this Miss Seymour didn't work out, you'd better get cracking. You've only got, what, three weeks to find the future Mrs. Beauclerk?"

"Twenty-five days," Vander retorted. "But who's counting?"

They both laughed, and the conversation drifted to other subjects. David did not punch Vander in the face, nor was he forced to leap into the Thames. And by the time the wherry pulled up to the Vauxhall docks, the ease with which he usually conversed with his best friend had returned.

Almost.