“Another for the guest list,” Prince says.
“Fantastic,” Cunningham says, blue eyes sparkling. He rubs his hands together and looks James up and down. “You’ll do nicely. I think you might be lean enough to stand through the carriage roof.”
“Excuse me?” James manages. Cunningham doesn’t seem at all surprised to see him, but James feels like the walls are starting to press in. Cunningham is far too close to his world.
“He’s kidding. We’ll be having Rupping stand and look through the carriage roof to fit everyone inside. He’s got another head on Demeroven here,” Prince says.
“Ah, well, it is your party,” Cunningham says. “Whatever are you drinking?”
“A Jeremy special,” Prince says.
Cunningham raises a hand, flagging down Jeremy. He points to Prince’s drink. “Add a splash of Gaddie’s whisky. Are we running low?”
“Mr.Parker’s already planned a standing order. You’re behind on the news,” Jeremy says as his hands fly around the bar, mixing Cunningham’s drink.
“You’re writing up the weekly backers report, so it’s really your delay, isn’t it?” Cunningham asks, laughing when Jeremy just rolls his eyes.
Jeremy glances at James, an eyebrow raised, but James shakes his head. He hasn’t even finished his first whisky yet, too busy trying to get the lay of the land.
“You’ll learn to keep up,” Jeremy says as he hands Cunningham his drink.
“’Course he will. We want Lord Demeroven to be a repeat customer, after all,” Cunningham says.
James isn’t so sure, but he leans back against the counter, trying to look relaxed. Trying to convince himself that thisis D’Vere, and secrets stay inside. He doesn’t need to panic. Cunningham clearly has a financial stake in the club. It isn’t like he’ll be out telling anyone about James, nor will Prince. He’s... among friends.
Cunningham hails another patron. A tall, wide man with a short-trimmed mustache and a light sheen of sweat on his brow slots into their little circle.
“Demeroven, this is Lord Wristead,” Prince says. “Wristead, this is Demeroven’s first season. Wristead was a few years ahead of us at Oxford.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” James says, taking the man’s hand. His grip is almost painfully tight. James hopes his palms aren’t sweating.
“And yours as well,” Wristead says.
“Demeroven will be joining for the stag night,” Cunningham says.
“Oh, excellent, excellent. Between you and Rupping, I think we can easily boost Prince back into his room without his father being any the wiser.”
James opens his mouth; he wants no part in anything that could upset Lord Prince—
“Father’s funding the entire night,” Prince says with a laugh. “No need for subterfuge.”
“Unless we want to sample more than London’s finest liquors,” Cunningham says eagerly. “We were just compiling a list of the most tempting—”
“There will be no establishments of the night,” Prince says quickly, giving James an apologetic look. “I am very happily-to-be-wed and need none of that particular entertainment.”
“Speak for yourself,” Cunningham says with another slug of his drink.
“That reminds me, Mary Ann has been asking to see Abigail. Might we schedule that oft-promised visit when we’re back in the country?” Wristead asks him.
“Of course, of course. Abs would be glad for the company.”
“Shame she couldn’t make it down with you,” Wristead says blithely.
“It is,” Cunningham says. “But her mother wouldn’t hear of her being here without a wedding, and I need to get my feet under me with my father’s holdings while I handle... other matters.”
James can’t quite tell if it’s an excuse or reality.
“No need to leave her on her own for the season if she doesn’t have to be, nor under the scrutiny of a prolonged engagement with all these mothers about,” Prince says.
