Chapter Twenty-Four

There was a rather nervous tap on the door. Clayton did not open his eyes.

"Yes?"

"My Lord," ventured the footman, "You have a visitor."

Clayton cracked open one eye. "Do I seem to be in the right state of mind to accept visitors?"

The footman bit his lip. "Well, no, but he said…"

"Oh, pray move aside, you simpleton; I am certain he is within."

Well, that was a familiar voice, and it made Clayton open both of his eyes, just in time to see Lord James Belford elbow his way past the protesting footman, and step into the drawing room.

"Lord James," Clayton said at last. "What a pleasant surprise. You're in luck – only an hour ago I was in my bedroom, considerably drunker than I am now."

James scowled. "I don't care about that."

"Well, are you here to challenge me to a duel after all? Because I'm really not in the mood, you see."

"Of course I'm not."

"Excellent. In that case, I can offer you tea."

"I don't want tea. I want…" James broke off, glaring at the footman until the poor man bridled and showed himself out.

"Sit down, why don't you?" Clayton drawled. "Pray, refrain from casting such baleful glances upon my household. They have committed no offence against you."

James pressed his lips together and sank down into an armchair without asking permission.

For a few moments, the men stared at each other. Clayton waited patiently for James to speak first.

"Why did you do it?" James said at last.

It was the question Clayton was waiting for, but he was no more prepared to answer it than he had been at first.

"Because I am a drunk, prideful fool," Clayton answered at last. "When the wager was made, Simon made me feel small. Silly. I accepted the wager because I was drunk, and too foolish to think over the long-term consequences. And once I had sobered up and realised what I had agreed to, I was too proud to back out. And now see what I have done. I would gladly give Simon his fifty pounds, or even a hundred, or more, to undo what I have done. What I put Lady Isolde through is… is too painful for me to think on. Heaven only knows how she feels. I'm a fool, and a weaker man than I thought. I am aware that this may not suffice for you, but I assure you that a deep sense of remorse is consuming me entirely."

"You're right," James said, after a pause. "It isn't enough. Tell me, did you know about Lord Raisin?"

Clayton slid lower in his seat, tipping back his head to look up at the ceiling. What exquisite moulding they had up there. Why had he never admired it before? He was in the middle of wondering how the servants managed to dust the ceilings when James spoke again, a trifle angrily this time.

"Answer me!"

Clayton shot him a look. "It's not proper to harangue one's host, you know."

"Oh, do cease this chatter! It is hardly seemly to engage in wagers regarding who shall win or lose a lady's affections, yet you did just that. Pray, answer my question."

"Oh, yes, your question. I must confess, I didn't entirely understand it. Can I assume that Lord Raisin is engaged to Lady Isolde? That was always his aim, was it not?"

James stiffened. "No," he bit out. "They are not engaged, and never will be."

That got Clayton's attention. He sat up a little straighter, tilting his head to one side.

Looking properly at James, Clayton saw a hundred details he hadn't noticed before. The young man was clearly furious, but not, as Clayton had initially assumed, at him. He was fidgeting and half-muttering to himself, face white under his tan and lips pressed tight together.

"What has he done?" Clayton heard himself say. "Lord Raisin, that is."

James glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. "First, tell me who knew about this wager of yours."

"I cannot tell. I told nobody. Only my friend, Lucas, knew about it, and of course Mr. Simon Dudley. However, I don't believe he kept his silence. I heard that other men were laying side wagers as to the outcome. But I never told a soul."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you think that Lord Raisin might have heard?"

Clayton frowned, leaning forward. "It's possible. Why do you ask?"

"Because I just discovered him at White's, inebriated beyond measure, standing upon a table and boasting of his allegiance to Mr. Dudley's wager. He proclaimed himself the one charged with thwarting your courtship of my sister, yet instead, he has claimed her for himself—along with her considerable dowry," he added, his tone rife with bitterness. "His words, I assure you, not mine. Had he not been so far gone that he could scarcely maintain his footing, I would have delivered him a well-deserved blow right then and there."

"You do like to hit people, don't you?" Clayton remarked, fingering the blossoming bruise on the side of his jaw.

"Only when they deserve it. Well, there you have the tale. What might you have to say regarding it?"

Clayton pursed his lips. "What would you like me to say? I didn't know that Lord Raisin was involved, or I would have tried to warn Lady Isolde. However, one could argue that what Lord Raisin did was not so bad as what I did. I am ashamed, you know."

James seemed a little mollified at this. Perhaps he was finally starting to believe that Clayton truly regretted it.

Words, though, would only go so far. A man could only say ‘sorry' so many times before the word lost its meaning.

Something was bothering Clayton, however, and he leaned forward further, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You said you just found him in White's?"

"Yes, less than an hour ago."

Clayton lifted an eyebrow. "And you came here, instead of going straight home?"

James flushed. "It's not as if I have good news to bring. I know Isolde isn't enamoured of the man, but my parents like him, and they believe they've finally convinced her to accept him. She was going to be safe. Safe from gossip, and safe from men like you."

