Page 5

A s he strode into the study and called a greeting to Lord Kinwood, Harrington hoped he didn’t look as ill as he felt.

The earl was about five years older than Harrington, in his mid-thirties. Their time at Eton had overlapped by a few years. Kinwood had reddish-brown hair and the stout, barrel-chested figure of a man who had been a sportsman in his youth, but now all that hard flesh was starting to go soft.

Harrington held out a hand. “Kinwood, you old canker. How’ve you been?”

He settled into the leather wingchair across from Kinwood’s, accepting his offer of a brandy but declining a cheroot as he seldom partook. Besides, he was feeling nauseous enough as it was.

Kinwood made polite chit-chat for ten minutes, mostly about a horse he’d recently purchased, before coming ’round to the point. “I was surprised to hear you’d been elected to the House of Commons.”

Harrington took a nonchalant sip of his drink, trying to create the illusion that he hadn’t been the more surprised of the two of them. “Were you?”

Kinwood laughed. “I’m not saying you’re the last man I ever thought would stand for Parliament, but you’re probably in my bottom five.”

Harrington cast him a bored look, wishing he could do that eyebrow-thing of Diana’s. “Is that so?”

Kinwood’s expression turned earnest, as if he sensed that he had mis-stepped. “Look, Astley—I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job. I was actually very pleased to hear that you’d been elected, seeing as we’re old friends.”

Old friends, my arse . Harrington took a long, slow sip of his drink, letting Kinwood stew. He turned toward the side table as he set down his snifter, careful not to look at his “old friend.” “I take it there is some favor you wish to ask of me?”

Kinwood leaned forward, forearms resting against his knees and his cheroot dangling loosely from his fingers.

“Not a favor, so much as an opportunity. An important bill will be coming up for a vote in a few weeks. I thought you might like the chance to sponsor it in the House of Commons. It’ll be the perfect start to your political career. You see…”

Kinwood launched into it, and just as Lady Diana had suggested, it was a bit of canal in the middle of nowhere that served no discernible purpose other than to connect Kinwood’s farm to the existing system. Harrington let him drone on, making the occasional encouraging sound.

“So,” Kinwood concluded, “what do you think?”

Harrington leaned back in his chair. “How much will this cost?”

“That’s the remarkable thing—I’ve had my man of business work up the numbers, and it should only come to around six thousand pounds.”

Harrington made a sound of surprise. “It’s only half a mile long, then?”

Kinwood laughed nervously. “Not that short. But it’s just three miles.”

“Funny.” Harrington reached for the decanter and refilled both of their glasses. “The Royal Military Canal cost closer to twelve-thousand pounds a mile.”

Kinwood chuckled again. “I think you might be misremembering the figures?—”

“234,000 pounds,” Harrington cut in. “Over a span of nineteen miles.”

Kinwood swallowed, not seeming to have a ready answer.

Harrington continued, “What industries are in that area?”

Kinwood leaned forward, warming to his topic once more. “It’s close to the Welsh border. There’s a lot of iron and slate, coal, too?—”

“In the immediate area,” Harrington interjected. “I’m not asking about what’s twenty miles away. I want to know what goods would actually be transported on this canal.”

Kinwood’s voice was tight as he replied, “A variety of farm goods.”

Harrington gave him a baleful look. “And who owns these farms? Anyone other than you?”

Kinwood was silent. Harrington leaned forward, plucking the cheroot from Kinwood’s hands and grinding it out in the crystal ashtray on the end table. “You’re dropping ash all over Lord Richford’s carpet.” He placed it back in Kinwood’s limp fingers, then stood.

Just before he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and Kinwood? Let me give you a little advice. Before you ask a man for a favor, it’s best not to call him an idiot.”

If Kinwood made a reply before he strode from the room, Harrington didn’t hear it.

Harrington’s heart was still pounding as he made his way back to the ballroom. Somehow, he had pulled that off! He hadn’t made an utter numpty of himself.

It had even been—dare he say it— fun .

