When Wiley caught sight of Garrett, he mounted and rode out to meet him. He maneuvered his horse to fall in beside Garrett’s. They shook hands firmly and then hugged briefly across the horses. The skittish mare snorted and sidestepped, tossing her head, not wanting the other animal to crowd her.
“I was beginning to think you hadn’t received my answer that I’d be here,” Wiley said in his calm, good-natured way.
“Something came up that delayed me. It’s good to see you, my friend. You’re looking fit. Obviously, life’s been good to you.”
“Better than I deserve,” Wiley said with a wide smile.
“I have no doubt of that.”
His friend wasn’t a man who wanted much more out of life than what he already had. That kind of contentment was difficult for Garrett to understand. He’d asked Wiley to sail with him and be his partner, but Wiley had no interest in the life Garrett wanted.
To Garrett’s knowledge, Wiley had never traveled much farther than a day’s ride from London. He was occasionally asked to spend a week or two in the summer or at Christmastide with his oldest brother, who was a viscount. The greater portion of the year he spent in London, doing the same things most gentlemen of leisure did each day: reading the newsprint in the morning and then discussing all that was of interest with the gentlemen at one of his clubs.
On any given day, if news and gossip were scant, the gentlemen would play cards or billiards. They would attend weekly fencing matches, horse races, and cock fights, or pay a visit to their mistresses. If it was a busy day, a gentleman could manage an appearance at more than one or two events. Late afternoons and evenings would more or less be a repeat of the day, unless someone was hosting a dinner party in their home. Only then might their routines change. Garrett wasn’t interested in such a sedate life.
“I know you usually find your way back to London in the spring,” Wiley offered. “I’m glad you made an exception this time, but you realize there won’t be as much trouble for us to get into with most of our debauched friends off to their summer homes and the clubs and gaming halls empty of their best card and billiards players.”
“Chances are we’ll find someone who wants to start a row.” The two men laughed. Garrett hugged the mare with his knees, urging the lazy animal to keep going.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not going to the clubs as much as I used to,” Wiley admitted. “I want to take care of Miss Osborne properly after we wed, and if I have to give up wagers on daily card games and drinking until dawn, I’m willing.”
“That’s probably a good way to keep her happy.”
“So, if we’re going to get into a little trouble while you’re in Town, we should make it soon. I doubt Miss Osborne wants me to be wearing a black eye when she returns to London.”
Garrett chuckled. “I remember the days when both of us would wear them quite often. I promise not to lead you astray. One of the reasons I’m here is to make her acquaintance and to see you are wed. That includes making sure you look your best on that day and with your pockets plump.”
“I think you’ll like Miss Osborne,” Wiley said with an innocence in his voice that seldom showed.
“I already do. She had the good sense to see through all your faults and decide to marry you anyway.”
Wiley snorted a laugh and nodded a greeting as they passed an older gentleman who was also riding. “That she did. Some days I still can’t believe she agreed. I’m not sure when she’ll be back in London. How long are you staying this time?”
That question made Garrett think. He didn’t usually stay in London more than a couple of weeks. A month at the most. He didn’t want to think about leaving right now. He knew Lady Kitson needed him whether or not she was ready to admit that. “As long as it takes to see you wed.”
“Good. She’ll write once her parents have decided when they’ll be returning.”
“But before Christmastide?” Garrett asked with a grin.
“You can be sure of that.”
They rode in silence for a few moments before Garrett said, “There’s another reason I came to London.”
“My wedding wasn’t reason enough?”
“Of course, but I want to buy a house.”
“Really?” Wiley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked over at Garrett. “In London?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“Why wouldn’t it? You’ve never wanted to stay in London long enough to have a home. Does this mean you’re finally ready to put your traveling boots under just one bed and keep them there?”
For now? Yes. Forever? Garrett didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it to himself and he wasn’t going to try to make Wiley understand. Garrett was all right with that uncertainty for now. Buying the house where he grew up was what mattered. Not what brought him to that reasoning. Lady Kitson crossed his mind. Yes, right now he only wanted his boots under her bed. He didn’t know when that would happen, but he was willing to wait for her.
He gave Wiley the only answer he could. “I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. It’s always good to have you in London no matter how long you stay.”
“I want to buy the house on Poppinbrook Street from my cousin.”
Wiley brushed his hair from his forehead and tucked it under the brim of his hat. “You look serious about this.”
The sun beat down on the back of Garrett’s neck. “I am.”
“You can buy any house in London you want, but believe me, you don’t want that house.”
“I do want to buy that house.”
“Then you’ll need to talk to someone other than your cousin. The house was sold to Mr. Peter Moorshavan over a year ago.”
Garrett took in that information. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the house might now be owned by someone else. That could be a wrinkle he hadn’t expected but he hoped not. “I don’t know of the man, but it might be easier to buy from him than from the old earl.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
Wiley pulled his horse up short and stopped him so Garrett stopped, too. Both horses nickered and pulled against their bridles.
“I never met him, but from what I heard everyone thought Moorshavan was simply a wealthy man from the Americas when he moved into the house. Many of his neighbors befriended him. Until, according to rumor, it was learned the man had opened a hidden brothel in the house.”
Garrett digested that bit of information as he remembered the house where he was raised. It was small—the drawing room, the front lawn, and the back garden. All of it. But it was something that his father had said could never be his. Did it bother Garrett that the house had been turned into a brothel? No. It wouldn’t change his plans.
“I’m not one to judge any man or woman about how they choose to make their living,” Garrett said.
“Most would agree. And while many gentlemen in Society might on occasion have reason to visit such a place, none of them want to be associated with anyone who actually owns one—and they especially don’t want one on their street. I heard the Lord Mayor and a few other gentlemen paid Moorshavan a visit and he and his women were gone the next day.”