Chapter 10Clarence’s friends were, as ever, Clarence’s friends. Theo smiled thinly, resigned himself to the necessity of a deep cleaning of his clothing and his entire person by the end of the night, and tried not to flinch as John Allensby attempted to slap him on the shoulder while holding a full cup of an antique Bordeaux. “Fellswood! Had your brother worried, you know, never seen him so distracted! At one of my evenings, too!”
“Really,” Theo murmured. Henry, at his side in the overly-intricate drawing room, seemed to be considering battlefield maneuvers and the interfering hand on Theo’s shoulder. Theo appreciated the thought.
“It’s true!” Allensby leaned in. The scents of wine and sweet orange blossom and overheated man wafted. Untitled, vastly wealthy—his family owned enormous swat
