That they were having a private conversation would be in every paper by morning.
Graham stepped in front of Aaron. “Rigsby,” he said in a firm but congenial tone. “What brings you to Town?”
Aaron placed a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”
He glanced back. “It is?”
“It is,” Rigsby said as Aaron nodded.
Graham resumed his earlier position, adding a set of crossed arms to the glare he aimed in Aaron’s direction. “Explain.”
“After the number of times you’ve reminded me Rigsby had as little choice in his situation as I did, you’re going to quiz me for finally listening?”
Rigsby laughed.
Graham lifted a single brow in the other man’s direction. “Didn’t know you had a defender, did you?”
“Didn’t know I needed one.”
“You were never in danger,” Aaron grumbled. “I know how to avoid you.”
“It helped that I was staying away from you.”
Aaron shrugged in agreement.
Graham looked from one man to the other. “What is happening here?”
“Here?” Aaron asked. “You’re stopping me from entering the ballroom. As I’ve never been in this house before and have only managed to make it up the stairs, I can’t speak to anything else.”
Maybe if Aaron was sufficiently annoying, Graham would stomp off and Aaron could sip punch while staring down his father. They’d eventually say hello. Then Aaron would leave. It was a plan that had worked numerous times.
Rigsby was determined to muck it up, though, by keeping the conversation flowing. “Are you referring to our cordiality or Aaron’s petty need to remind our father of his fallibility?”
“It isn’t petty,” Aaron grumbled. As long as he never admitted it out loud, he could convince himself it wasn’t. What Rigsby didn’t realize was that it was as much for Aaron as it was for their father.
Graham frowned at Aaron. “You avoid your father. When we stumble into him, neither of you does more than exchange perfunctory greetings.”
Rigsby laughed and shook his head. “Do you even know what it does to him?”
Aaron had never considered what the man did after he left. His normal uneasy tension curled tighter in his gut.
“He’s broken several brandy glasses by throwing them into the fireplace after one of your appearances. Yells about how you refuse to understand how life works and how he did right by you by forcing everyone to acknowledge your existence. You were supposed to repay the favor by disappearing.”
Graham flicked a finger back and forth between them. “When did this happen?”
Rigsby shrugged. “When he needed my horse as a stud.”
“Ah.” Graham nodded. “Anything for the horses.”
Sending Sophia away hadn’t been for the horses. And it hadn’t been for Aaron. It had been for her, and no matter how much he told himself to be happy for her, it wasn’t enough to cover the pain he felt that he couldn’t be like Graham and Oliver and Hudson and fall in love and offer the girl the world.
And the man at fault was right through those doors. If Aaron could just get past these two brutes, he could spread a little of this pain around and then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Rigsby tilted his head. “It will be worse tonight. He’s not prepared. You never come to London in October. He thinks he’s safe.”
“He considers when I might show up?” Aaron asked.
“That would make sense, given how little he likes to see you,” Graham muttered. “Unfortunately, you attend so few social events that your appearance is unpredictable.”
“Hmm, yes.” Rigsby examined his fingernails. “If, say, Aaron were to always appear at a musicale approximately two weeks before the first ball of the Season, our father could make other plans.” He looked up to meet Aaron’s eyes. “Or perhaps you would choose to attend one of the last soirees before Parliament recessed. If you did that on a regular basis, missing the encounter could be easily arranged.”
A deep wrinkle formed between Graham’s brows. “Wait. That’s exactly what you do.”
Aaron glared at his brother. His father could have avoided him. Easily it would seem.
Penitent martyr. Like father, like son.
Aaron looked away from both men. A handful of guests nearly tripped over their feet as they tried to enter the ballroom and watch the conversation at the same time.
Aaron turned back to Rigsby. “By now he’s heard that I’m out here talking to his heir.”
Rigsby winced. “What a lovely role to have—the man waiting for his father to pop off. I would like to think I’m somewhat more than that, even if he doesn’t see it that way.”
They all looked at the ballroom doors as if they expected to see something more momentous than elegantly clad men and women.
Rigsby cleared his throat and continued. “As it so happens, I’ve already made my appearance and informed him of my participation in the October Meeting. He isn’t happy I’m in Newmarket. Learning you’re here may send him over the edge.” He pointed at Aaron and then the ballroom. “This need you have to stab each other’s wounds doesn’t interest me. It’s why I stay out of your way.”
A brief swell of chatter drifted from the ballroom before the marquis burst out the door. Aaron looked at the man—really looked at him. Deep lines bracketed his hard mouth, and bitter shards of ice dripped from his narrowed gaze. His walk was stiff and halting.
There was enough physical resemblance between the two of them for Aaron to easily imagine himself in the other man’s shoes. Would that be him in thirty years? A tortured man, wracked by regret and indignation, unwilling to let the past go because he wasn’t sure what sort of life he’d find if he did?
Dear God, what am I doing to myself?
“I’m leaving,” Aaron announced, taking a step back, eyes fixed on his father as the man stopped, confused by Aaron’s retreat. “Give my regards to our father.”
Without looking at Rigsby or Graham, Aaron spun on his heel and walked away. He’d expected each step to bring a sense of freedom since he was walking away instead of doing their sick little dance.
But the truth was he’d gotten what he came for. Guilt. Anger. Pain.
He didn’t need his father when he could easily torture himself.
Three streets away, he cast up his accounts in the bushes.
Thirty-Four
Aaron let himself into his empty rooms, though he doubted he’d be alone in them for long.
He’d managed to remove his jacket and waistcoat when a solid knock pounded on his door. Without even asking who it was, he pulled open the door and returned to the bedroom to finish changing.
When he emerged again, Oliver and Graham had made themselves comfortable on the sofa. Aaron took the chair.
No one said a word.
The clock struck the hour.
“It’s been a fine visit, gentlemen, but I think I’ll turn in. Do see yourselves out.” Aaron stood and turned, ready to leave his friends to stare at an empty chair. They’d likely escorted Sophia to Town, so it was safe to return to Newmarket. He’d buy a ticket in the morning.