“No we won’t Daddy. I swear. Let’s race.” Thomas said bouncing against him.
“I have sweets. Can I bribe you to stay quiet?”
His son nodded enthusiastically.
Ellis tightened his arm around Thomas and whispered, “Ready?”
“Ready,” the little boy whispered back.
Ellis clicked his tongue and tapped the horse in the side with his boot. His horse took off in a run.
Clarke cried out, “Wait! No fair, I am not ready.”
He looked back over his shoulder at his brother. The wind whipped Thomas’s blonde hair tickling the skin of his neck. He grinned hearing the untamed laughter erupt from the little boy in his arms.
Ellis no longer just imagined what happiness was; he lived it.
Every day . Here and now.
Chapter One
Lord John Mitchell watched the towering man in front of him pull back his arm to take a swing. John tried to decrease the blow by sidestepping, but the crowd surged forward and pushed him closer. This limited his strategy. In an internal mantra, John told himself this is what I want. He dropped his fists six inches, which in turn lowered his defence, and waited.
The punch was stronger than he expected. Patrons cheered. The pub walls spun as he stumbled. John tried to reach for the edge of a table, but found only air. He toppled forward and landed face down in a puddle of spilled ale and something… disgusting. The stink of the place was bad when he’d been on his feet. It was worse here. Rotten food, blood, and urine. He wouldn’t allow himself to think what else might be down there. He was, after all, in a pub called Cock and Bull.
He inched to his right, drew his face out of the retched puddle and spit. Bile rose in his throat. If he laid still, possibly the man that hit him would lose interest in the fight, claim victory, and move on. He’d picked the drunkest man in the pub, but with that punch to his chin, John knew he underestimated what strength the man held.
Maybe the man was only acting drunk. That was ludicrous; surely there couldn’t be two men in the same establishment faking the act. John closed his eyes. He waited, gauging if the fight was over or if the man would pull him to his feet and strike again. A boot kicked at his side, but with a half-hearted effort. John rolled onto his back, let his head loll, and let out a long groan.
He cracked an eye open as the man above him exclaimed loudly, “It takes all the challenge from the fight if they can’t hit back. He’s drunk as a lord!”
“He is a lord. Not that anyone would believe me,” Ellis muttered under his breath as he crouched beside John and looked up. “You have won the fight, sir” He tossed the man a shilling. “Now go and buy yourself a drink and let me take him home.”
“I can take him,” John slurred from the floor.
“Be quiet,” Ellis said between clenched teeth. He grabbed John by the coat collar and hauled him to a sitting position. “I’m not sure why I even took your offer to venture so far from town. I was afraid the evening would turn out poorly. Why did I let you talk me into coming to this hellhole?”
John garbled his words. “Thanks… ol… friend.”
Ellis glared at him. “When you are sober, we will talk. It is not worth the time now.”
It hurt John to have his best friend speak harshly to him, but this incident would buy him a few more days to think of the next delay he could conjure.
***
Ellis and his carriage driver dragged John up the front steps. The leather toes of his boots scuffed the marble floor of the entryway. Collins, his valet, hurried out to assist. The valet’s nightshirt was tucked in his trousers and his dishevelled hair contrasted with his normal fastidious daytime grooming.
“I’m sorry sir,” Collins said apologetically taking John under the arm. “At this late hour I was not expecting you and Lord Mitchell to return until morning.”
“That’s fine, Collins,” Ellis said. “Just help me get him to the chaise.”
The two men managed to haul him as far as the chair before depositing him unceremoniously into it.
Ellis drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed the perspiration from his brow. “I am going home to my wife. Make sure the fool doesn’t break his head.”
“Certainly, sir,” Collins said with a sharp nod.
John plastered on a grin and gave a half-hearted finger wave. “Thanks, old fre…” He hiccupped. “Friend.”
“You are lucky we have history to our friendship, or I would not only challenge you to a fight, I think I might challenge you to a duel. In the condition you are in, you would be dead before you hit the floor. Partly from alcohol the rest from a bullet between the eyes. Sometimes you can be such an arse.” With that, Ellis spun on his heel and marched from the room.