Page 85 of Miss Dignified
“You mentioned the Coventry,” Glover said. “The hour approaches midnight. Shall we stop by?”
Dylan pretended to consider the suggestion. “One more bottle, then we’ll collect MacKay and try our hand at the Coventry’s tables. MacKay scares away the footpads, and he knows all the ladies.”
This was true. Alasdhair MacKay was also ferociously protective of the streetwalkers and would cheerfully geld Dylan if he allowed Glover to bother them.
“I do enjoy the company of the ladies,” Glover said, following Powell into the dim interior of the reading room. By arrangement, Goddard was pretending to nap over in a shadowed corner, while Dorning and MacKay would be in the lounge directly across the corridor.
“Life in the country can quickly grow tedious,” Dylan said, gesturing to two chairs before the fire. When the footman came in to toss another scoop of coal on the flames, Dylan ordered a bottle of port. “All that goodwill in the churchyard, the quarterly assemblies, the interminable social calls. Give me a friendly lightskirts, and I’m a happy man.”
“Oh, exactly,” Wesley said. “And since when do hounds and crops ever qualify as interesting topics of conversation? An outlandish wager, a bloody cockfight, a curricle race with at least a crash or two, and I consider myself entertained.”
Dylan remained silent until the port had arrived, then graciously offered the bottle to his guest. Glover was not hard to read, but then, he doubtless took himself to be in safe surrounds. Lydia’s cousin was deep into enemy territory, did he but know it, and about to be taken captive by hostile forces.
“We occasionally have a bit of scandal back home,” Dylan said, pouring himself a very scant portion of wine. “The squire’s son is off to be a gamekeeper in Scotland because his attempt to compromise the local belle ran amok.”
“And now the squire’s son must always look over his shoulder,” Glover said, taking a deep drink. “That’s the best part of scandal, when you know the particulars, and know upon whom the scandal might land. This is quite good wine.”
“The Aurora Club serves only excellent libation. Even the ale is impressive. Don’t suppose there is a noteworthy scandal in Shropshire that sends you to kick your heels in London?”
Dylan saw the moment when Glover’s shrewder instincts took exception to the question, followed by the next moment, when drink, overconfidence, and inexperience got the better of him.
“I will tell you a secret, Powell,” Glover said, glancing at the supposedly sleeping Goddard. “Any man who has womenfolk—mothers, sisters, wives, daughters—is vulnerable to bad fortune. For those of us with some brains, that can mean good fortune.”
Dylan arranged his features into an expression of slightly fuddled interest. “Because the ladies lead the unsuspecting astray?”
“They do, don’t they? But I meant more than a lady’s good name makes her vulnerable to threats of scandal, and that makes her menfolk vulnerable to all manner of stupidity.”
“War is all manner of stupid,” Dylan observed, peering owlishly at his drink. “Damned near got me killed twenty times over.”
“War is useful,” Glover countered. “I am all but heir to an earl because I knew how to use both scandal and wartime to my advantage.”
If Dylan appeared too eager to hear details, Glover would grow reticent, and three hours of calculated bonhomie and careful manipulation would be for naught. If Dylan showed too little interest in Glover’s boasts, Glover would similarly keep the details to himself.
Keep away, and come hither.
“You developed some clever strategy,” Dylan said. “Any man who bought his colors appreciates effective strategy. Wellington is above all a brilliant strategist.”
Glover leaned nearer, his breath redolent of spirits. “A fellow stood between me and my objective. Not a bad fellow, but not too bright. Honorable heart, empty head. You know the type. He would never have been happy with the title. I arranged a situation where the honorable fellow felt compelled to call another gentleman out. Unbeknownst to the dear boy, I’d provided the combatants with pistols that did not shoot precisely straight.”
Glover gestured with his drink. “Poor lad thinks himself a dead shot to this day—and he is—but he also thinks he killed a man, which he did not. A bladder of chicken blood, an opponent clutching at his chest, a farce worthy of Drury Lane. It was utterly magnificent. Then I, exuding concern and woe, hustled my honorable friend off to buy his colors. He’s still terrified that he’s one step ahead of a murder warrant, and I am that much closer to the title. I should not be telling you this, but really, for the enterprising and the bold, these things are not complicated.”
“I am impressed,” Dylan said, summoning every ounce of his skill at duplicity. “How on earth did you provoke this poor widgeon into dueling?”
“Attend me, Powell, for I am about to explain my earlier claim.” Glover’s glance went to the open door, but he did not rise to close it. “Any man with sisters is vulnerable to provocation in this regard—any honorable man. This fellow had an older sister. Sheltered and yet, also virtually unsupervised, and pulling hard at the reins of propriety. We deployed a bit of strong punch—well, more than a bit—and some practiced flirtation. She succumbed in the manner of headstrong women since Eve sampled the apple. The hapless brother was allowed to catch wind of the dishonor to his sister, and the rest was child’s play, my dear captain. Child’s play for a future earl.”
Dylan’s heart broke for Lydia, whose fall from paragon-hood had been engineered for such a vile purpose. He nonetheless affixed an admiring expression to his features and saluted with his glass.
“What became of your accomplice in this little drama?”
Glover sat back and grinned. “Kicking his heels in Sussex, hoping nobody accuses him of rape while he waits for his papa to expire. The law will bring charges up to twenty-one years after an offense of that nature. I checked and suggested he might want to avoid Shropshire for what remained of his natural life. He’ll keep his mouth shut, as will the young lady who inadvertently made my prospects so much more pleasant. I’ll ruin her if she turns up difficult, and while she won’t mind being ruined, her mama would be devastated.”
Lydia would face marriage to Wesley or ruin at his hands, if Wesley’s cleverness went unchecked. “What of the widgeon? Did the French dispatch him for you?”
“No, which is a mercy for my delicate conscience. He’s off to America, gaining a fresh start and avoiding the near occasion of the hangman’s noose, or so he believes. I’ll have him declared dead in another year or two. He’ll be much happier as a shop clerk or schoolteacher, believe me. Always spouting Cicero or some other dead Roman. No fool like a learned fool, I suppose. He ought to be thanking me.”
“You are ambitious,” Dylan said. “I do admire ambition in a man.”
“I’m ambitious, clever, and brave. Takes some nerve to execute a plan as I have. A military man ought to appreciate that.”
