“Well, ain’t you the posh one?” Brigitte’s smile lit up the room—Jamie could understand what Atherton saw in her.
“His uncle is a duke,” Atherton informed her.
“Oh, is he?” Brigitte made an exaggerated curtsy. “Charmed, I’m sure.”
Jamie laughed—Atherton did not deserve this woman. He did not deserve Evie either.
Jamie had planned to confront and threaten Atherton here, but he swiftly changed his mind. Brigitte was no practiced seductress, and she did not need drama and rage in her front parlor.
He read years of penury in Brigitte’s eyes, and fear that they would come again. A widow, she’d said, though that did not necessarily mean a legal marriage. Whatever husband she’d had likely had not left her much.
Atherton must lease this house and pay Brigitte’s expenses. Probably had for years.
“Do have a seat Mr. Mackenzie.” Brigitte waved him to one of the parlor’s soft chairs. “I’ll scare up some tea. Though I warn you, Cook don’t like to be bothered between meals.”
“Let me go down.” Atherton nearly danced to the door. “I can charm her. She likes me. Heaven knows why.”
“Because she thinks you need fattening up,” Brigitte called after him, then Atherton was gone, the door banging behind him.
Jamie settled himself in an armchair large enough to take his limbs, and gave the room an approving once-over. “Very cozy.”
“Ain’t it? Can’t complain.” Brigitte seated herself on a chair facing him, hands on her lap.
“How long have you known Atherton?” Jamie asked her.
Brigitte considered. “Oh, five years? About that.”
Jamie gentled his tone. “You know he’s going to be married.”
Brigitte shrugged, but Jamie read pain in the gesture. “A bloke has to marry someone, don’t he? And he can’t marry me—his pa would die of apoplexy. Hayden’s got to carry on the family line. Makes no difference to us.”
No doubt Atherton had already worked out a strategy. Thursdays with Brigitte would be sacrosanct. Jamie imagined he’d claim a standing meeting at his club every Thursday—possibly he was already doing so. He’d explain that the meetings always ran late, and he might as well stay the night there. Very tidy.
But how long would it be before Evie, no fool, discovered his ruse? She’d then be stuck in a marriage with the idiot, because a divorce would ruin her, even if Atherton was at fault.
A judge might also decide that if Atherton wasn’t neglecting or harming Evie, then no divorce would be granted. Atherton might sheepishly vow to never go back to Brigitte, but Jamie guessed the promise wouldn’t last long.
Also, if Atherton did break off his adultery, then Brigitte would more than likely be turned out of this charming house and have nowhere to go.
Bloody man, Jamie growled to himself. Two women wretched, and Atherton would waltz on through his life with an idiotic grin on his face.
“You can do better, lass,” Jamie said, unable to remain silent.
Brigitte’s gaze became coy. “Are you offering yourself? In your friend’s own house? Cheeky.”
“No,” Jamie answered in seriousness. “I’m spoken for. But you’re a fine young woman, and worth ten of him.”
Brigitte lost her amusement. “Maybe. Maybe not. But there’s not much wrong with him, is there? He’s rich, he’s friendly, and he’s very punctual.” Her smile flashed briefly. “I always know he’ll arrive here on Thursday at exactly eight in the evening, then go at eight in the morning, on the dot.”
“Like his father.” The words slipped out.
Brigitte shuddered. “That ogre. Drives poor Hayden spare sometimes. But Hayden’s much softer than the old bugger. He’s not cruel, not like some I’ve known. I’m very comfortable here.” Her gaze turned skewering, as though warning Jamie not to take away what she’d found.
Jamie lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “I’m observing that he doesn’t deserve you, is all. If you’re happy, and he’s happy, who am I to interfere?” Jamie let hardness enter his tone. “But if he ever is cruel, you tell me, and I will deal with him.”
“Oh, yes?” Brigitte’s light mood returned, but Jamie saw she understood his offer. “You’ll be my guardian angel, will you?”
“Why not?” Jamie settled back, hearing Atherton’s laughter and light footsteps returning. “I enjoy it. Just remember.”
Brigitte nodded. “I will. Don’t you worry.” She rose and opened the door, reaching for the tray Atherton balanced on his arms. “Give me that before you drop it, daft lad.”
Atherton relinquished the tray and beamed at Jamie. He was a happy man, everything right in his world.
Gavina bade the carriage driver take them to a restaurant called Argyle’s on Regent Street, named so because it stood near the corner of Argyle Street. It was highly fashionable, an opulent eatery in one of the original buildings that made up Regent Street’s crescent.
All of London seemed to be here today, but Gavina had a word with the manager, and the three ladies were shown to a fine table in the center of the room.
“Aunt Eleanor brings me here all the time,” Gavina explained as waiters thronged around them to offer napkins and a light white wine fit for young ladies. “Mama is often busy helping Papa during racing season, so Aunt Eleanor takes it upon herself to whisk me around to all the modish places. Listening to her dissect them all in her lovely voice is hilarious.”
“Are we being very scandalous?” Evie asked as she sipped the wine the sommelier had served them. It was light and crisp, quite refreshing. “Three ladies out without gentlemen or older female relatives?”
“Very, but times are changing,” Gavina answered. “Everyone would have fainted in Mama’s day, though she and Aunt Eleanor, not to mention Aunt Izzy, would have come out like this anyway, if Argyle’s had existed then.”
Evie noticed she hadn’t mentioned Jamie’s mother. “What about your Aunt Beth?”
“Ah, she’d have talked them out of it. Scandal for scandal’s sake is not worth the trouble, in Aunt Beth’s opinion. My mum and aunts like her so much, they’d stay home to please her.”
“Jamie has a kindhearted family,” Evie said, thinking of Belle.
“He does indeed,” Gavina agreed. “Sometimes it frustrates him to live up to their happiness, if that makes any sense. Uncle Ian is brilliant and compassionate, and Aunt Beth is loving and sweet. Everyone expects Jamie to be a genius philanthropist or something, instead of simply … himself.”
“I think he’s fine the way he is,” Evie said before she could stop the words.
Both ladies turned interested gazes her way. Evie floundered, trying to cover her embarrassment, and was saved only by a haughty waiter halting to inquire what they would like from the offerings today.
“Let me order,” Gavina said, and then asked for a string of things, half of which Evie didn’t recognize the names of. She exchanged a glance with Iris, who shrugged, and they let Gavina carry on.
To Evie’s relief, they had no chance to resume the conversation before the soups came out—velvet, creamy bisque—followed by a cool aspic.