And, of course, it was only because of Lady Diana. He’d have been a complete wreck without her advice. Hell, even with her advice, he hadn’t been confident in his ability to pull it off, but the fact that he’d managed was a tremendous relief.

He quickened his strides, eager to tell her how it had gone.

At the end of the corridor, his brother, Edward, came around the corner. A huge smile spread across his face.

Harrington did not return it. Grabbing his brother by the shoulder, he hauled him into the closest room, which proved to be a parlor.

“Harrington?” Edward asked. “Is anything the matter?”

Harrington shut the door behind him, then rounded on his brother. “You know damn right what’s the matter! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Edward blinked at him, confused. “Tell you what?”

“That I was elected to Parliament!” Harrington hissed.

The tension went out of Edward’s shoulders.

“Oh. That. I did write to you as soon as the votes were counted.” He chuckled.

“Given the situation in Germany, I suppose it is unsurprising that my letter never reached you. I’m sorry I didn’t think to mention it earlier, but you’ve only been back for a couple of hours, and I must confess, it entirely slipped my mind. I was just so happy to see you!”

Harrington pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t mean today . I meant, why didn’t you tell me I was on the ballot?”

Edward looked confused, a rare state for the man who had been named Senior Wrangler, denoting the top student in mathematics at Cambridge. “Because… you knew?” he hedged.

“Of course, I didn’t know!” Harrington snapped. “I thought you were the one standing for Parliament!”

Edward frowned. “But the papers we signed clearly said?—”

“I didn’t read them!” Harrington said as if this should have been obvious. “I’d been out drinking all night with Thetford and Ferguson. I could barely stumble down the stairs!”

Edward rubbed his temple. “ Harrington .”

Harrington waved a hand. “I know, I know. I’m a dolt.”

Edward held up a hand. “No. You’re not. I just—Father said he wanted his son, the most popular man in the county, to stand for the seat.”

Edward was staring at him as if this explained everything. Harrington was probably staring at him much the same way.

Finally, Harrington broke the silence. “That’s you.”

“That’s you ,” Edward countered. “Had he said the most pedantic man in Gloucestershire, that would have been me.”

Harrington frowned. “You’re very well-liked. Everyone respects you.”

Edward put a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the sofa. “But not in the same way you are.” They both sat, and Edward turned to face him. “How is it possible that you did not understand that Father was referring to you?”

“Because the mere notion is ridiculous. Me? In Parliament ?” He laughed, waiting for Edward to join in.

But when he looked up, Edward was peering at him with a sad sort of bewilderment. “I don’t find the notion ridiculous at all,” he said softly.

Of course, he didn’t. Because that was Edward. He persisted in believing the best of everyone, and, in spite of his outsized intelligence, seemed to have a particular blind spot when it came to his brother’s many flaws.

“You should have seen the disaster I almost got into,” Harrington said. “Lord Kinwood asked to speak to me.”

Edward frowned. “He’s pushing a canal scheme that’s?—”

“Entirely self-serving,” Harrington supplied. “I was fortunate enough to bump into Lady Diana Latimer just before I spoke to him. She warned me.”

“Then you told him you wouldn’t support it?” At Harrington’s nod, Edward brightened. “See? You did splendidly.”

“Only because Lady Diana spoon-fed me the facts I needed to counter his arguments. On my own, I would have fallen for it.”

Edward shook his head. “You’re being too severe on yourself. You’ve been out of the country. Of course, you haven’t been able to stay abreast of every petty domestic squabble. Now that you’re back, I daresay you’ll get up to speed more quickly than you think.”

Harrington stared listlessly across the room. “I very much doubt it. I’m going to be awful at this. What was Father thinking?”

Edward’s blue eyes were sincere. “You have positive qualities that you fail to appreciate. You’re persuasive. Charismatic. And you’re damn good at arguing a point.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I just wish the point you were trying to argue wasn’t what a failure you are.”

“Yes. Well.” Harrington put his hands on his thighs and pushed up to standing. “I suppose we’ll see which of us is right.”

Edward rose as well. “Me, of course. I’m always right.” He grinned. “It’s one of my most annoying qualities.”

