property she owns. He is the kind who prefers money to land. Easier to squander.” He scowled and combed his dark hair back with his fingers. “Those damn Duclaircs. Her entanglement with Laclere at least made some sense, but this marriage to Dante truly is madness.”
Farthingstone did not have a high opinion of Duclairc, but he had less confidence than Siddel that Dante was a fool. Also, Duclairc might have some affection for Fleur. Siddel’s own interest in her had always seemed a little unhealthy.
“You will have to be indiscreet if you want things settled quickly,” Siddel said. “Let it be known that she has gone strange. You probably should claim that you saw it in her mother too. You will have to get society’s opinion behind you. That will make it easier in Chancery.”
Farthingstone’s heart thudded again. Fleur was one thing, but Hyacinth was another. While he had hardly married for love, he still had some loyalty there.
He glanced over to the newspaper. He did not welcome doing what Siddel suggested, but there was probably no choice now.
It was Fleur’s own fault. If she had just listened to reason . . . but, no, she never would, and now she had gone and married that man.
“If I succeed in having the marriage annulled due to her inability to make sound judgments, she will be unable to marry anyone else, of course.” He mentioned it offhandedly, but he wanted to be sure the implications had not been missed.
“Of course. Since you hesitated that night, that plan is now out of the question.”
“Then we are agreed. I will try and rectify this unfortunate development. I will find a solution to overcome the complication that this marriage creates.”
“I certainly hope so, my friend.” Siddel rose and headed for his dressing room. “After all, this problem is yours alone, and always has been. I am merely an interested observer who has been trying to help you out of your dilemma.”
A week after his marriage was announced in the London papers, Dante entered Gordon’s gaming hall. Sidelong glances and a low buzz followed his progress through the smoky, cavernous room.
He aimed toward a group of young men at tables in the northwest corner. Someone had years ago dubbed the fluid group that congregated there the Younger Sons Company. The name referred to the diminished expectations in fortune and marriage caused by most of their birth orders.
This was the first time that he had seen most of them since his aborted run to France. Some heralded his approach with alerting jabs at their comrades. Each step closer brought more eyes on him.
He took a chair at a
vingt-et-un
table where McLean sat with Colin Burchard, the amiable, blond-haired, second son of the Earl of Dincaster.
Three tables away a young man rose to his feet. With exaggerated ceremony he bowed to Dante. Then he brought his fist down on the table in a slow series of thumps.
Another rose and joined him. Then a dozen more. They all pounded their tables in time. Even Colin and McLean got to their feet. Soon Dante found himself the center of a thundering ovation.
The man who had started it raised his glass. “A toast, gentlemen, to honor greatness in our midst. May we all be punished for our debauchery and sin in the manner he has been.”
“As you can see, they are as impressed as I was,” McLean said after everyone returned to their drink and gambling. “We exult in admiration that you not only escaped ruin but did so by marrying the wealthy and beautiful Fleur Monley. Only the marriage of Burchard’s brother, Adrian, to the Duchess of Everdon surpasses this triumph.”
“My brother’s marriage is a love match,” Colin said defensively.
“Of course it is,” McLean said. “As is that of Miss Monley to our friend here, I am sure. More reason to celebrate his good fortune. I am delighted to see you back among us, Duclairc, and so soon after your nuptials.”
“My wife is not only beautiful but of sweet
Farthingstone did not have a high opinion of Duclairc, but he had less confidence than Siddel that Dante was a fool. Also, Duclairc might have some affection for Fleur. Siddel’s own interest in her had always seemed a little unhealthy.
“You will have to be indiscreet if you want things settled quickly,” Siddel said. “Let it be known that she has gone strange. You probably should claim that you saw it in her mother too. You will have to get society’s opinion behind you. That will make it easier in Chancery.”
Farthingstone’s heart thudded again. Fleur was one thing, but Hyacinth was another. While he had hardly married for love, he still had some loyalty there.
He glanced over to the newspaper. He did not welcome doing what Siddel suggested, but there was probably no choice now.
It was Fleur’s own fault. If she had just listened to reason . . . but, no, she never would, and now she had gone and married that man.
“If I succeed in having the marriage annulled due to her inability to make sound judgments, she will be unable to marry anyone else, of course.” He mentioned it offhandedly, but he wanted to be sure the implications had not been missed.
“Of course. Since you hesitated that night, that plan is now out of the question.”
“Then we are agreed. I will try and rectify this unfortunate development. I will find a solution to overcome the complication that this marriage creates.”
“I certainly hope so, my friend.” Siddel rose and headed for his dressing room. “After all, this problem is yours alone, and always has been. I am merely an interested observer who has been trying to help you out of your dilemma.”
A week after his marriage was announced in the London papers, Dante entered Gordon’s gaming hall. Sidelong glances and a low buzz followed his progress through the smoky, cavernous room.
He aimed toward a group of young men at tables in the northwest corner. Someone had years ago dubbed the fluid group that congregated there the Younger Sons Company. The name referred to the diminished expectations in fortune and marriage caused by most of their birth orders.
This was the first time that he had seen most of them since his aborted run to France. Some heralded his approach with alerting jabs at their comrades. Each step closer brought more eyes on him.
He took a chair at a
vingt-et-un
table where McLean sat with Colin Burchard, the amiable, blond-haired, second son of the Earl of Dincaster.
Three tables away a young man rose to his feet. With exaggerated ceremony he bowed to Dante. Then he brought his fist down on the table in a slow series of thumps.
Another rose and joined him. Then a dozen more. They all pounded their tables in time. Even Colin and McLean got to their feet. Soon Dante found himself the center of a thundering ovation.
The man who had started it raised his glass. “A toast, gentlemen, to honor greatness in our midst. May we all be punished for our debauchery and sin in the manner he has been.”
“As you can see, they are as impressed as I was,” McLean said after everyone returned to their drink and gambling. “We exult in admiration that you not only escaped ruin but did so by marrying the wealthy and beautiful Fleur Monley. Only the marriage of Burchard’s brother, Adrian, to the Duchess of Everdon surpasses this triumph.”
“My brother’s marriage is a love match,” Colin said defensively.
“Of course it is,” McLean said. “As is that of Miss Monley to our friend here, I am sure. More reason to celebrate his good fortune. I am delighted to see you back among us, Duclairc, and so soon after your nuptials.”
“My wife is not only beautiful but of sweet
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