Free Worth Winning by Parker Elling

with you?”
    Robeson’s response was a lifted eyebrow.
Frustrated, Charles said finally, “Yes, yes, I’m the snake, and you’re the crab.”
    Robeson looked at him, clearly confused.
    “You never did pay attention in history, did you? Fine, I’m the pot to your kettle, the stone to your glass head. I’m accusing you of doing what I’m currently attempting. Now, if you could get on with it.”
    There was a brief pause before Robeson said, “I could’ve taken advantage but didn’t. I mean, she is a vicar’s daughter, after all.”
    “And you did nothing to actively encourage her?”
    Robeson shrugged. “A few harmless compliments, and she was infatuated. I’m sure I would have been flattered, except that’s the summer my father and brothers passed.”
    They were both silent for a moment: it had been the news of the season of course—a terrible fever, was the story. The Barrington men had all been in Italy: the only reason Robeson had been spared was because he hadn’t gone with them. What a blessing, everyone had said: that something of the family survived, that the viscounty wouldn’t revert to some distant relation.
    Robeson continued, “I rushed back to London to handle the affairs. I inherited a title I’d never thought to have, estates I had no experience managing. And, of course, there were the arrangements. You wouldn’t believe the fuss it was, just to have their bodies shipped back.” His gaze grew distant for a moment. “And the rest, as they say . . .” He made a small spiraling motion with his fingers and seemed momentarily to be lost to his memories.
    Charles hadn’t known Robeson well enough to know whether he’d been close to his father or brothers and had had only the gossip to go on, almost all of which had been focused on what a tragedy it had all been, what an unexpected blow. He was silent, as surely a moment of silence was warranted. He tried to digest what Robeson had revealed and found it a bit difficult to imagine a younger Robeson, bored, but ultimately restrained and acting the gentleman.
    Still, hadn’t he himself made his own share of mistakes in the past? He’d certainly led on one or two particularly forward debutantes only to drop them, losing interest once the chase was over, dismissing the incidents as worthy lessons learned for the women in question. He’d never taken it further than flirtation, so who was to say that Robeson might not have shown similar restraint? And Robeson’s portrayal of Julia was plausible; clearly she was not a woman who did things in half measures. She was unabashed about the various subjects she enjoyed, and it wasn’t inconceivable that a younger, perhaps less assured, version of Julia might have fallen for a man like Robeson and then have gotten carried away. He could almost see her making a nuisance of herself, believing that being truthful and forward about her feelings was the correct and most appropriate thing to do.
    It would be the least painful explanation as to why she’d hesitated and then spoken of Robeson in an almost wistful tone of voice.
    “Then what exactly made you pick her for me, if she was such an easy conquest all those years ago? Why not pick someone who’d be more of a challenge?”
    Robeson smiled, raised his eyebrows slyly, and said, “I hear she’s gone off men.”
    “I see.”
    It was all Charles said, and after a moment, Robeson said in a goading voice, “What, exactly, do you think you see?”
    “You believe she still cares for you.”
    Robeson tilted his head and took his foot off the table. He put his cup and saucer down and then rested his hands on his knees, leaning forward. “I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t owe you anything. I tell you merely because it amuses me, as does this entire exercise in futility.”
    “You’re that certain of the outcome, then?”
    Robeson shook his head, almost sneering, “You and your arrogance. You’ve always made me sick, you know that? As if