Sebastian looked up as his uncle settled his broad form into the last of the four chairs at their small table. The brother of Sebastian’s young stepmother, he was only eleven years older than Sebastian himself, still shy of forty, and still bluntly, darkly handsome.
“Major,” Handley and Beckford murmured with polite nods of greeting.
“Deal me in?”
It was a little late in the game for that, and if it had been anyone else, Handley might have protested. Beckford never cared either way what happened, and as for Sebastian…long habit made him do whatever his uncle wished.
“Nothing better to do?” he asked, dealing the hand.
“Surely I’ve missed the worst of it?”
“One lecture on architecture, with accompanying engravings, two Mozart sonatas, one Piccinni, and a Haydn.”
“Well, damn me. Thank God I lingered over my chops and ale. Barmaid was the amenable sort. Blonde, just my type.” He shifted his muscular bulk in his chair, stretching out his thicklegs. “She’d do for you, Cote, get some of that starch out of your collar.”
But eyeing Sebastian, the major’s lip gave its familiar curl. “Oh, don’t give me that look, you’re getting ever so old-womanish these days.”
Sebastian said nothing but picked up his cards again, waiting for his uncle to do the same and knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t really want to play.
“Almost a married man, our Cote,” said Beckford in good-natured defence.
Sebastian inwardly winced. He both treasured and deplored Beckford’s youthful naivety—regretted it, certainly, when it was brought into play against his uncle. It could only ever be eroded in the exchange.
The major examined Sebastian, a familiar blend of humour and cruelty in his hard grey eyes. “The coquette’s finally said yes, has she?”
“Not quite.”
“But surely the father’s still in favour?”
“Oh, extremely.”
“And between the two of you, you can’t bend the girl to your will?”
Lightly, arranging his cards, Sebastian mused, “Now wouldn’tthatbe bad mannered.”
But his uncle scoffed. “Thought I taught you better than that, Cote. You want the girl, you get the girl.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but alas, this isn’t a barrack room orgy.”
The major’s eyes narrowed, the violence that lived just under his skin shimmering for a moment. But he wore his society face in this room, so he merely gave Sebastian a mocking study, picking up Sebastian’s own wine glass and taking an idle sip. “So…your title won’t do it, or even your father’s. Your standing, your face, your figure, and even your wealth won’t do it… What’sholding the girl back, eh? Got another lover, has she?” He drank more wine, eyes as hard as a fresh-shod hoof.
“Oh, the same issue,” said Sebastian, selecting a card, though the game had long been abandoned.
“Still thinks you’re a cold fish, does she?”
“That I lack a heart,” he corrected.
“She’s one to talk. Made of ice herself, though she flirts with the warmth of a Cyprian, playing all of society like it’s one big mark. But, damn, she’s a fine creature.” The major gestured to the room with Sebastian’s glass. “Look at this cavern of withered husks, all these shrivelled up old women making us dance to their frightful tune. But their time is past, my boy. The Lady Frances and her friends are society’s new queens, and thank God for it, because not only are they a damn sight more fun, they’re a damn sight better to look at.” He drank the rest of Sebastian’s wine and put the glass down. “She’snot here, is she? Your Elston chit knows better than to waste her time on this dying breed.”
Sebastian put down his cards and flexed his fingers out of sight beneath the table. Was it boredom? Was it anger? Something unpleasant bobbed around beneath his skin like old weeds caught in a river’s snarl. He met Handley’s eye. The man was used to the major, and his expression gave nothing away except frustration at the game being done. He, too, set down his cards and picked up his drink instead, giving Sebastian a rather flat smile. Beckford…well, Beckford was being Beckford and was leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling’s mouldings, apparently oblivious to all else.
“Lady Frances Elston,” said Sebastian, “is everything she should be.”
“Except for being your wife, eh?” said his uncle with a huff of laughter. “You and her, Cote, aren’t you meant to be leading society by now? The new king and queen, not that doddering old crone over there.”
“That was rather the plan.”
“Not your father, is it, throwing a stick in the spokes? Daresay having that addle-pated crock in her family tree ain’t to the lady’s liking.”
