Westcott waved a hand, exasperated. “No one is shooting anyone. The point is—Dominic, you clearly care about her. Deeply.”
Dominic’s voice lowered. “I do care. But that doesn’t mean I have feelings for her. That is a vast difference.”
Westcott leaned back, studying him carefully. “You say her name like she’s the only thing that matters to you.”
“I do?” Dominic asked.
“Well, well, well,” Bedford said. “Perhaps I am not the stupidest man in the room.”
Dominic groaned. “You just insulted yourself.”
“I know,” Bedford replied with a smug expression. “It was worth it.”
Rising, Dominic said, “I do believe I’ve had more than my fill of Bedford for one day.”
“He’s an acquired taste,” Westcott remarked dryly.
As he turned towards the exit, Lord Inglewood stepped into his path. “Warwicke,” he said. “Fortune must favor me, for I’d hoped to run into you.”
Dominic stilled, his expression carefully neutral as he offered a stiff nod. “Inglewood.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating glint dancing just beneath the surface of his smile. “I wanted to speak with you regarding the upcoming vote. I trust I can count on your support for my bill?”
Dominic kept his voice carefully composed. “I haven’t yet decided. I intend to read the bill in full before I come to any conclusions.”
Inglewood waved a dismissive hand. “A waste of your time.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Dominic went to brush past him, but Inglewood reached out and clasped his arm, halting him.
“I thought we had an understanding,” Inglewood said, his voice lowering. “I assist you, and in return, you back my bill. That was the arrangement.”
Dominic pulled his arm free. “I don’t make promises in the dark. If I vote for your bill, it will be because I believe it serves England and the people—not because of some backroom bargain.”
Inglewood adjusted the lapels of his coat, his jaw twitching with irritation. “My bill will benefit everyone. Especially the soldiers.”
From behind, Westcott cleared his throat—loudly and pointedly. “Not quite,” he murmured, just enough to be heard.
Inglewood turned with slow deliberation. “Something to say, Westcott?”
Westcott didn’t flinch. “Raising tariffs on imported goods will do more harm than good. You know that. If those countriesretaliate with their own tariffs, we’ll be facing a full-blown trade war.”
“They’d be fools to do so,” Inglewood remarked.
“And yet, nations do foolish things all the time,” Westcott countered, folding his arms. “We’re already seeing price instability. Escalating the issue would only hurt the poor.”
Inglewood lifted his chin. “England’s economy is strong. It would recover swiftly from any such skirmish.”
“Perhaps,” Westcott allowed, “but what about those who can’t afford to wait for the economy to bounce back?”
Bedford, who’d been watching the exchange with an unusually serious expression, finally joined in. “What about the poor, Inglewood? They are already struggling to put food on the table. They won’t be able to afford the additional costs.”
“They’ll adjust. They always do,” Inglewood said, turning back towards Dominic. “Tell me, Warwicke—do you still want that annulment?”
“I do,” he replied.
Inglewood smiled, thin and cold. “Then you’ll need allies in Parliament. My backing would go a long way. But as you surely understand… support doesn’t come without a cost.”
Before Dominic could answer, Inglewood pivoted smoothly and strolled away, threading between the tables with the arrogance of a man certain he’d left his mark.
