Page 46 of Counting on a Countess
“I fought for eight years,” Kit answered wryly. “Hard to break the strategic habit.”
“You know the best way to win a battle,” Langdon prompted.
“To have the enemy surrender before a single shot is fired.”
Langdon slapped his hand on the wooden side of the table. “Exactly. Lady Blakemere won’t have cause to obstruct your fiscal desires, no matter how extravagant.”
“And how is this supposed to come to pass?” Kit demanded.
A grin spread across Langdon’s face. “You’re going to seduce your wife.”
Kit and Langdon left the billiards table and ensconced themselves in two wingback chairs by the fire. A servant brought them brandies, but Kit waved off his glass. Spirits didn’t help his thought process.
“Out with it,” Kit demanded. “Tell me what you meant.”
Langdon swirled the brandy around in his glass, then took a sip. “All the money must pass through the countess’s hands, correct?”
Kit grunted in response.
“If you were to go to her today, this very evening, and tell her you need... How much did you lose last night?”
“Eight hundred pounds,” Kit muttered. “All on credit. I was trying to raise the blunt I need.”
His friend grimaced. “Christ in heaven, no wonder Somerby wanted to protect you from yourself.”
Leveling a look of sincere displeasure at Langdon, Kit said darkly, “This from the man who bought a fleet of phaetons.”
“I had to see which was fastest,” Langdon said defensively.
“Did you ever consider simplyasking?”
Now it was Langdon’s turn to look irate. “We’re deviating from my point.”
“Which is growing cloudier by the moment.” Kit drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.
His friend exhaled loudly before continuing. “So you go to Lady Blakemere and ask her for eight hundred pounds to cover your gaming debts. What would she say?”
“I have no sodding idea,” Kit said, fighting exasperation. “I barely know her.”
And wasn’t that the problem? He’d discovered pieces of her here and there, but there was still so much left to learn.
Langdon held up a finger. “Ah. Here’s the crux of the matter. You and your wife began your marriage already estranged. How can she approve anything about your spending if she doesn’t have a farthing’s worth of knowledge about you?”
“I’d think to preserve marital harmony,” Kit mused, “she’d simply agree to whatever I demanded.”
“There’s another of your problems.” Langdon leaned forward. “Your impulse is todemand, notask.”
“In my experience,” Kit noted, “there are certain demands to which women are perfectly happy to cede.”
“The bedroom is a separate arena,” was Langdon’s rejoinder. “I’m speaking specifically of money, which has its own set of rules.”
“How would you know?” Kit demanded. “You’re the bloody heir. You’ve always gotten whatever you want. A fleet of phaetons?” He snapped his fingers. “Done. A fortune to spend on grisettesand gambling?” Once more, he snapped his fingers. “Done.”
“This ad hominem attack helps no one,” Langdon said with an equanimity that made Kit want to punch him. “We’re moving away from my argument. Certainly you’ve heard the old chestnut about flies and vinegar and honey and so forth.”
Kit lapsed into a contemplative silence. Finally, he said, “Once or twice.”
“Let that be your guide,” Langdon answered. “If you set out to win Lady Blakemere’s favor, she won’t deny you anything. Including,” he added, “this secret project that you refuse to disclose to me.” He drained his brandy. “You won’t get anywhere if you continue on this path of befuddled stasis.”
