James extended a hand, and the other shook it.
“I saw you sitting alone,” he went on when Gosford remained grim-faced and silent. “I hope I am not interrupting?—”
“You are not. Please, have a seat.”
James could have made an excuse and declined, but the misery in Gosford’s eyes made him take the adjacent wingchair.
“Drink?” Gosford waved at the nearly empty decanter of whisky on the table beside him.
“No, thank you.” James wracked his brain for polite conversation. “I am surprised to see you here. I thought Brooks’s was more to your style.”
“It was. Until the scandal.” Downing the rest of his glass, Gosford refilled it. “As it turns out, the club is entirely less agreeable when other members avoid you like the plague for fear of contracting your disgrace.”
Right. No mincing words then.
“I am sorry about what happened,” James said.
“Are you?” Gosford’s gaze cut into him like a razor. “Are you indeed?”
“I would not wish such misfortune on anyone. Particularly not a man who I know has represented his constituents faithfully and to the best of his abilities.”
“Well.” Gosford held his glass in a mocking toast. “At least I was faithful at something.”
James stood. “If you would rather be alone?—”
“No, sit. I’m in a devil of a mood and you’re a convenient target, though you’ve done little to deserve it. In fact, you are one of the few fellows with the decency to acknowledge my existence—to treat me as something other than persona non grata.”
Taking that for the apology that it was, James returned to his seat.
“It will pass,” he said. “Gossip will soon find a fresh victim, and all will be forgotten.”
“Forgotten but forever changed. I have lost the respect of my peers and constituents. And my wife…well, let us say that the climate of my marriage makes the Outer Hebrides seem tropical in comparison.”
“That sounds…”—James searched for a tactful adjective—“unpleasant.”
“That is one way to describe it. Take my advice, Manderly, and don’t invite dishonor into your life. It is a disagreeable houseguest who will destroy everything you hold dear and never leave. However bad you think it may be, the reality is a hundred times worse.”
James found himself torn between pity and stirring unease. Gosford was a gentleman in his prime, who’d been at the pinnacle of his career. Even so, he had suffered the greatest of falls. True, his weakness when it came to women had led him to make choices James never would, but his was a cautionary tale.
Evie’s past crept into James’s head. Although he’d done his best to reassure her, she was still terrified that the business with Wilmington could ruin him. He didn’t blame her for any of it—she, not that bastard, was the victim—but, if he was completely honest, a small part of him shared her concern.
Could her secret destroy everything he’d worked for and hoped to achieve?
He kept his doubts to himself. He wanted to carry his wife’s burdens, not add to them. He would focus on catching the villain and having him thrown behind bars. No one would believe the word of a criminal—one who’d preyed upon a lady, no less.
Gosford took another drink. “Enough about me and my woes. How is the campaign going?”
James cleared his throat. “Passably well, given the circumstances.”
“The circumstances being that I left the party high and dry, mere months before the General Election, and now that opportunist Ryerson is contesting my seat.” Gosford raised a brow. “Have I missed anything?”
“That sums it up.”
“I still have a few connections, and they inform me that your campaign has been gathering momentum. Preparing for a hustings, are you?”
“Yes. It will take place in Chudleigh Bottoms.”
“Chuddums?” Gosford grimaced. “Why in blazes would you want to host the event in the county’s armpit? Well, that’s your business. I like you, Manderly. Always thought you were a decent, reasonable chap—though a bit high-minded, if you don’t mind my saying.”
