Chapter Thirty-Four
It wasn’t easy to locate Charles Keane in a city the size of Bath. James eventually managed it by making inquiries at the King’s Bath, which led him to Miss Letitia Keane’s residence. He had to bite down on his frustration as he drank tea with her and tried to pretend it was a regular social call. But finally—and rather cleverly, he thought—he managed to get Charles’s direction, and so he set out to find him as soon as he could take his leave without causing offense.
Charles was occupying a suite of rooms in a large townhouse in Norfolk Street. The rooms were furnished in a modern style, but with that heaviness of decor that suggested a bachelor’s preferences. Charles himself was draped over an armchair when James arrived, with an early bumper of brandy in his hand, reading the paper.
“James!” he said with evident pleasure, folding up the Chronicle and getting out of his chair, “What brings you here, old chap?”
That damned paper! James wanted to throw it into the flames—but he’d come here to reason with Charles, not fight him. He must contain his fury. Shutting the door behind him with a decisive snap, he entered the room, brandishing Emma’s copy of the newspaper.
“I know you sent this to Miss d’Ibert,” he said stiffly. “If it’s a joke, it’s a poor one and could have disastrous consequences. We must discuss this and, if you care for our friendship, I hope you’ll deal with me honestly.”
His friend assumed an expression of mock seriousness, but his eyes glittered. “Well, then, if it’s so serious, perhaps I should offer you a brandy…or take another one myself, to soften the blow.”
James’s jaw clenched. If Charles carried on drinking there’d be no reasoning with him. “Not for me, thank you,” he answered stiffly. “I’ll come straight to the point. Did you put this piece of tittle-tattle in the paper?”
“Of course not! When would I have found the time? So, no, it’s not one of my pranks. But I was amused when I saw the item, as it quite clearly refers to Emma and me, so I bought an extra copy and had it sent to her posthaste.”
James resisted the urge to pick up his friend and shake him. “Why frighten her like that? She’s only just returned to Society, and already you’re trying to ruin her.”
“If I meant to ruin her, I’d have sent the paper to your mama, not Hibbert.”
True. James drew in a breath and steeled himself to ask the question upon which his whole future happiness hung. “What are your intentions toward Emma?”
Charles strolled across the room and refilled his glass agonizingly slowly before replying, “Why, I have no intentions toward her. Why would I?”
This should have been the answer James wanted to hear, but he knew it wasn’t quite that simple. “Then why have you been behaving as if you have a particular interest?”
“Has she said that? I suppose I might have given her that impression. But I wasn’t serious.” Charles walked back to his chair and sank down into it. How could he look so unconcerned? He’d behaved appallingly.
Then James remembered his own behavior toward Miss d’Ibert. He was just as guilty as Charles of behaving like a cad.
Still, he had always intended to do the right thing.
Softening his tone, he asked, “Then why did you write to her? Why did you kiss her in a public place if you have no designs on her? I utterly fail to comprehend.”
Charles swilled his brandy around the glass. “Oh, don’t be such a stickler, man. You know how it is. You see a pretty woman and you fancy a kiss and a cuddle, so you say what you need to get her compliance.”
Just how compliant had Emma been? James felt sick.
“Don’t look so aghast, old man! It was just a kiss. We both remained fully clothed,” Charles said with a smirk.
James’s fist itched to connect with his face. But it would make him the worst kind of hypocrite if he punched his friend for doing exactly what he, himself, had been doing earlier.
However, his kiss had been a precursor to a proposal. He loved Emma, and it had taken hours of soul-searching to test the water with her and risk rejection again. Charles, quite clearly, had no such compunction.
“I suppose you used the same charm on that poor housemaid you got with child,” James muttered.
Charles’s face darkened. “I don’t wish to be reminded of that,” he said. “She was an acute embarrassment to me. I barely dissuaded Papa from outing me to Aunt Letitia. That would have put the cat among the pigeons, and no mistake!”
“You scarcely seem to have learned your lesson,” James ground out, “if you’ve been playing the same game with Miss d’Ibert.”
Charles’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Why do you persist in calling her by that antiquated surname? Hibbert was good enough for her when she was a governess. I don’t see why she should change the pronunciation just because your mama’s taken her up.”
“Because it is her name.”
“How very droll. James, you really are being tedious today. Whatever is wrong with you?”
James could feel their long-held friendship melting away. He’d been angry enough when he heard about the housemaid, but toying with Emma was beyond the pale. How could he ever forgive Charles?
“If you made advances toward Emma but didn’t intend to marry her, you’ve acted shamefully,” he said bluntly. “She was ready to deal with you decently, which says a lot for her strength of character, if not for her perceptiveness. You’re not worthy of her. You never were.”
Charles took a deep draught of his brandy as his eyes narrowed. “Ah, I see where this is coming from. You want her for yourself, but she holds a candle for me. Well, touché, old boy—there’s nothing you can do about it. I have the prior claim.”
“You do not, since you’ve never made an honorable offer to her. I, on the other hand, have.”
A slow grin broke over Charles’s face. “Who would have thought it, eh? You and I, bosom friends for years, finally falling out over a female? Well, I can see only one solution that will suit us both. I’ll make her my mistress first, and when I’m done with her, I’ll pass her over to you.”
James clenched his fist. With the full force of his anger behind it, he knew he could quite easily spread Charles Keane all over the walls of his bachelor apartment.
But he must never stoop so low.
“I don’t know what has occurred between you and Miss d’Ibert,” James said through gritted teeth, “nor do I want to know. But this newspaper piece changes everything. If you don’t offer for her after this, she’ll become a pariah. So, I’m going to give you a chance to make good. My family’s been invited to a house party at Stourhead at the end of the week, and Emma will come with us. I’ll send the host a note to ensure you’re invited, too. There, you will do the decent thing and make your proposal to Miss d’Ibert.”
His heart pounded fit to burst. He was taking a gamble, and the stakes were terrifyingly high.
Pulling in a deep breath, he continued, “She will, I trust, reject you. Then you can inform the Chronicle of the fact, making it quite clear that it was her, not you, who rejected the idea of an engagement. The ton needs to know—and damn it, I need to know—that if she then accepts me, it won’t be just to save her reputation. It won’t be because you refused to do the honorable thing.”
He really didn’t want her to marry him to save face. It had taken a while to realize it, but what he wanted was not just her acceptance of his suit.
He wanted her love.
Charles choked as some brandy went down the wrong way. As soon as the coughing subsided, he exclaimed, “But what if I don’t want to propose? What if I would rather just play, but not commit to her?”
James’s towering anger threatened to overwhelm him. He stepped back toward the doorway and seized the doorframe to steady himself. “If you don’t make her an honest offer, I’ll inform your Aunt Letitia of your dealings with both the servant girl and with Emma. Miss Letitia Keane has no reason to doubt my word. Your precious inheritance will fly away, out of your grasp.”
“I say!”
James gazed down at the red-faced, spluttering man in front of him. He could almost pity him.
Almost.
“I’m not giving you a choice,” he stated. “You will go to Stourton House in four days’ time.”
Not waiting for a reply, he dragged open the door and stalked down the hallway and out of the building, desperate for some fresh air. He’d have to walk home or find a fellow boxer to spar with. Otherwise, the violent energies released in his body would consume him.
Four days.
In four days his future would be decided, one way or another.
They were going to be the longest four days of his life.