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He cleared his throat. “Preston, I understand, has made a few poor choices.”

Hampton grunted.

“However,” Asquith chose his words carefully, “I believe you have a budding young gentleman on your hands. He has been nothing but solicitous and respectful to my ward. And the deep attachment between him and his sister is obvious. He heeds her counsel more than most young men would an older sister.”

Hampton gave a reluctant nod.

“As my mother would say,”—Asquith smiled wryly—“he just needs a little polish.”

Hampton made a disgruntled noise. “Like he needed a good long scrub in a lye bath last night?”

Asquith acknowledged the point by raising his eyebrows and inclining his head. “Unfortunate, I know.”

Preston had suffered a humiliation he wasn’t likely to forget. But, as Asquith knew, even after disgrace life could, and should, be rebuilt.

“With your permission,” he continued, “I intend to invite him out. When he’s on his feet again, that is. I remember needing guidance. I was lucky. At a critical juncture, Lord Neville performed the same office for me.”

A hint of relief flickered in Hampton's gaze. “Thank you.”

Again, Asquith inclined his head. Then, he exhaled. That exchange had been delicate; the next would be an even greater test.

“I need Preston’s help,” he admitted. “With your permission, of course.”

Hampton’s eyes briefly widened, then took on a subsequent squint.

“There is a gentleman,” Asquith continued. “A man of significant connections and wealth, who over the past few years has skillfully—criminally—orchestrated events for his substantial gain.”

Hampton’s mouth tightened into a thin, guarded line.

“Some, like your son, he has used.” Asquith kept his voice level. “Others, those unable to easily refuse him, he’s forced to bear a greater cost. Recently, a vulnerable young lady caught his attention. I believe he intends to use her as an instrument of provocation. Or, perhaps, cause her greater harm.”

“Is Preston involved?” Hampton’s voice was hard.

“No,” Asquith admitted. “Nor will he be. That is a private matter entirely in my hands.” And Neville’s. “But this man’s manipulations extend beyond those of a...social nature. He is involved in the unjust extortion of honest tradesmen. I intend to put a stop to these outrageous offenses, but to do so, I need Preston’s assistance.”

“How do you think Preston can be of help?”

“Preston believes he can find proof of extortion. If he does, a house of ill-repute can be shuttered either by legal means or... by pressure.”

Hampton turned his head slightly to the side, gazing at nothing Asquith could define. “Am I to understand this wealthy, connected individual is running a brothel, extorting good cits, and taking advantage of gently bred young ladies?”

“The documentation will prove forgery and financial crimes as well.”

Hampton’s cheeks dented as he sucked in.

“Preston believes he can obtain that documentation without rousing suspicion.”

Hampton rose. Almost to himself, he said, “Something stronger, I think.”

With uncharacteristic abruptness, he made his way to a decanter of port. He poured himself a measure of brownish liquid. He did not offer Asquith a glass.

Asquith had never witnessed a father’s struggle up close. He’d never considered the decisions a good and principled man must make—when and how to intercede, what the consequences of such intercession might cost.

Had his own father had struggled as much with parental responsibility? Asquith had never told his father everything Willard had done. But, when Asquith had been rusticating at home with a broken hand, his father must have known more than he let on.

“Your father,” Hampton said, “took on something similar.”

Asquith’s gaze sharpened.