“She works,” he said at last.
Lord Wainwright clasped his hands to his cravat and gasped dramatically.
Max rolled his eyes. “I‘work.’”
“My wife is a headmistress,” Lord Hawkridge pointed out.
“And mine sold drawings because she didn’t have a farthing,” Grenville said.
“Once she’s betrothed to you, she certainly won’t have tokeepworking,” Wainwright put in. “Unless her name is on playbills. Is it the sort of employment the ton would hear about?”
Julian swirled his sherry. No, Unity’s name would not appear on playbills, despite her presence at the theatre.
And as to herotherperformances... Julian had not heard of her before she appeared on his doorstep, and he’d hosted many fashionable demimondaines at his parties over the years. For better or worse, Unity was not a popular enough courtesan to be recognized by the beau monde.
“They’ll know she’s different by looking at her,” he said tightly. It was unfair that the color of one’s skin should signify any more or less than the color of one’s eyes or the color of one’s hair. “She is of African descent.”
“So is Queen Charlotte,” Max said without hesitation.
“And people say horrid things abouther,” Julian pointed out.
“And yet she’s queen, which is all that matters,” Wainwright said. “But it is not so dire. Many Black people have been accepted by polite society, going back decades. Distant royalty is always welcome. In lieu of a title, possessing enough coin would open a few more doors. Is your paramour an heiress?”
“She is not.”
“Could you say she was?” the earl suggested. “If no one knows the truth but you, she might seem acceptable to—”
“Sheisacceptable,” Julian exploded. “There’s nothing wrong with her! Not her trade, not her skin, not her ambition and independence. It is society’s rules that are rigid. I don’t care if they shun me. More money or a different heritage wouldn’t make me like Unity more. If the bucks and the biddies cannot accept her, then I am not interested in pandering to their useless opinions.”
All four friends stared at him.
“Er,” Wainwright said at last. “Wasn’t ityouthat always said you’d one day marry a paragon of society because you’d settle for nothing less than the very best?”
Best. What a stupid, subjective word.
“I do not and will not ‘settle’ in any aspect of my life.” Julian curled his lip. “I am simply saying that Beau Brummell’s or the patronesses’ idea of ‘best’ is unlikely to be the same as mine.”
“That’s very interesting,” Hawkridge said. “Given that ‘paragon of society’isthe patronesses idea of ‘best.’ It sounds like you might have changed your own definition.”
“Better yet,” said Wainwright, “it sounds like this not-very-paragon might have changed Lambley. Never say you have caught yourself—” He made a dramatic expression. “—unbending.”
“The gossip would be vicious.” Julian’s voice was bleak. “They would accuse her of social-climbing and find fault in every word or gesture. I won’t have my wife live a life of hurt or fear or slander. Even the title of duchess would not be enough to win a seat at their tables.”
Max lifted a sardonic brow. “Does shewanta seat at those tables?”
Julian stared. Probably not. That was a very good point, but not the only aspect to consider. “My heirs—”
Max’s lips quirked.
Julian glared at him. “What.”
“Youaren’t part of polite society. Right now. On purpose. What makes you think your children would be happier conforming to ‘values’ you hate, instead of being who they are?”
Julian set down his empty glass. “I...”
“Maybe they’ll never have an Almack’s voucher. But they’ll still be lords or ladies with all the privilege that offers.” Max refilled the sherry. “Didn’t we all agree that ‘polite society’ will overlook anything if one’s purse is heavy enough? And aren’t you one of the richest peers in all the peerage?”
Julian blinked at him.
