Adam turned his head and smiled at the look of confusion on his partially clad friend’s face. Whitfield was being fitted for a new suit of clothes today and did not seem particularly enthralled by the experience. Since his friend was about to be married, Adam expected to see that expression often. “You said she liked you in blue,” Adam reminded him.
“Yes, but which blue?” Whitfield muttered in a bewildered tone, looking at the fabric samples spread about.
The tailor held up two blue swatches in slightly different shades. “Which of these do you prefer, sir?”
Whitfield squinted at the nearly identical colors.
Adam chuckled. “If you cannot choose between them, why not have both made up? A man cannot have too many waistcoats.”
“Yes, we’ll do that. One of each color, Mr. Hutchinson.” Whitfield let out a pent-up breath and caught Adam’s eye. “How’s the head today?”
“Perfect,” Adam promised. He still had his stitches but his head no longer hurt. He waved away the offer of wine when Whitfield pointed to a bottle and pair of glasses set to one side. “No, thank you.”
Whitfield reapplied himself to holding still while the tailor pinned his chest with blue fabrics.
Adam had set himself the challenge of not drinking spirits until the dinner hour and limiting himself to drink only with the meal. Adam would not deny himself the pleasure of kissing Rebecca at least once in his life, and since she did not approve of his drinking, particularly the scent, he’d give it up for the next few days.
Adam replaced Whitfield at the mirror and considered his own appearance. Today’s waistcoat was one of his favorites…light blue silk shot through with dark purple stripes. Adam thought he looked very well in it, but as he fiddled with the fit, he remembered that Rebecca would not agree. She’d called him a preening peacock after the accident. Not that he cared about her criticism exactly, but as he turned away from his reflection to study the fabrics strewn over Whitfield’s bed, he decided another change might increase his appeal to her.
He addressed the tailor. “I have a commission for you, too, sir when you are done with outfitting Whitfield.”
The tailor’s eyes lit up with delight at the news. “If I’d known, I would have brought a different range of fabrics, my lord. The most daring were left behind at my workshop.”
Adam studied the plain and sensible fabrics before him, colors that Whitfield usually sported, and took a deep breath before speaking. “Something from what you have will do. I need a few waistcoats made in a hurry. A dove gray, eggshell blue, and the pale yellow.”
Whitfield chuckled. “What, no stripes or prints?”
Unfortunately not, if he wanted to impress the easily displeased Rebecca Warner. “No.”
“What of the buttons? I have some elegant gold and pearl buttons in my shop. I should have thought to bring them with me.”
Ordinarily, Adam would choose either in an instant, but he shook his head. “Covered buttons.”
“Covered with what, my lord?”
“The waistcoat fabric.” He pointed at his friend’s current attire. “Do them the way you do Whitfield’s.”
“But—” The tailor began to protest, but Adam shook his head.
“I refuse to outshine the groom on his wedding day.”
Whitfield laughed and slapped his shoulder. “That will never happen, my lord.”
Adam allowed Whitfield to harbor his delusions as their respective orders were made final.
When the tailor was on his way back to his workshop, Whitfield turned to him. “Are you sure you are all right?”
“Indeed I am. Now, how are you bearing up? Nervous.”
Whitfield threw a scowl at him. “Not even a little.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to drag you to the altar kicking and screaming that you’re too young for marriage.”
Whitfield shook his head. “No chance of that, but I am looking forward to the fuss being over.”
“Marriage means a lot to women,” Adam murmured. “The ceremony, the toasts, the wedding night and after. It all sticks in their heads. Beware, sir, they dwell on it later and use it against us, too.”
Whitfield chuckled. “Are you suggesting men don’t do the same thing?”