Chris Owen - An Agreement Among Gentlemen by Chris Owen

Author:Chris Owen [Owen, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Langton gave me a questioning glance but said nothing. I leant back in my chair and considered the man. "I thought that the event might not be precisely what Viscount Langton—my temporary ward—would need to see, when what he sought was lodging for the evening," I said coldly.

Kirkland paled slightly, as well he might. It was one thing to tease about Langton when the lad was not present—those sorts of liberties are not tasteful, but often taken, of course— and quite another to be so presumptuous when Langton was present. The chastisement of Langton's social rank bit hard, especially coming from me, and when coupled with the reminder that Langton was not a member of the club and therefore should not even know of Daniel's debut ... well, Kirkland crumpled rather satisfactorily.

"My apologies, my lord," he said to Langton. "And to you, Munrow."

Langton inclined his head, accepting the apology with grace, as did I. To Fitzhugh, Kirkland cast an uncomfortable look and got a glare in return. I was happy to know I'd not witness their private conversation.

"I trust you found the accommodations satisfactory, my lord?" Fitzhugh asked politely, saving the conversation. I wasn't terribly disposed to smoothing things over yet, and Langton was wearing a social mask that hid whatever he was thinking.

"Yes, it was a most pleasant evening, thank you," Langton said with a slight smile, and things returned to normal, even if a little more formal than usual.

After a few minutes conversation touching on business affairs and idle gossip about unimportant people, Langton and I finished our coffee and bid Fitzhugh and Kirkland a good day. Our carriage and the journey back to the Hall awaited us.

* * * *

We said almost nothing as we passed through the city, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I was watching Langton carefully, however, studying his face as he looked blankly out the window. He did not seem particularly troubled, but he was clearly weighing his thoughts and following one idea to the next. His brow was drawn in concentration, and his hand worried at a pleat of his trousers.

I wondered what it was that had captured his thoughts. Was it the previous night and the changes in our relationship? Truitt, or perhaps the three of us? Or was he focused upon the conversation at breakfast and what it meant in general or particular? I didn't wish to question him, as I had every expectation that he would raise the point himself when he wished; Langton had been very forthright to that point, something I appreciated. At his age, I was much more likely to rely on bravado than to speak up.

The carriage rolled over a particularly rough patch of road, jostling us and our belongings. I saw Langton wince as he shifted his weight, his eyes flicking to me and away again, his tongue slipping out to moisten his lower lip.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked, something I should perhaps have asked him earlier. It is possible

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