Charles Battersea, Earl of Dalton and heir to the Duke of Glastonburg, had been stewing for weeks. He’d not much choice, as far as he could see. All of his friends but for Burke had been reckless in the extreme and now found themselves in the marital yoke. His funds had been cut off, his creditors were no longer as awed as they once had been and came knocking whenever it suited them, he was reduced to attending tedious dinners just togeta good dinner, and the season was coming to a close. Even Marty Destin from his club was beginning to inquire when he might get paid. He could not afford to open his house in Brighton and would not dignify his ridiculous married friends with his presence at their country houses.
He might go to Burke, of course. But then, he could not spend the whole summer there without looking like a charity case. And what was he to do with his staff? He supposed he’d leave them here, and they might scrounge whatever they could for food. Bellamy could go further afield to find a butcher who would extend credit or he could sell off some silver for ready money. He would not feel sorry for them, as he knew full well that Bellamy would help himself to the wine cellar, as he always did. As for his stable, what little money he had left was put aside to pay for it. People might starve, himself included, but as long as he breathed, his horseflesh would never have a hint of anything gone wrong.
That old scoundrel of a butler opened the door softly and said, “Lord Burke to see you, my lord.”
Charles waved his acquiescence. He did not particularly want to see anybody, but if he were going to decamp to Burke’s house, he’d better not bar the door to him now.
Lord Burke walked in and Charles noted him surveying the chaos of his library. Opened books and strewn papers littered every surface.
“I fail to see why you employ servants,” Burke said. “I have yet to enter this room and find it at all in order.”
“As that is in no way a surprise, why do you bother to mention it?” Dalton said.
“Very well,” Burke said, “I will say why I have come. I wondered how you got on now that Grayson has married Miss Dell. I know you quite counted on him to remain a bachelor holdout with you.”
“Grayson,” Charles said bitterly. “Do you know where he’s gone with the little minx? Sweden. A wedding trip to Sweden. Who ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”
“Lady Grayson is not a minx and I do not think it is Sweden that has put you out of sorts.”
Charles shrugged. Burke had known the lady a very long time and was unlikely to be swayed by all he could say against Miss Dell. Or,Lady Grayson, as she had somehow made herself.
Still, she was a minx. She must be. How else had the lady librarian seduced Grayson? Giles Grayson, who never opened a book? It was unaccountable, and therefore, her fault.
“Really, Dalton,” Burke said, “if you intend on living in poverty rather than marry, that is certainly your purview. I simply do not understand why you are so irate over your friends’ marriages.”
“Oh, I see,” Charles said. “You are to be next. Who is the lady?”
“There is nobody,” Burke said hurriedly.
Charles looked at his friend critically. There was something odd in his tone. “I am glad to hear it,” he said.
“I am not certainIam,” Burke said mysteriously.
Charles decided not to pursue the matter. No doubt Burke had been disappointed in love. He only wished his other friends had found such luck. Unfortunately, those other fools had met with endless successes—one after the other had willingly trotted into the parson’s noose.
“In any case,” Charles said, “I will need to force myself upon your hospitality this summer, as I do not have the funds to open my house in Brighton.”
Burke looked up in surprise. “Oh no, my good fellow, I won’t open the house in Somerset until the shooting. I have been invited to stay at Ramsgate with the Minkertons.”
“Ramsgate? Who stays at Ramsgate?”
“A large amount of people do, including the Minkertons. They have a large and rambling cottage by the sea, it is very charming. Lord Bartholomew is a baron whose land borders my own. They are longstanding friends.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“I do not doubt it. Belle Minkerton will only be out this coming season and Lord and Lady Bartholomew do not like town. Further, as they do not love the habits of the regent, they would hardly place themselves in Brighton.”
“Friends or not, I do not see why you should spend months with them.”
“Youwere just proposing to spend months withme,” Burke said.
“Deuced inconvenient, is all I say,” Charles said.
“Yes, it is, for you,” Burke said drily. “Why not go to Cabot and have a look at his horseflesh? He and Lady Cabot have expanded the stables to a remarkable degree.”
Charles folded his arms. “I will not visit any of my friends who have fallen to the Dukes’ Pact. I have vowed it.”
“Vowed it to who?” Lord Burke said, looking amused.
