Arthur grudgingly took a ginger ale from the bartender and stood next to Harry. He recognized most of the faces in the room: friends of his parents, friends of his brothers and sisters. None of his own friends, and no one who might have something useful to say about a dead mogul’s estate.
He could think of only one reason John would have been so insistent that Arthur show up, and that was to ingratiate himself with a predictable kind of guest. “So which of this lot is the football fan I’m supposed to chat up?”
Harry subtly gestured at a young white man in a well-tailored suit. “My money’s on Walter. He’s the governor’s middle son, the one getting married next Saturday. You’re going, aren’t you?”
“No, I have a prior commitment.” I’ll be finally enjoying a moment alone with the adorable paranormal I’ve somehow snagged.
Harry furrowed his brow. “I could have sworn Mother said you were going.”
Not unless the fate of the world is at stake. Arthur smiled politely at a passing woman. “I’m afraid not. So. Football?”
“Yale fan, even.”
“You lot do remember I dropped out of Yale, yes?”
“To enlist,” Harry said. “We’re proud of that. And finishing school in London just makes you interesting.”
Arthur sighed into his drink. “I want to be the boring one. If I’m the most interesting person in the conversation, then I’ve chosen the wrong company.”
Harry inclined his head toward the other end of the hall. “I see Stevens standing over there. His sister went to Vassar and she’s interesting. Well traveled. Single.”
“Who’s single?” A large white man Arthur vaguely recognized—Richards, that was his name, had gone to Harvard with Will—stepped up next to Harry. “Is it Ace? You’re always single, aren’t you?”
Arthur kept his expression as bland as the mousse cups. “The world is full of beautiful women. Why tie oneself down?”
Richards clapped Arthur on the bicep. “Now you’re on the trolley. Mind you, that’s what Thomas always said, and you know the rumors there.” He dropped his voice to a juicy whisper. “He likes the masquerades in Harlem, have you heard of them? Where the men dress like women and the women like men? Shameful what some people get up to.”
It was far from the first time Arthur had heard judgment like that. It was always galling, but today it landed extra sharp, perhaps because he would so much rather have been at one of those but could never go, lest anyone connect him to his family. “So what if he does?” Arthur said, before he meant to. “Surely we all have bigger concerns than parties?”
Harry and Richards both stared at him. Damn. He hadn’t meant to take the run-his-mouth page out of Rory’s playbook.
“You don’t actually condone that sort of thing, do you?” Richards looked uneasy. “You were a soldier, and didn’t you play football?” he added, like those two things meant anything at all.
“Arthur spends a lot of time abroad,” Harry cut in. “He forgets America is different.”
If they’re not hurting you or anyone else, why should it matter what someone else wears or who they want to kiss? Arthur bit it back. “Europe, you know. It’s a wonder I didn’t show up raving and naked.”
Richards laughed, sounding relieved. “You need a wife,” he said heartily, clapping Arthur on the arm again. “Stay stateside, get yourself a nice girl, get your head on straight. What’s your type?”
Arthur faked a smile. “Vixens,” he said flatly. “With pretty curls and fiery tempers.”
“Cheers to that.” Richards clinked his glass against Arthur’s and lumbered off.
Harry’s eyes stayed on Arthur, and as soon as Richards was out of hearing range, he shook his head. “Arthur—”
“Oh, please,” Arthur snapped. “What does it matter if Thomas enjoys the masquerades, or even the company of men? It’s bad enough our medieval government gets involved; you can’t actually care what a man does in the privacy of his rooms.” He swallowed. “Can you?”
Harry glanced around them, then pulled Arthur just a little closer to the wall. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What does Father always say about politics?”
Arthur sighed, feeling five years old again and very much the runt of the family. “Don’t make it personal.”
“He and John caught enough heat over suffrage and immigration. I know the solider in you wants to charge in and protect everyone, but if you take a loud stance on this, you’ll make their lives even harder.”
Arthur clenched his teeth. Harry had said it kindly, his hand gentle on Arthur’s shoulder. But what do you think? Arthur wanted to ask. Do you think like Richards? What would you say if you knew how I feel when I look at Rory—?
He pushed it all down. “I’ll watch my mouth.”
“John and Father will appreciate it.” Harry squeezed his shoulder. “You know, Stevens’s sister has curly hair—”
“I’m afraid I forgot to get one of those dreadful mousse cups,” Arthur bit out. “Do excuse me.”
He passed the table of food without stopping, his practiced society smile on his face for the women as he accepted claps on the back and “good to see you, old boys” from men in suits like his own. He disappeared perfectly into the crowd, but then, being surrounded by men who looked exactly like him only ever made him more aware he was different.
Cigars and cigarettes had been lit around the room. With the windows tightly shut, the smoke hung in the air and stung his eyes, but Arthur found his way to the window anyway and leaned against it. His eyes stayed on the empty gray street below an empty gray sky as he waited for his temper to cool, letting the hall’s chatter wash meaninglessly over him without bothering to take part. It wasn’t like anyone was particularly excited to see him here anyway.
Oh, he was wasting time brooding. He should find someone who wanted to gossip about Mansfield, or at least find the governor’s son, Walter. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to talk football with people who actually knew something about the sport. He’d tried to talk about his city league with Rory once and got only a confused but sweet I dunno what a first down is, but I bet you look good doing it.
Arthur bit back a smile at the memory. Maybe Rory would finally let Arthur do something for him and they’d come back to the country, without all the family and responsibilities. Arthur could rent a private cottage, so they didn’t have to explain themselves to any curious innkeepers. Then again, if they went somewhere like Paris, they wouldn’t have to hide quite as deeply in the first place.