Lady Holloway? Who the hell was . . . “Is she a friend of Lady Wall’s?”
“I believe so.” Frits wished his mother would stop reading the blasted newssheet long enough to have a conversation with him. “I heard the rumor from Sally Jersey.”
In that case, everyone in Town and their dog would have heard it. “Thank you. I had no idea.”
“No.” His mother sighed again. This time in exasperation. “You usually do not.”
Frits thought that was a bit unfair, but let it pass. He would, however, make a point of looking at the betting book at Brooks’s. If the rumor was rife, someone was bound to have wagered on it.
He finished eating. “I shall see you at dinner.”
Without putting down her paper, his mother wiggled her fingers at him. And ladies complained about men reading during breakfast. No gentleman had anything on his mother’s absorption in the news. He wondered if Lady Adeline read at the breakfast table. He hoped not. He liked to have a conversation during breakfast.
Taking one of his footmen with him, Frits went to Covent Garden and purchased flowers, then gave the servant instructions to deliver them to Lady Adeline. With that done, he drove to the carriage maker his family used on Long Acre. Mr. Hatchett, the owner, also made vehicles for two of the royal dukes, Gloucester and Cumberland, and Frits had to assume, having seen some of the other carriages, that the man was used to unusual requests. They spent several minutes discussing the design, and Mr. Hatchett promised to have a drawing sent to Frits in a few days.
Shortly past noon, he’d finished with the carriage maker and made his way to Brooks’s, instructing his groom to take the horses. He would walk back home.
Frits flipped through the newest wagers and, not finding anything concerning himself, glanced into the dining room. Turley was in deep conversation with Lord Stanstead, and Frits decided not to interrupt them. There was no doubt at all that they were discussing politics. He’d have luncheon at his desk while he worked. Then Turley waved to him, and Frits had no choice but to join the gentlemen.
“We’re discussing our next attempt to repeal the Corn Laws,” Stanstead said.
The more liberal side of the Whigs had been trying to do that ever since the blasted laws had been passed. “You have to make it worth the Tories’ while. They think of nothing but their own gain.”
“They are convinced”—Stanstead’s tone was as dry as dust—“that the laws will keep them from losing their heads like the French.”
“When, in fact, the opposite is likely to be true.” One of the reasons Frits eschewed politics most of the time was because of the number of true idiots in the Lords.
“Exactly,” Turley said. “We must find away to convince them they are in more danger if the law is not repealed.”
Frits ordered a beefsteak and listened to their ideas. Before long, the group grew and the discussion became louder, to the point that it was difficult to keep track of who was saying and agreeing to which idea.
He’d had enough. This was one of the reasons he didn’t like political discussions. Not only that, but there were now several bottles of claret on the table. He’d had one glass, but had refused to partake of any more. How could they even think after drinking so much?
He placed his serviette on the table and inclined his head. “Gentlemen, please excuse me. I have several pressing matters to attend to.”
Only a few of the men acknowledged him. That didn’t surprise Frits—being so engrossed in the arguments as they were. When he reached the pavement, he was amazed at how early it still was. It had seemed to him that he’d been in Brooks’s for more hours than he had.
When Frits arrived home, he went directly to his office, but no matter how busy he tried to make himself, he couldn’t avoid glancing at the clock every few minutes. At one point he even went over to see if anyone had wound it recently. The hours had never passed so slowly. Letters from his estates normally held his full attention, but today they did not. Frits dropped his pen on the blotter and leaned back in the chair. Perhaps he’d just think of what he’d say to Lady Adeline to make up for his mistake that morning. Then he knew what had gone wrong.
Blast me for a fool.
It was as if the proverbial scales had fallen from his eyes. He’d known from the first she was different from any other lady he’d ever met. That was what had drawn him to her. Why then was he trying to attract her as he would any other lady? He’d never actually thought he’d been overindulged by female attention. In fact, he considered young ladies an irritation. But he must have got spoilt. He’d definitely become arrogant when it came to the female sex. He had to stop thinking about how to get her into his bed and instead find a path to convincing her she wanted to be in his life.
He also had to get rid of Anglesey.
Frits glanced at the clock. Damnation! It was almost five o’clock. How the hell had that happened? He tugged on the bellpull, and a footman appeared. “Tell Lees I want my curricle brought around as soon as he can get it ready.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Frits would start his new campaign this afternoon.
Chapter Eleven
Adeline had arrived home annoyed. She had not liked that Lord Littleton had attempted to trick her. Fortunately, her day had been filled with activities that required her attention, including an at-home at Lady Jersey’s house.
Adeline, her mother, and Eugénie arrived at the same time as two other ladies, Lady Wall and Lady Holloway, a beautiful woman with rich, dark brown hair and blue eyes. After the women had been introduced, Lady Holloway gave Adeline an odd look that she did not understand. Particularly since she had just met the woman.
However, as soon as tea had been served, her ladyship addressed Adeline, “I find Lord Littleton an extremely compelling gentleman. What can you tell me about him?”
