Page 36 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
Emilia lost the battle.
She had marshaled every argument about suitability, propriety, and even convenience she could think of, as well as some that weren’t quite true. She was prepared to say she talked in her sleep, and snored very loudly, and would be a terrible nuisance to him if her bedchamber were within range of his. She had been ready, calm and logical once more, when Mr. Dashwood returned from his ride.
But when he did, there was someone waiting from his club. He listened to the man in silence, changed his clothing, and left immediately. Emilia and Lucy sat down in the morning room to a delicious meal—a lavish combination of breakfast and dinner — without him.
“Mr. Dashwood is at his club every night,” Pearce answered her query when she asked.
“When does he return?”
“In the morning, ma’am, usually around seven o’clock.” The butler paused as Emilia absorbed that. “If you ever have anything urgent to communicate to him, it’s best to send a note to the club.”
“Would he come?” she asked in surprise.
Pearce’s eyebrows arched slightly, which she supposed passed for shock on his part. “Of course. If the matter were truly urgent, that is. I would never disturb him for something less.”
“No,” she murmured, and turned back to Lucy, who was swinging her feet under the table as she enjoyed a second lavender-honey cake. Mrs. Watson had gone straight to the kitchen and become fast friends with the cook. Lucy was in heaven.
“Shall we even see him, Millie?” she asked. “If he’s at his gentlemen’s club all night, and sleeps all day, I don’t think we shall ever cross paths.”
She sank into her seat. Perhaps that was why he’d been so dismissive of her concerns about the bedroom. It still wasn’t proper, but if he were never home, it did seem less important. “We saw him this afternoon. If he hadn’t been called away, we would have dined with him.” Albeit very early for dinner in town. “He’s a busy man, Lucy.”
Her charge shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s so lovely that this house is near Regent’s Park. May we go, Millie? Mrs. Watson says there’s a canal with ducks.”
Emilia smiled wryly. “Yes, we shall visit the park.”
It seemed they would have plenty of freedom to do so.
Grantham had submittedhis petition for the viscounty of Sydenham that morning, quietly and without fanfare, but by the time Nick reached the club that afternoon, the news had already got around.
Forbes met him at the door, an ominous aura about him. “Is it true, sir?” he asked point-blank. “You’re a lord?”
Nick kept walking, jerking his head to indicate Forbes should follow.
Once the office door was closed behind them, Forbes folded his arms. “Are you?” he asked again, his expression mulish.
Nick tossed his hat and gloves onto the desk. “What if I were?”
The other man’s mouth flattened. “Why would you even want to be?”
“If I were, it would change nothing about who I am.”
His manager shook his head. “You tell yourself that, but it would. It will.” He glanced around the room. “What about this club? What would happen to it if...?” He grimaced, as if he couldn’t even bring himself to say it aloud.
“Nothing,” said Nick in mild surprise. “You can’t think I would give it up.”
Forbes scoffed. “Lords don’t run gaming clubs. They might own one, and they’d certainly gamble in one, but they don’t dirty their hands with anything like work.”
Nick leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “Why is that?”
“They’re lazy,” said Forbes immediately. “Arrogant. Think they’re better than the lot of us. Accustomed to people pampering them, giving way to them, always bowing and scraping. Can’t even dress themselves.”
“Hmm. So much like me,” mused Nick.
Forbes flushed. He was one of the few who knew a little about Nick’s upbringing. A very little, but enough to end that line of argument. “Dash—trust me in this. I saw ‘em up close for near twenty years. That sort of privilege and arrogance roots deep and grows fast. They’re useless without an army of servants, none of whom mean the slightest thing to them. And when theydoown something worthwhile and prosperous, it’s nothing but an income to them. Work it harder, squeeze the profits, lower the wages, never mind what happens to anyone else.” He frowned at the floor. “You’ve seen ‘em, here at Vega’s. You know I’m right.”
“You’re not wrong,” Nick agreed. “But Tommy...” The man looked up skeptically. “I wasn’t raised thinking I was too good to clean my own arse. I never ate off silver plate. This is more of a... business decision.”
“Business!” Forbes’s scowl turned ferocious.
