Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

Tom was in agony the entire dinner. He answered the Swindon sisters’ questions about life in the Navy, trying to control the roll of his eyes as Mariah accused her sister of getting seasick, to which Elizabeth retorted with an animated story of her sister’s notable history of being terrified of thunderstorms. Elizabeth found no less than three occasions to drop her napkin, leaving Tom duty bound to retrieve it for her.

As soon as the ladies left the dining room, Tom swept out of his chair and came around the table, dropping into Miss Harrow’s empty chair between Burke and James. “I need to speak with you both,” he muttered.

Burke was ready for him, for they’d been sharing covert looks all evening. But James blinked, leaning back in his chair as he drew his eye away from the conversation George had struck with Sir Andrew.

“Now,” Tom added. “In private.”

James tossed his napkin on the table. “Let’s go to the morning room.”

The men stood and made their excuses to the others. Tom walked between his friends as they crossed down the grand gallery. A footman led with a candelabra and the three of them sat on the pair of sofas in the middle of the morning room as the footman lit some additional candles.

As soon as the footman was gone, Burke leaned forward. “Well?”

Tom sighed. There was no point in delay. “Colin had word this week from Yew Warren, from Sir John himself…Marianne’s husband is dead.”

“Christ,” Burke sighed, at the same time James asked, “How?”

Tom shrugged. “Colin didn’t say, but Young is definitely dead. Marianne is a widow.”

Burke launched from the sofa and paced the carpet. After a moment, he turned, eyes narrowed. “You mean Marianne is available. Now that she’s a widow, you’re thinking about throwing yourself at her feet again. Christ, Tom, I thought we got you past all this!”

“You’re biased,” Tom challenged. “You always wanted to see the worst in her, to convince yourself she was not worthy of me—”

“Who are you trying to convince now, Tom: me or yourself?” Burke replied.

Tom scowled. Was Burke right? Was his whole design in telling them just to have Burke talk him down?

Apparently, Burke was more than willing to play his part. “She strung you along for years, Tom. She spun every line about waiting and loving and dying of want. She gave you everything…except her hand in marriage. When the choice was set before her, she jilted you for that toadying fool Thackeray Young. A man so useless as to be no fit companion for fencing, riding, shooting, or Christ, even ambling through the park. But he did have seven thousand a year,” he finished with a scoff.

Tom let his friend’s words sink in. “Yes, she had a choice between love and comfort, and she chose comfort,” he reasoned. It was a line he’d said a thousand times before.

“If you care nothing of this news,” said James, “Why were you practically laying an egg at dinner? Either you’re over her…or you see this news as the chance to try again—”

“Goddamn it, James, don’t give him any ideas,” Burke barked.

“He’s already had the idea, else he wouldn’t be so distressed,” James countered.

It was true. How many times had he considered riding to London and hunting down that idiot Young? How many dreams did he have of running the gentleman through with a sabre and taking Marianne right there on the floor of his foe’s drawing room?

James leaned forward. “What do you want from us, Renley? Do you want us to convince you to let her go? We’ll play our parts. Burke is clearly willing,” he said with a slight frown at his friend. “Or do you want us to advise you to offer yourself to her again?”

“I won’t do it,” Burke replied sharply. “James will have to be the one to say those lines. I’ll not sit idly by and watch as that woman twists you up again, Tom.”

Tom dropped his head in his hands. “Christ, I hate her. That’s my truth. I hate her down to the bones of me…but I love her too. She has me bewitched…I can’t explain it. I want this feeling gone from me, but she haunts me like a ghost.”

James sighed. “While I don’t share Burke’s outright contempt for the lady, I will admit that I always thought you built her pedestal rather too high. I think her glorified status comes from you not finding any others to compare with her.”

“Too true,” Burke echoed.

James shot him another glare but continued. “If you had spent more time moving in society, perhaps you would have met other ladies that rivaled Marianne in beauty, wit…and most assuredly devotion.” He shrugged, stating the obvious. “But you went to sea. So, none could ever supplant Marianne in your mind as a paragon of perfection.”

Tom sighed and sat back, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced from Burke to James. “What would you do?”

James considered for a moment. “I believe, if it were me, I would go to London. I would want to face the ghost that haunted me and determine for myself whether I could ever put her to rest. It’s been eight years, Tom. Perhaps you will meet with Marianne again and not like who you see…perhaps you’ll realize she was never meant to sit so high on her pedestal.”

Tom’s frown deepened. “Burke?”

“I would have let her go eight years ago,” Burke replied without hesitation. “I don’t want anyone in my life who doesn’t want me.”

Tom had to appreciate Burke’s feelings. The man was loyal to a fault. If you loved him, he returned your love with a ferocity unmatched. Surely that’s what came of living in high society as the bastard son of a whore. Tom felt a kind of twinge in his chest to realize he’d somehow been deemed worthy of such devotion.

Burke sighed, his face softening. “But…seeing as you have most decidedly not moved on, my method will not work. James urges you to meet the lady again and gauge your feelings as well as her own. I recommend caution. I admit it is possible that Marianne loved you…in her way,” he begrudgingly admitted.

Tom was surprised. Across from him, James smiled. “Who is this new rational creature, and what have you done with my Burke?”

Burke went on. “I put to you a challenge: keep waiting. If her husband is dead, and she is now his sole inheritor, she is rich and can make her own decisions. If she loved you, and fortune was the only impediment, she is now in a position to compensate for you.”

Tom saw the wisdom of this approach. After all, it was quite possible that Marianne jilted him and never gave him a second thought.

