Page 16 of Too Scot to Handle
Just as a gentleman was home when he wasn’t home, and was not home to certain callers when he was perched on his rosy fundament within earshot of his own front door.
All very confusing, this gentlemanliness. Colin wondered if his sisters, in their private moments, found being ladies equally trying.
“Of course we must be out and about this afternoon,” Montague said, clapping Colin on the shoulder. “If you are to take your proper place in society, you must acquaint yourself with the leading lights of that same body. Most of them are to be found in two places.”
Colin could recite this lecture by heart, but instead gestured to the table in the shade of a balcony.
“A gentleman,” Montague went on, “enjoys the company of the fairer sex on social occasions, and the carriage parade is a highly social occasion. He enjoys the company of his fellows at the clubs and sporting venues. Have you let it be known you’d like to join Brooks’s yet?”
Colin took a seat, though he wasn’t hungry. “You’re not a member. Why should I become one?” At great expense and bother, when he was already a member at three other clubs. Then too, Colin could easily be blackballed, and his failure to gain membership would become the subject of talk.
Polite society seemed to exist primarily to talk about itself.
“You must join,” Montague said, appropriating the chair at Colin’s right and flipping out his tails with enviable panache, “so that I can take my proper place with you there. Your brother is a duke, therefore you should have no trouble gaining access. If you aspire to Whig politics, and I suspect you do, then Brooks’s is de rigueur, old chap.”
Colin did not aspire to Whig politics, though Montague did. Younger sons stood for the House of Commons, or became vicars, diplomats, or military officers. Montague wasn’t interested in serving in Canada or India, and Colin couldn’t see him managing in a parsonage.
“I adore a rare roast of beef,” Montague said, tucking into the offerings on the tray. “Let’s have some ale, shall we? No rule says a pair of bachelors can’t wash down an afternoon repast with ale.”
Colin caught the eye of the footman standing in the sun near the door. “Ale, if you please, and have Prince Charlie brought around.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Montague, if you’re not interested in socializing with a particular lady, why bother with the carriage parade? We ran that drill on Monday.” And the Friday before that, and the Tuesday before that.
Montague paused with a quarter of a sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Do you or do you not have a grasp of what marital relations entail?”
“Don’t be insulting.”
“Right, so. One marries, and the immediate benefit therefrom is obvious even to Scottish courtesy lords with more warehouses than I have fingers. If one marries shrewdly, then one acquires a papa-in-law who might finance a political campaign, tuck a little estate or two into the settlements, or include a doting son-in-law in his more lucrative investments. If one sires an heir to the family title, then the emoluments proliferate along with spares. It’s all quite lovely.”
To Colin, it all sounded damned boring. He’d go along on this scouting mission in Hyde Park because Anwen Windham might be among the ladies taking the air, and he had some potentially useful ideas regarding her orphanage.
“I have a business to run,” Colin said as the rest of Montague’s sandwich met its fate, “in addition to two estates, and no political aspirations. I have no need of a doting papa-in-law.”
Eating, drinking for free, and scheming to eat and drink for free seemed to be the measure of an aristocratic young man’s ambitions—with the occasional stupid wager, idiot horse race, or mindless tup thrown in for variety.
Oh, and waltzing. Mustn’t forget the waltzing.
“MacHugh, I’m sure in Scotland you’re justly proud of your accomplishments and wealth, but here, you must temper your pride with some—ah, just in time, my good man, just in time.”
The footman set a tray with two foaming tankards before Montague.
Montague lifted one, blew the head off, and managed to spatter the footman’s slippers with flecks of ale.
“You’re excused,” Colin said. If any force of nature equaled an English lordling’s quest for meaningless diversion, it was the English servant’s quest for decorum.
“You’re not drinking?” Montague asked, patting his ale mustache with his serviette.
“Not if we’re to leave for the park straightaway. You’re welcome to mine, of course.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Montague said. “Now, see here, MacHugh. You’re looking a bit down in the mouth, and that won’t serve. I know all this socializing and smiling is tedious, but this is how you gain entrée where it matters. You can count on me to ease your way up to a point, but then the work falls to you, my friend. You’ve made great progress, and I daresay having your ducal brother away from Town can only benefit you. He was a bit of an original.”
And that was a bad thing? That a man didn’t toady to society, or jeopardize his honor for any reason? That he married for love, not for…emoluments in exchange for stud services?
“Win, I’m bored.” The admission felt both pathetic and brave.
Montague patted his arm. “We all are. Boredom is marvelously fashionable. Justifies all manner of extravagance. We’ll have a bit of sport at Mrs. Bellingham’s tonight. That will put you back on your mettle. I fancy that new blonde gal, though she comes dear, as it were.”
