Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“They certainly stand apart from the crowd of colorless chits being paraded on the Marriage Mart,” continued the marquess. “A pity they haven’t a feather to fly with.”

John grunted in reply.

“Ah, but then, you don’t have to marry for money.”

“No,” he said curtly. “I don’t.”

“Lucky you,” drawled Davenport. Straightening from a slouch, he took a long swallow of his champagne. “But surely you aren’t naïve enough to marry for love.”

“God perish the thought.” Signaling to a nearby footman for a glass of wine, John assumed a sullen silence, hoping the other man would take the hint and go away. He was in no mood for company.

But by some perverse stroke of luck, his wave caught the attention of two gentlemen who had just emerged from the card room.

“Ah, there you are, Wrexham.” The earl recognized the taller of the pair as the Duke of Sommers, whose holdings included several vast estates in Lincolnshire and Durham. “Lumley and I have been looking for you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he murmured somewhat ungraciously. Hell, he hardly knew the fellows.

“Actually, we have a common interest,” said the duke smoothly. “One that draws all gentlemen of superior rank and intellect together in these tumultuous times.”

“A common interest and a common cause,” added Viscount Lumley. “We understand you intend to give a speech on the upcoming reform bill.”

“Yes,” said John, regretting his show of rudeness. “I am glad to hear that you agree with me on the principles involved. We members of the House of Lords have a responsibility to act for the good of the country. It is a very important issue.”

“Indeed, it is,” agreed Sommers.

“Which is why we are sure that you will want to reconsider your position, once you understand the fundamental error of your thinking,” said Lumley. “You see, you have it all wrong.”

“Pray, do go on,” he said quietly. “I am anxious to hear how I have got it all wrong.”

Lumley smiled broadly, seemingly oblivious to the note of irony in the earl’s voice. “The fact is, coddling our returning soldiers would be a horrendous mistake! Good God, Wrexham—surely you see that. A pension will only encourage laziness. A man should have to earn his bread with an honest day’s work.”

John regarded Lumley’s overfed face, battling to keep his temper in check. The man had likely never lifted a finger, save to summon a servant. “And if there is no work to be had?” he asked. “Or if a man has lost an arm or leg in fighting for his country and is no longer fit for able-bodied labor?”

Seeing Lumley’s blank stare, the duke quickly interceded. “That’s not the issue—”

“That’s precisely the issue,” retorted John. “By the by, how many returning veterans do you employ, Sommers?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” said the duke with a small sniff.

“Well, I can. As well as figures for some of our other lordly landholders.” Wrexham rattled off a list of numbers. “If you read some of The Beacon’s columns in the Morning Gazette, you will see some very articulate and intelligent arguments for passing this bill.”

“The Beacon ought to have his wick snuffed,” exclaimed Lumley. “He’s a dangerous radical. A rabblerouser. No responsible man should listen to such drivel.”

Sommers adopted a more conciliatory tone. “What we mean is that you, with your credentials as a distinguished military officer, will have a very influential voice in the upcoming debate, Wrexham. Your peers will listen to you and be swayed by your opinion.”

“Then I have even more of a duty to study the issue carefully and say the right thing.”

“Idealism is all very well in theory,” murmured Sommers. “But really, one has to be practical.”

“What you mean is, you wish for me to vote for preserving the privileges of the rich, no matter the cost to the rest of society.”

“You would rather be a traitor to your class?” demanded Lumley.

Fury welled up in his chest, and it was all John could do to keep from smashing a fist into the viscount’s wine-flushed nose. “Don’t speak to me of treason. I fought in the Peninsula, as did so many of those brave men whom you so casually denigrate. It is because of their sacrifices that Napoleon is not dining on Lobster Thermidor in Piccadilly Street.”

“Yet you defend radical republican philosophy—”

Davenport interrupted the heated exchange with a pained sigh. “Christ Almighty, must you three keep nattering on about abstract ideas? They give me a headache.”