James cleared his throat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Burke. Caution ought to win the day. Besides, we don’t want you looking too desperate—”

“Though we three know the truth,” Burke added with a laugh.

Tom dared to let himself laugh too. He felt calmer now that he had a plan of action. He would wait and see if Marianne wrote to him. If she ever cared for him, let her be the first to reach out.

“Speaking of truths…” Burke’s face suddenly looked decidedly guilty. “We may need to tell Miss Harrow about this new development.”

James’ smile fell. “Why would we do that?”

Burke’s guilty look landed on Tom. “I may have…enlisted her help.”

Tom’s glower was matched by James’ in ferocity. “Help with what?”

“Courting the ladies,” Burke admitted. “Making them jealous by flirting with you—”

“Christ, Burke,” James snapped. “I ought to thrash you!”

Tom leaned back against the sofa. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Miss Harrow’s attentions had been pleasing. He noted the way she smiled, the way she leaned in and tried to make him laugh. Here was the truth: she was on orders from Burke. None of it was real.

James groaned. “Christ Burke, what could have possessed you?”

“Come on, she’s perfect,” Burke replied. “She’s gorgeous and clever and…off limits,” he added quickly. “That’s what I meant by perfection. James will eat his own hat before he lets himself be bothered with such a thing as romantic connection—”

“Hey!” James had the audacity to look affronted.

“And you know you don’t want her,” he shot at Tom. “She knows it too. So, she can flirt with you with no fear of consequence, and it draws the other ladies in. And the ruse was working…even if you could be putting in more effort.”

“So why do we need to bring her in to our confidence?” James pressed.

“Because, as I say, she’s clever,” Burke replied. “She sensed something wrong with Tom and threatened to break our deal if I didn’t explain why she should help him court these ladies when he’s so clearly still lost to Marianne.”

Tom fought a growl. “She knows about Marianne?”

At the same time, James asked, “Deal? What deal?”

“She heard us talking of her the other night, remember? She put the pieces together,” Burke explained. “Like I said, clever girl.”

“What deal, Burke?” James said again.

Burke cast Tom a look. “It’s nothing—”

“That’s what you were doing in the library the other day,” James realized. “What the hell happened that she would feel forced to make a deal with you?”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh again. “Christ, just tell him.”

James looked ready to burst. “One of you better start talking right fucking now or—”

Burke laughed too. “Keep your wig on, James. It was a silly prank. Remember Lady Olivia and the salty tea?”

James blinked. “What…yes…”

“Well, it wasn’t the footman. It was Miss Harrow,” Burke replied.

Tom’s grin spread, remembering the moment she came to them.

James blinked again. “Miss Harrow salted Lady Olivia’s tea? Why?”

“Because she was rude to Tom,” Burke explained. “Well, rude to everyone. She salted the tea and then Lady Gorgon blamed the footman, so Rosalie came to me to beg clemency for the footman. I think she was too afraid to approach you directly—”

“Why should she be afraid of me?”

Burke laughed. “Because you’re usually so aloof you may as well be made of stone. Or if not aloof, you’re brooding behind us all like a wolf with a toothache.”

Tom still wanted to punch him. “Christ, Burke, I told you to leave me to my own devices—”

“Well, that was never going to happen,” Burke muttered.

“I’m telling you to stay out of it. I will manage my own affairs—”

“Whoa, wait. There will be no affairs with Rosalie Harrow,” James barked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tom replied, growing increasingly exasperated.

“But it was sort of implied,” Burke jabbed.

“Shut it!”

“Make me, sailor—”

“Enough!” James was standing now. He pointed a direct finger in Burke’s face. “Burke, leave Miss Harrow alone. Compromise the lady’s honor while she’s in this house, and I will flog you in the yard. Do not test me.”

Tom smiled as his friend was chastised, until James rounded on him.

“And you, man up and handle your goddamn business. You want Marianne, go get her. You want to get married to one of the ladies here and snag her fortune, get married. You want to wallow in self-pity like a broken-hearted poet for the rest of your goddamn days, be my guest, but do it elsewhere.”

He took an angry breath and charged ahead. “If you’re going to stay under my roof, you must find the strength you need to stop being such a goddamn bore. I’m sick of you moping about like a whipped dog. Burke is too. I want fun Renley back. I want the Renley who entered any ring with both fists raised, ready to take on the world. Find him or find your way back to your brother’s house with your tail between your legs.”

Tom blinked, winded by the ferocity of James’ speech. He felt something shift inside him, as if he’d been encased in a shell of hard stone. Tom felt a crack in that shell, and he took an unrestricted breath. One breath turned into two, and before he realized what was happening, he was gasping, clutching at his cravat, trying to loosen it. The breaths couldn’t come fast enough. He wanted to fill his lungs until they burst.

“Renley?”

“Christ—Tom—”

Both men were on their feet. James dropped to his knees and took over for Tom, untying his cravat and unwinding the black cloth, tossing it aside.

“Breathe, Tom,” Burke said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Tom took a few more gasping breaths, raising his own hand and wrapping it around Burke’s wrist. “I’m fine,” he panted after a moment.

“What happened?” James muttered.

Tom sagged back on the couch, letting his head fall against the cushion as he slowly began to laugh.

James cast a wild look at Burke. “What the hell just happened?”

Burke grinned. “I think you broke the evil spell.”

“The…what?”

“He’s fine,” Burke laughed, holding out a hand to help Tom to his feet. “Or he will be. Right, Tom?”

Tom took another steadying breath. He felt lighter than he had in years. “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”