"Good Lord, Everleigh, it's been years!"
Julian Deveraux, Viscount Jarvis, greeted his old friend with a resounding clap to the back, that was so enthusiastic it nearly sent Ruan flying across the marble entrance hall of Jarvis House.
"Haven't seen you since--ah--ah--"
"It's been a long time," Ruan smiled tightly. He and Jarvis hadn't crossed paths since Catherine's funeral; not out of intention, but their ways had simply parted. Jarvis spent most of his time in town, falling out of gentleman's clubs at dawn, whilst Ruan had resolutely avoided such establishments.
"I'm told you have company," he said, as the Viscount led him into the elegantly appointed drawing room, where Jane, Deveraux's sister sat. Her face was pained, as the man opposite her spoke, gesticulating wildly, a grin as wide as the Avon Gorge across his handsome face.
"Payne," Deveraux called, and the young buck stopped mid-sentence to look up at his friend. "Have you met Everleigh?"
Lord Payne stood to greet the Duke, his hand outstretched. "Can't say I've had the pleasure, though I've heard of you, of course."
"Of course," Everleigh took the young man's hand, in a firm grip. "And I you. Your altercation with a fountain was all the papers could talk about for weeks."
"Oh, that," Lord Payne ruffled his hair with his hand, so that it fell in the same dishevelled manner that Byron had made so popular. "I was just telling Jane all about it. Riveting stuff."
"Truly riveting," the young woman echoed, though her tone was less than impressed. When her eyes fell on Ruan however, they lit up with warmth. She stood, and took his hand in hers, giving a squeeze to convey her happiness. "Everleigh, it's so lovely to see you again. I have missed you so."
"You do me a great honour, Jane," he said, bestowing a genuine smile on her. "Tell me, what have you been up to since we last spoke?"
"Oh," Jane blinked, and earnestly pushed her glasses up her nose. "I've been writing an essay on the morality of the Romans. It's quite fascinating, I--"
"Everleigh was just being polite," Julian drawled, rudely interrupting his sister mid-speech. "He doesn't actually care what boring bit of history you've decided to resurrect."
Ruan watched Jane's face flood with embarrassment, and the urge to strike Lord Deveraux filled him. Julian had always shown disdain for Jane, when they were younger, but Ruan had thought it merely the natural emotion that a teenage boy would feel for his younger sibling. Ruan, himself an only child, had always envied Julian his adoring little sister, but the pompous git had never appreciated her. It seemed he still didn't, even all these years later.
"I should be most grateful to receive a copy of the essay, when it's done," he said pointedly to Jane, ignoring Lord Deveraux who was rolling his eyes. "I always find your work fascinating, Jane."
Jane blinked at him shyly, the tips of her ears going red. She cast a glance at her brother, and Lord Payne, who looked bored beyond belief, then smiled at Ruan.
"I must leave now, your Grace," she said brightly, the relief at not having to suffer any more of her brother's company evident on her face. "Will you be here when I return?"
"I'm afraid not, I was merely stopping on my way to Pemberton Hall. I have been travelling from Southampton these past few days."
"But you will be staying in Cornwall, your Grace?"
Ruan hesitated; he had no idea what he would do, once he had Olive back under his protection. Pemberton, his Cornish estate, was much smaller than the Ducal seat he held in Avon, but perhaps it would be a nice spot to acquaint himself better with his wife.
"I do not know," he answered honestly, "But if I stay, I will call again."
Mollified Jane fled the room, with the briefest of nods to her brother and no acknowledgement to Lord Payne, who didn't seem to notice the slight for he was checking his hair in the looking glass above the fireplace.
"How about a brandy?" Lord Deveraux cried, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. It was rather early in the afternoon for drinking, but after the long journey from Southampton, Ruan felt he deserved some steeling libations.
He followed Deveraux and Payne to the mahogany clad library, where a low fire burned in the imposing hearth, despite the warmth of the summer's day. Both men seemed well acquainted with the room; Payne threw himself into a cosy, stuffed chair, with the air of a man who was familiar with the action.
"What brings you to St.Jarvis?" Ruan asked the younger man, as he accepted a tumbler from Deveraux. He had poured Ruan a rather generous measure, and an even more generous one for himself.
Lord Payne grimaced, as though he was in pain, and cast Ruan a dejected look.
"Trying to out-run my father's ire."
Ruan snorted into his brandy. He knew the Duke of Hawkfield well from Parliamentary sessions, and he was a fierce, proud man. That his son had garnered a reputation as the ton's most committed reprobate, would not sit well the old Duke.
"I don't blame you," Ruan sipped on his drink, "The old man even scares me."
Hearing that the fearsome Duke of Ruin found his father intimidating seemed to mollify Payne somewhat.
"He'll be even more eager to find me a bride, now," Payne said dejectedly, then a thought seemed to strike him. "I say, Everleigh, did you find your missing wife? Is that why you're back in Cornwall?"
No one would ever accuse Lord Payne of an excess of social tact, Ruan thought with a grimace.
"Nearly," he said, "I have reason to believe that after The Elizabeth sank, that she somehow ended up in St. Jarvis."
"Good God," Deveraux had paled, and was looking at Ruan nervously. "Did she lose her mind, do you think, from the shock of it all?"
Ruan could read the expression of pity on his old friend's face. Not another mad wife, he could see Deveraux thinking. He shrugged, in answer to the question, and took another sip of his drink.
"I wonder where she's staying," th Viscount mused aloud, after a moment's thoughtful silence. "A widow named Mrs Black recently reopened the old boarding house, and it's full of eccentrics like the old days. Perhaps she's there?"
"Mrs Black?" Ruan raised his eyebrows speculatively.
"Yes, Olive Black. A sailor's widow. She has quite the sharp tongue, but one lets that slide on account of how pretty she is. I was always partial to a red head though..."
"Gentlemen," Ruan set his glass down on the small table beside his chair. "I think you might find that I am the Widow Black's husband, and rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."