That was a fair point. Clayton nodded.

"It goes without saying that I would never say a word to damage Lady Isolde's reputation."

James drew in a breath. "You said you loved her."

Clayton stiffened. "I… how did you know that?"

"She confided in me. She is my sister, and she shares all her thoughts with me."

"Ah. I see."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

James sighed. "Well, is it true?"

Clayton considered lying. Lies had always come fairly easily to him. If he lied, then James would go home and tell Isolde what he had said, and then she would be safe. Safe from him, safe from heartbreak.

It was the kind thing to do.

Wasn't it?

"I received this letter only a few hours ago," Clayton said, holding up the black-sealed envelope from earlier. "It brings me news that my father is dead."

James swallowed. "Oh. Oh, I am so sorry. I can't imagine what you are going through."

"No, you can't imagine, because you love your father, and from what I hear, your parents are excellent. My father was… was something else. I suppose you've heard the rumours. I always swore never to marry, mostly to made him angry. I saw how he treated my mother, and then my stepmother. I see how unfortunate women are treated in Society. Even the highest women in the land are seen as somehow less if not connected to a man. It's unfair, don't you think?"

James cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Your sister, my Isolde, is the sort of woman my father would have loathed. And believe me, that is a compliment. I always dreaded I would end up like him one day, but the older I get, the more I understand that the way my father acted is a choice. It always was. He chose to hurt my mother, my stepmother, and me. He chose to cut me out of his will – I'm not particularly upset, by the way – and he chose to treat me the way he did. And I chose not to visit him as he was dying."

James leaned forward. "Do you regret that?"

Clayton considered. "No, I don't. I regret some things in life, like not telling Isolde myself about the wager. She deserved to hear it from me. I regret taking the wager, of course, but in some respects, I can't regret it, because I would never have known her. The love I feel for Isolde is real, James. I think I'll always love her, regardless of whether she forgives me or not. I'm sorry, and I know that's just a word, but I feel it. Truly."

James seemed to be considering this. On cue, the door edged open, and Thomas appeared, carrying a tray of tea.

Clayton bit back a sigh. The valet determinedly placed the tea tray down, poured out two cups, and retreated.

Apparently, it wasn't the worst idea in the world. More to break up the silence than anything else, both James and Clayton leaned forward and picked up their tea.

Clayton was sobering up at a rapid rate, and the hot tea helped to sharpen his senses further. James absent-mindedly helped himself to a biscuit.

"Isolde is acting strangely," he said at last. "I don't know what to do about it. I hate to admit it, but whenever she spent time with you, she was… she was happier. Much happier. And I love my sister, and I want to help her however I can. That's what I want to know whether it was all a lie. Did you truly feel anything for her?"

"I loved her," Clayton said again. "I loved her with all my heart, and I don't think I will ever stop. I'm not good enough for her, not by a long shot. I'm a worthless man, and a rake, and she deserves better than me. Still, I love her."

James nodded slowly. "Yes to all that, by the way. About you being worthless and not good enough for her."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"It is quite acceptable. However, I beseech you to rectify this matter, should you possess the ability to do so."

Clayton glanced sharply at him. "Rectify the matter? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I cannot fathom it; I simply wish for her to reclaim her true self once more, yet I find myself at a loss as to how to assist her. I must return home now and convey the unfortunate news regarding George, and… I yearn for Isolde to experience joy again. I would willingly undertake any endeavour to see her restored to happiness."

Clayton swallowed the last of his tea, setting down the cup with a delicate clack.

"So do I," he admitted, keeping his eyes down. "I would undertake any endeavour. I am exceedingly eager to restore harmony."

"You'd better," James said abruptly, rising to his feet. "We'll be walking in the garden before luncheon tomorrow. Isolde and I, that is. I doubt the servants will let you in, but you're a clever man, I'm sure you can manage it. If she sends you away, that's that, but…" James trailed off, looking a little nervous. "I have to try. You have to try."

He strode towards the door, hesitated, and glanced over his shoulder.

"I'm not sorry that I hit you, by the way."

Clayton nodded. "Of course not. I richly deserved it."

"You ought to feel fortunate that Isolde refrained from striking you. Her punches possess a most remarkable force. We used to engage in spirited tussles during our childhood."

"That does not surprise me."

James left abruptly, and Clayton sat there for a moment or two after he'd gone, thinking.

Thomas came in on silent feet.

"My Lord? Is all well with you?"

"Yes, actually. In fact, I've just been given a bit of hope I did not realise I had," Clayton said slowly. "Thomas, I need to be entirely sober for tomorrow. And I need to dress well. I need to look my best, actually."

Thomas' face lit up. "Leave it with me, my Lord."

"Thank you. Oh, and Thomas? It must be something I can climb in."

The valet paused, frowning. "Climb in? What do you mean?"

Clayton sighed. "I'm going to have to scale a wall, I think. A sturdy suit might be best, I think."