Page 18 of The Duke’s Wager

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Outside seemed to be where most of the gentlemen gathered. Alfred and Edward quickly joined them, and the latter took an inconspicuous step back – allowing Alfred to make chit-chat with them.

Naturally, Julian Pembroke was at the center of attention. It was where he usually strived to be.

“She was incredible – stunning! Tall, with long red hair and, let me tell you, there is something about a redhead. They are fiery and passionate. Much preferable to blondes, if you don’t mind me saying so!”

Laughter followed his boisterous words, and Edward gritted his teeth. He could not truly fault Julian for being a ladies’ man – he himself would certainly be classified as one as well.

Julian, however, was awfully indelicate about his conquests – he was boastful and tactless, often discussing the ladies he bedded in rather insensitive terms. It was classless. Not to mention that he was incredibly arrogant. It had nothing to do with the Ice Queen moniker he had given Lucy – no, this was about far more than that.

Julian Pembroke was a quintessential oaf. For his part, Edward did not believe half his stories for few women in their right mind would waste their time with a man like him.

The conversation turned from Julian’s latest conquest to the end of the war, and Edward stepped closer again.

“Well, I believe that if I were the Duke of Wellington, I would have gained a victory over French forces far sooner.”

Naturally, it was Julian boasting again and Edward smirked. The men quickly jeered at the statement.

“The Duke of Wellington is responsible for ending the war and you dare criticize him?”

Edward was uncertain who it was that spoke to Julian. He listened with one ear, whilst casually lighting his cigar. Loyalty for King George III and the Duke of Wellington was still at an all-time high, as the war had been won merely months ago.

“If it weren’t for King George, we might still have been in battle. Long live the king!”

The men echoed Alfred’s sentiments, cheering to their monarch eagerly. Edward looked at his friend with a small smirk.

“King George, Alfred, truly? When was the last time our great king made any political decisions? By my calculations, it was nearly a decade ago.”

The men stared at Edward with wide eyes. What he had said could be construed as treason and with the king’s popularity soaring with the end of the war, it was certainly a strange opinion to hold.

“Good Lord, Edward!” Alfred sounded aghast. “Our king has served us well all our lives. Who are we to criticize his decisions?”

Edward decided against smoking and set his cigar to cool on the lip of the ashtray.

“I am not criticizing our king’s decisions. You misunderstand me, my friend.”

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief too soon for Edward was nowhere near finished. He knew that his grandmother would be aghast at his way of speaking, but he also happened to know that no one would speak out on it – even Julian Pembroke. There was a code they lived by, and amongst the young men, it was safe to share whatever you thought: even if those thoughts were astoundingly unpopular.

“I’m criticizing his lack of decisions. This war should have ended eons ago. I do fear that our king’s health is not what it used to be.”

There had been much speculation lately about his health, and Edward knew his grandmother would appreciate any information about it. He stood back now, allowing the men to speak.

It was a tall, thin man who found his voice first. For the life of him, Edward could not remember his name.