Page 8 of Pursuing a Duke
“Yes, ma’am.”
Pulling the covers down, Emmeline climbed beneath the cool sheets, turned on her side, and closed her eyes. The strains of traveling and seeing Andrew proved too much for her, and her mind and body craved sleep.
*
Dinner and dancingbegan pleasantly enough that evening, but by the end Emmeline couldn’t wait to return to her room for the night. The strain of the day, and worrying about Aiden and how much he was overindulging in port, only added to her worries. Little by little, since their wedding, his alcohol consumption had increased. He rarely got fall-down drunk, but she agonized over it nonetheless. When she brought it up, he convinced her he was fine. But he wasn’t. She wanted him to see the family physician, but he refused. She had finally given up recommending it because the conversation never solved anything. When sober, Aiden was a loving and attentive husband. But when overindulging in spirits, he became overly quiet and brooding.
She needed Weston’s and Caldwell’s assistance getting him to their room. It took all her strength to keep her eyes averted from them so they would not see the tears in her eyes and the frustration in her soul. It would be a miracle if he were well enough to attend the morning’s hunt.
*
Andrew groaned whenClayton entered his room and opened the curtains. “Good morning, my lord. The hunt begins promptly in one hour. I brought you a breakfast tray. Shall I return to help you dress?”
“No, I can manage.” Climbing out of bed, he stretched as he went to the window. “Cloudy, not windy. It will do for a hunt,” he said to himself. After taking care of his morning ablutions, he perused the tray. Eggs, sausage, toast, and marmalade, along with coffee. Clayton knew he needed his morning coffee to function and pretend to be human and interested in the day.
To his father’s dismay, the past four years had found Andrew floundering. He had very little to occupy his time until he inherited his father’s estates and titles, which he was in no hurry to do. As a privileged and leisurely member of theton, he was expected to socialize, dance with the debutantes seeking husbands, and attend house parties like this one. He also found plenty of time to visit his clubs and gambling dens.
The latter caused friction with his father. He had recently acquired debts beyond his monthly allowance and needed his father’s help to pay. He hadn’t needed to witness the disappointment in his father’s eyes to know a change in the trajectory of his life was needed. He desperately sought to acquire purpose in his life. Turning into a wastrel was not what Andrew had foreseen for his future. And the reality of being a wastrel wasn’t something he was proud of. Quite the opposite—he despised himself for it. But somehow, he wasn’t capable of changing his path. His heart and soul were damaged, making him care less about what happened to him or his future. He was a bloody mess being held together by his cravat.
Dressed in hunting attire, he made his way to the stables, where the participants in the event were meeting. Andrew had brought his horse, Merlin, with him. He always preferred his mount to one being supplied by the host. Hunting was not oneof his favorite pastimes, but just as today, he would participate because it was expected of him. Not only that, he hoped to have a private word with Aiden. They’d promised each other four years ago that Emmeline would never come between their friendship, yet that was precisely what had happened.
Before long, the four friends had ridden off together, separating from the other hunters and the hounds. None of them had it in them to hunt today. To Andrew’s surprise, Aiden had brought several flasks filled with whisky, and he passed them out.
“Can’t ride with my closest friends without libation.” He held up his flask. “To friends!”
“To friends!” Weston, Caldwell, and Andrew toasted in unison.
Andrew held up his flask again, “To the best friends a gentleman could ever wish to have!”
“Here, here!” three voices called out.
After an hour, the four stopped at a stream to water their horses and partake in bread, cheese, and fruit their host supplied to each participant. Not that they were actively participating. None of the friends were avid hunters. This time together was more about friends getting reacquainted after many years apart—at least, Andrew hoped it was.
Quite some time went by before they left the stream and made their way to an open field, and Andrew said, “Who wants to race?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said them. None of them were in any condition to race—they were all deep into their cups. But he rarely cared about the consequences of his actions lately, and the words had slipped out almost of their own accord.
“Yes!” Aiden said, nearly sliding off his mount in his enthusiasm fueled by whisky.
“I’m too into my cups,” Weston said as he slithered off his mount and landed on his arse.
“I’m with Weston,” Caldwell said with a laugh as he dismounted. “You two go on. Weston and I will sit here, watch, and try not to fall asleep.”
“Andrew’s a better rider than me, so I think I should get Merlin to compensate for it.”
“Merlin needs strong guidance and delicate handling. I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to ride him. I’ll give you a head start.” As impaired as he was, Andrew still knew it wasn’t a good idea to have Aiden ride Merlin. Merlin was a beast and didn’t tolerate others riding him. And not to be judgmental, but Aiden wasn’t the best horseman.
“What the hell?” Aiden bellowed, looking enraged, as he staggered down from the saddle. “Wise, my arse. I can handle your damn horse just as well as you can.”
The last thing Andrew wanted to do was cause more of a rift between them, so against his better wisdom, he relented. “He is yours. I’m going to ride Weston’s mount.” He dismounted, landing on wobbly legs and handing over the reins to Merlin who immediately tossed his head up and down and side to side in protest.
“Okay, gentlemen.” Weston teetered to his feet. “The first rider to...” he paused and put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, “to ride to that huge oak at the end of the clearing and back is the winner and shall hold the title of the fastest racer ever to live!”
All four of them burst out laughing. “If you say so,” Aiden remarked as he mounted Merlin. There was no need to adjust anything since Andrew and Aiden were close enough in height.
Andrew adjusted Weston’s stirrups as Weston was slightly shorter than he. When comfortable on Weston’s horse, he moved beside Aiden and nodded. “May the best man win.”
Aiden snickered, “You bet your arse I will.”