Harrington couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I hope I’m not the exception to your rule.”

They returned to the ballroom together. A quadrille had just concluded, and Edward wandered off to find his next partner. Across the ballroom, Harrington spied Lady Diana making her way back to her great-aunt Griselda, who served as her chaperone.

Harrington hurried across the ballroom. Spying him, Diana cast him an expectant look. He gave her a small nod, trying to signal that everything was all right, then bowed over her hand. “Lady Diana, might I have the pleasure of the next dance?”

A dark, familiar voice came from just over Harrington’s shoulder. “Her dance card is full.”

Harrington turned to regard Diana’s older brother, Marcus Latimer, the Duke of Trevissick.

Harrington gave him a tight smile, which Marcus returned with a glower that could have curdled milk.

Honestly, Harrington didn’t blame him. Trevissick was good friends with Edward, and they had all been at Eton together.

Harrington had been, for lack of a better term, a little shit.

Whether it was nicking Trevissick’s trousers and flying them from the flagpole or coating the soles of his boots in lard, hardly a week had gone by without Harrington pulling some sort of prank on the golden, perfect duke.

He really should apologize. And he would.

Just as soon as Trevissick would consent to speak with him for forty-five consecutive seconds, an event that it looked like would be taking place when hell froze over.

Another man came up and joined them. It proved to be Archibald Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy, better known as Thorpe, who was married to Harrington’s younger sister, Izzie.

Thorpe inclined his head. “I have the next dance, but I would be happy to yield it.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I feel quite certain that Lady Diana would rather dance with a dashing officer than a boring fellow like me.”

“She would not,” Trevissick said, seizing his sister’s hand and placing it on Thorpe’s arm.

Diana cast a poisonous glare at her brother. It was hardly the first time Marcus behaved in an overbearing manner when it came to what he perceived to be her best interests.

Nor, she felt quite certain, would it be the last.

“Perhaps,” she said through clenched teeth, “you could allow me to manage my own dance card.”

“Perhaps not,” Marcus replied, glaring at Harrington.

Diana switched to Low German so they would not be overheard. “Marcus!” she hissed. “Stop acting like an arse.”

He deigned to look at her, narrowing his eyes. “It is my duty as your brother to protect you,” he replied in the same language.

Someone gave a not-very-ladylike snort. “Protect her,” Aunt Griselda said, strolling over. “My Diana does not need your protection. I have raised her better than that.”

Diana smiled at her aunt. Truly, she had done just that. Under Aunt Griselda’s tutelage, Diana had learned not just to fence and shoot but to speak up for herself. Valuable lessons, indeed.

Beside her, Thorpe was smiling genially. “I honestly don’t mind.”

From off to her left, Diana heard a titter. “She’s throwing him over,” a feminine voice whispered.

“Honestly,” another woman said, “who would want to dance with him ?”

Diana sighed. Unlike most of the men in the room, Thorpe was in trade, running the iron forge founded by his grandfather. The fact that he was absurdly rich and could have bought and sold almost every man in that room ten times over only made his “betters” resent him that much more.

Diana knew that Thorpe didn’t care. He had managed to marry Diana’s particular friend, Izzie, whom he had adored from afar for years. So long as he had Izzie’s regard, what anyone else thought of him was immaterial.

Nonetheless, Diana was unwilling to expose him to ridicule. Izzie had informed her husband how much Diana hated balls because she was besieged by fortune hunters at every turn. Thorpe made it a point to ask her to dance, and their set was always a welcome respite.

She therefore said in a voice that carried, “I should like nothing better than to dance with you, Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy.”

As she accepted his arm, she turned and met the eyes of the gossips. Jane Churchill and Charlotte Rawlings. Diana looked at them steadily, and Charlotte flinched.

Clever girl. Diana would deal with them both.

Later.

As she swept past Harrington Astley, she gave him a pointed look. She wanted to hear how his conversation with Lord Kinwood had gone.

He winked at her, and her heart tripped in her chest.

As she and Thorpe found their places in the set, Diana resolved that she would speak to Harrington Astley, one way or the other.