“There will be time enough for maudlin reflection on my destroyed life,” Rhys said, giving Gregory a playful shove toward his new wife. “Today is for celebrating. Go to her, as it is obvious you wish to, and don’t give another thought to me.”
Gregory tossed a grin over his shoulder and then did as he’d been told, moving toward Celeste like a thirsty man toward water. When he was gone, Gilmore sidled close and nudged Rhys with his shoulder.
“What exactly are you left to manage?” Gilmore asked. “I am not fawning over a new bride, so perhaps I can be of help.”
Rhys sighed. “My first focus must be my nephew.” He gulped at the idea. “That child should not suffer for what his parents did, not to themselves, not to each other. So we will go to Bath likely the day after tomorrow and I will see what is best in that situation.”
Gilmore arched a brow. “We? Who is we?” Rhys was quiet for apparently too long because the duke answered his own question. “We being you and Pippa?”
There was something in his tone that made Rhys duck his head. “Don’t,” he growled.
Gilmore moved to stand in front of him so he could look him in the face and effectively block any attempt at escape. Because his friend knew him so well, damn him.
“I have been your friend for how long?” he asked softly. Gently, even.
Rhys shook his head and refused to meet Gilmore’s stare. “I don’t know. Too long. All my life. Long enough for me to tell you that I don’t need your opinions.”
Gilmore rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s never stopped me.”
Despite everything, Rhys couldn’t help but smile at the quip. He relaxed a fraction. “No, I suppose it hasn’t. And since you will do as you like without a thought for me, then go ahead and give them, but know I’ll ignore them.”
Gilmore snorted but his demeanor quickly became more serious. “Rhys,” he began, and Rhys stiffened at the use of his given name. They never called each other by anything but their titles, not since they were in short pants. It gave a gravity to the situation that only piled up on everything else. “She is fascinating.”
Rhys wrinkled his brow. He hadn’t expected that to be what his friend said. Fascinating. Yes, that was the way to describe Phillipa, and a slash of jealousy was his immediate response. One he shoved down as hard and as fast as he could.
“Indeed,” he said because Gilmore seemed to be waiting some kind of answer to his statement.
The duke edged a little closer. “But if you are interested in her, and I say if even though I know there isn’t an if about it…it could be bad.”
The first reaction that hit Rhys in the chest was a strong desire to shove Gilmore away from him. Like distance would make what he said less true. That somehow he could erase this moment and pretend it hadn’t happened.
But once that sudden and violent sensation passed, a more metered response settled into his chest. Gilmore wasn’t wrong. An interest in Phillipa would be…bad. It was bad. There was nothing to do but fight it. Deny it to others and to himself until it went away. It had to go away.
He cleared his throat. “I am only interested in making things right for her and for the boy.”
Gilmore lifted his brows. “So you say.”
Rhys glared at him. “I am!” he snapped, with far more heat than the benign response warranted.
Gilmore raised his hands in surrender. “So you say,” he repeated.
Rhys let his hand tighten on the half-full flute of champagne still gripped in his hand and drew a long breath. “And what about you?” he asked.
He noted that Gilmore’s gaze slid back across the room to where Abigail Montgomery now stood alone. It flicked over her and his mouth tightened, for everyone knew the two despised each other.
“I am only an interested observer,” he grunted. “There is nothing else for me here.”
Rhys arched a brow, because he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Then he lifted his glass. “Then we are the same. Nothing of interest for us in the house of cards my brother built. So let us toast to the happy couple.”
Gilmore clinked his glass without looking at him. “To the happy couple,” he grumbled.
And they both drank without smiling, lost in thoughts of ladies who were out of reach by circumstance, by design, by whatever power made things impossible.
Chapter 2
Pippa entered the parlor, looking for her book so that she could add it to the ever-growing pile of things to pack for her return to Bath. She came to a halt as she realized Abigail was standing at the window, staring out at the fading afternoon sun.
They had been friends from the moment they were introduced, and Pippa had loved that fact. She knew some women would have hated each other in the circumstances they’d encountered. They would have fought over the blackguard who had betrayed them all, rather than stand together.
But Abigail hadn’t done that. Neither had Celeste. Their bonds of friendship were strong and true. But tested recently. Pippa had found out that Abigail knew about the marriages before anyone else, and it had soured their bond a little.
Now Abigail looked at her and there were tears in her dark eyes. “I hate that you have to leave. Especially since I know you are angry with me.”
Pippa crossed the room in a few long steps and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I was taken aback when I knew you had knowledge about Erasmus’s behavior. I suppose I wished you had saved me the same way you tried to save Gilmore’s sister from our husband’s wicked clutches.” She sighed as she guided her to the settee, and they sat together. “But you had no way to stop this any more than I did. It wasn’t fair of me to react so strongly.”
Abigail let out a small laugh. “As if any of this is fair.”
“No, it isn’t.”
They sat in silence for a while until Abigail rested her head on Pippa’s shoulder. “But doesn’t it give you hope to see Celeste find true love? A future outside of this nightmare?”
Pippa shifted in discomfort. “It makes me happy for her, of course. But her circumstances are so unique. Owen knew all of us, knew what had happened, and never judged her. I doubt it will be easy to find another man with such an open heart. Especially since there are no longer dowries to make such a match palatable in other ways.”
Abigail let out a sigh. “I know you’re right.”
Pippa sat up. “I’m sorry to be gloomy. I’m only trying to find a way to accept this for myself, but it is unfair to drag those burdens onto you.”
“No, they are the same thoughts I have late at night, staring at my ceiling.” Abigail shrugged. “It’s as if…as if…”
“The future is just a blank page,” Pippa whispered. “I’ve always been able to picture it, but now it’s just…gone.”
Abigail pulled a face. “God’s teeth, that’s a horrible idea. You can see some of a view of it, surely. You’ll leave for Bath in just a few hours and you will have much to do there. You and Lord Leighton.”
Pippa heard the shift in Abigail’s tone when she said Rhys’s name, and shut her eyes briefly. “You act as though we will be together during his time there. He has a great deal to manage—I’m an afterthought. He only considers me when it comes to what he believes he owes us all for his brother’s actions, and for the good of his nephew.”