Page 60 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“Yes, but this went on for many years,” Gideon reminded him. “I was only around for the first year. After that, I was moved to a different school—Harrow, if you must know. I always thought it most unkind of your brother not to defend you. Quite shabby treatment from one’s own kin.”
“Your brother was at Eton at the same time and did not help you?” Frances asked, aghast.
She did not care for her sister, but if someone was making her life hell, she would most certainly step in to stop it.
“Your brother should have been horsewhipped for allowing it.”
James looked at her, something warm flickering in his eyes. “You are fierce in your defense of me.”
“Someone ought to be,” she said quietly.
“My brother and I were not close then. We grew closer later on. Besides, he thought that I ought to stand up for myself. Sink or swim, as it were. He left me to fend for myself. And we were only at Eton together for two years before he graduated.”
As he spoke, she heard the hurt in his voice. He, too, had been disappointed by his beloved brother.
“It made me want to plant him a facer every day,” he admitted.
“And eventually, you did!” Gideon said with glee.
“Eventually, I did,” James agreed with a satisfied smile. “In any case, must we regale Frances with stories about Wretched Wentworth?”
“I declare we do not,” Gideon replied. “Perhaps we should delight her with some stories of our time in the militia? Perhaps the time you stole our captain’s horse so that we could ride to Brighton early in the morning to go to that fishing pond?”
“Borrowed, I prefer to say,” James emphasized. “We always meant to return it.” Then, to Frances’s surprise, he let out a loud laugh. “I also remember we were put through the wringer for it.”
“Not as severely as we might have been, had you not offered up some of our trout to our captain.”
“Yes.” James snapped his fingers. “I did. After I had recovered from running several miles in the heat—nearly run into the ground, I was—he made me grill them, and I remember being surprised when he allowed me a few bites.”
“You were better off than I. I was in a deep sleep, entirely exhausted. I didn’t even get a single bite.”
“Now, now, I did bring you a few potatoes.”
“Potatoes,” Gideon scoffed, “when there was the most succulent fish you ever tasted to be had?”
“They had your portion of the trout, too,” James fired back.
Frances giggled, placing one hand in front of her mouth.
For the rest of the evening, the two men delighted in telling each other tales of their time in the militia, and Frances delighted in hearing them.
James was an entirely different person with his friend. All the stiffness and formality melted away. He was the real James, the one he kept hidden. Someone she would have liked. He was almost like he had been the night of the terrible shooting.
By the time they had finished with their flummery, they had drunk two and a half bottles of wine, and James was entirely red-faced.
Quite foxed, if you ask me.
“If you will excuse me,” Frances said, “I think I am going to lie down in the drawing room for a little while. I believe you’ve had quite enough, darling.”
“Nonsense,” James said. “I am perfectly… perfectly…” He couldn’t seem to find the word.
“Foxed?” Gideon supplied helpfully.
“That’s the one.”
Gideon let out a chuckle. “James, I have not forgotten that you owe me a round of billiards,” he said.
“Oh yes, I have not forgotten either, and I will thoroughly beat you again as I did last time.” James grinned at his friend.
