Page 11 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

She was sleeping just one floor up, but she might as well have been on the moon. He took another long swallow of port and wished it were something far stronger.

“Do you remember that time in London when Godwin won a pig in a card game?”

Michael’s lips curled into the start of a smile. “I remember how he put a leash on it and took it everywhere with him like a lapdog.”

“Until it ate his boots. Then the novelty wore off.” Anthony laughed and puffed a cloud of smoke into the air. “Whatever happened to that pig?”

“It lived out the rest of its life on my tenant’s farm to the north of the village.”

Anthony arched a surprised brow.

“Godwin placed it into my trunk before I came north,” he mumbled around his cigar. “When my valet unpacked my things four days later, it charged out of the trunk, snorting and oinking, half-starved, and terrified. Had to send for my pig farmer to get the damned thing out of my dressing room.”

Anthony laughed. “And you didn’t serve it for dinner?”

“Hell no. That pig ate Godwin’s best boots. You don’t eat a pig with that kind of good taste.” He watched the smoke trail from the end of his cigar and drift upward toward the ceiling. “You get him a membership at White’s with the other swine.”

Anthony choked on his port.

Grinning at his friend’s reaction, Michael stuck the cigar between his teeth and stretched out his long legs.

But he wasn’t completely at ease. The windows in the study had already been shuttered and locked for the night, but the storm continued to rage outside, only growing in intensity after the sun set. He could hear the howling wind, could almost feel the icy fingers of the storm grasping out to capture any living creature unlucky enough to be caught out in a night like this. God only knew how much snow would fall by dawn, how high the drifts.

“This is just like old times, isn’t it?” Anthony pondered as he took a sip of port. “I miss those days.”

So did Michael. “That’s what you get for falling in love, marrying, and having children.” He jabbed the tip of his cigar at Anthony to make his point. And to cover the jealous ache in his chest that his best friend had everything he had always wanted for himself. “Respectability makes it damnably hard to have a good time in the stews and hells.”

Anthony slid him a disbelieving look. “You never spent time in the stews or hells.”

“Maybe I should have.” He set down his drink and cigar and shoved himself out of the chair. Thinking of the cold outside—hell, the coldinside—he picked up the fireplace poker and began to stir up the coals. He asked into the flames, “Do you ever regret marrying and starting a family?”

“Not one minute. Marrying Marie and having children was the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t wait to see her again.”

But when Michael looked up at his old friend, it wasn’t happiness he saw in Anthony’s expression but concern. And guilt. “You don’t seem thrilled about it.”

Anthony shook his head. “It was a bad idea to bring Clara north like this, especially at this time of year.” He swirled his port and watched the dark liquid sheet down the sides of the glass. “But I wanted us to be happy again, and I thought the holidays and the new baby might just do that.”

Knowing not to overstep by offering his opinion, Michael said nothing, replaced the poker, and returned silently to his chair.

“I’m worried about her.”

“Of course you are.” Michael reached for his glass and inwardly cursed that the drink was nearly gone. “Traveling north in this weather would have any brother concerned for his sister’s welfare.”

“No. Not that.” A deep frown creased his brow. “I meant…how she’s become since the accident.”

A chill twined down Michael’s spine that had nothing to do with the blizzard outside. Did Anthony blame him for the wreck, too? He asked carefully, “How so?”

“She’s shut herself away from the world and become a recluse in the middle of London. At first, it was understandable.” He blew out a hard breath. “The accident cost her the use of her leg, and she was in pain, heavily medicated by the physicians, distraught over Morley’s death…”

Guilt consumed Michael. He tossed back the last of his drink and reached for the decanter on the small table between their chairs to refill his glass.

“But even months later, when the worst was over, she remained shut away at home and never went out, not even for rides through the park. She stopped visiting friends, stopped allowing friends to visit her. She even stopped her charity work, and you know how important that was to her.”

“Yes.” He absently rolled the cigar in his fingers. Helping others had meant the world to Clara and given her life purpose. Her selflessness had been one of the things he’d loved most about her.

“It’s as if the accident took not only her leg but also her spirit.” Anthony held out his glass toward Michael to be topped off. Both men needed drink and plenty of it to get through this conversation. “She used to be a shining light at every party, every social event, always surrounded by friends and admirers.”

“I know.”