Page 46 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"There's very few with your restraint here," Bellmont said with a guffaw, as his eyes surveyed the crowd, "Though I must say that winning is sweeter when one is certain they have not bankrupted their opponent." The duke fell silent, his dark brows drawing into a deep frown, as he spotted someone in the crowd.
"Blazes," Bellmont cursed, casting a despairing glance Raff, "Everywhere I go, there's always someone looking to pester me about something."
Raff followed the line of Bellmont's gaze and saw a familiar face pushing his way through the crowd toward them; Douglas McCasey, the famed thespian.
What on earth did he want with Bellmont, Raff wondered.
"Your Grace," McCasey said, as he finally reached them, before correcting himself as he spotted Raff, "Rather, YourGraces."
"McCasey," Bellmont gave the actor a cold stare, "Just because I am a Whig, does not mean that I wish to be accosted about social reforms at every opportunity. This is a club, have a drink man."
"It will take but a second of your time, Your Grace," McCasey persisted.
He was an excellent actor, Raff observed, for McCasey's relaxed expression did not falter or fail in the face of Bellmont's ire. Bellmont was not quite as capable as hiding his emotions, and he gave a snort of annoyance.
"I don't have a second to spare," Bellmont said with a shrug, his eyes lighting up as the blonde light-skirt whom Coachford had been eyeing earlier, sashayed past, "If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I want to share young Bellhurst's annual allowance with Miss Flora—I'm sure she'll appreciate it more than he did."
With a nudge and a wink, Bellmont disappeared after the busty blonde, presumably to one of the private rooms upstairs, leaving Raff, Coachford and McCasey alone.
"What was it that you wished to speak to Bellmont about?" Raff asked, more out of pity than actual interest. McCasey, now that Bellmont had disappeared, wore a rather dejected look upon his handsome face, which Raff found strangely touching.
Lud, I'm completely in my cups, he thought to himself with alarm.
"His Grace had offered to sponsor a reform bill that I and my wife have been working on," McCasey said, his eyes now fixing shrewdly on Raff, "It needs to have heavy political clout behind it, if it is even to be heard in Parliament."
"Indeed?" Raff's eyes glazed over at the mention of governmental matters and from the corner of his eye, he saw Coachford edge discreetly away. Turncoat, Raff thought dourly.
"It's regarding child labour laws, Your Grace," McCasey continued quickly, his experience as an actor alerting him to the fact that he was losing his audience. "We are proposing an abolishment of the practice of selling children into indentured servitude. I am sure that Your Grace has heard of young girls from the Lambeth Asylum being sold into bawdy houses, and young boys from the Clapham Orphanage being sold to master chimney sweeps."
Chimney sweeps...a memory echoed through Raff's mind and through his brandy soaked haze he recalled Emily's passionate speech about the poor climbing boys.
"I am sure that welfare of these children must be of a concern to you too, Your Grace," McCasey finished doubtfully.
"It most certainly is," Raff said, excitement sobering him slightly.
"It is?"
"Indeed," Raff replied smoothly, casting McCasey a benevolent smile. While it was true that he was concerned about the welfare of the climbing boys, he was also acutely aware that they were a cause Emily felt strongly about. Coachford had told him that he must grovel, if he were to expect her forgiveness, though this too might help him win back her favour.
"When I think of those young girls..." McCasey said, his green eyes filled with anger as he trailed off in thought. The girls of the Lambeth Asylum must have held some sort of significance for McCasey, for Raff could tell that the anger and sadness McCasey portrayed was not a show, but genuine.
"We shall make it right, never fear," Raff replied earnestly; and hopefully, in the process, he could make things right with Lady Emily.
