Page 21 of Managing the Major

The hackney carriage stopped outside the entrance to the club. Membership at White’s or Brooks’s had never interested him, although several acquaintances had offered to put his name up. He preferred the diverse crowd at Boodles. But if he were to cultivate a relationship with the ton to build his hospital, that might have to change.

Alastair blinked as he entered the brightly lit club. It was completely full. Handing the doorman his hat and gloves, he kept his stick and surveyed the room, hoping to see Rafe.

His cousin was in the second parlor, sitting with a group of men who were loudly discussing the upcoming races at Newmarket. They quieted as he approached, and several respectfully rose to greet him.

“Come sit, Major Fairfax,” invited a stout man with whiskers. “Will you attend the races this year?”

Someone pulled an empty chair next to Rafe. Completely in the dark as to anyone’s name, Alastair addressed the entire group. “I’m contemplating the trip. Perhaps to the King’s Cup at least.” He received a few surprised looks since he hadn’t been there in years. Traveling hadn’t appealed to him since the accident, but lately, he missed the action and camaraderie of the sport.

“Well, that’s good to hear, Major Fairfax…I’ve always had great luck following your bets and suffered in your absence,” a tall, angular man in a brown coat (Weatherford? Whitebridge?) chuckled. Several of the men nodded in agreement.

Talk continued to the prospects of various horses as Rafe greeted him. “What brings you out, Alastair?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. It was rare for Alastair to venture out besides his duties as a chaperone.

“I’ve just come from a musicale at Lady Jersey’s house with Nerissa and Abigail. Not in the mood to go home, though.”

“I hear the Earl of Seldon has a right good one this year, a colt of Irish stock that he’s bred,” the man with whiskers announced, downing his pint. “He might be worth betting on, Major.”

Alastair rose, nodding. “I’ll certainly investigate that. But, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m famished. Captain Prescott, would you care to join me in the dining room?”

Rafe gave him a wide grin as they found an empty table.

“Lord Simpson and Colonel Whitestone.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The men you were speaking with. Simpson was the taller.” A waiter appeared, and Alastair asked for a bottle of burgundy. He looked over in astonishment as Rafe ordered a huge dinner.

“You do realize it’s close to one o’clock?”

“Well, I didn’t get home from Windsor until nearly seven and haven’t eaten since the luncheon. Anyway, I thought you were hungry.”

“I just wanted to get away. And how was Chancellor Metternich?”

“As conservative as ever. The king is on his deathbed, they say, but Liverpool carried on as usual. We kept the chancellor entertained and built some bridges, I think.”

“They’ll make a diplomat of you yet, Rafe.”

“Well, it’s you they really wanted. I fear I’m a poor substitute, but thank you for your recommendation. Playing host for the crown is better than sitting stationed at some remote post.” He raised his glass. “To the joys of peacetime.”

“To peacetime,” Alastair reciprocated, sipping his wine.

“And what are your plans for the future, cousin? You seem to be getting around better, by the way. It surprised me to hear you might venture out to Newmarket.”

“I think squiring Abigail around town and the bit of fencing I try is helping my movement, although it would be easy enough for anyone to run me through—even you, Rafe.”

“Don’t tempt me; that opportunity will disappear soon enough as you recover.” The server arrived with a plate of food, and Rafe immediately set to work on a joint of mutton.

Taking an extra plate, Alastair cut himself a slice of bread and buttered it. “You do know that might not happen?” He watched with amusement as Rafe wolfed down the meal.

“It might if you apply yourself. As I mention repeatedly, Henry Angelo has offered to help many times.”

“I don’t feel like putting my infirmities on display. But I’ll consider it if you change the subject.”

“All right. You don’t seem nearly as curmudgeonly since I saw you last. What’s happened? Does this have anything to do with Miss Merrick?”

His cheeks grew warm; the tendency to color easily was something he had always disliked. “Why would it? We’ve met a handful of times at best.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm…wasn’t it just two? The first time at the park, then at Almack’s. When else did you see the delectable Miss Merrick?”