Brentworth shook his head. “We had plenty of champagne in our house during the war. My grandfather laid in a goodly amount when he saw the headwinds, so our cellar remained well stocked. While he was not the—how did you put it?—consummate duke, it is true my father did not hold with enriching smugglers. If you were not in your cups, you would not admit it was done by your family either. It sounds disloyal.”
“Not as disloyal as the doings of some of your families, not mentioning any names, of course.” The voice inserting this observation came from behind them. Adam turned his head to see the Marquess of Rothborne hovering at his shoulder, looking down with a drunken smirk and moist eyes. Not a young man, the marquess had ruined his health long ago with drinking.
“Excellent whiskey, Brentworth,” Rothborne said, waving his glass. “Scottish?”
“Irish, and you have enjoyed it rather too well, I think.”
“I heard you had the best, so here I am. Of course, no one told me about your company. I am a bit fussier than you are, I guess. I avoid sitting at a table with a man who only has his title because his father escaped judgment by blowing his brains out.”
Rothborne chuckled at his own wit. Brentworth froze. Adam began deciding which friend to have as his second. No one at their table said anything. It seemed none of them breathed much either.
“You are drunk, Rothborne,” Langford said. “Apologize, then sit and play. I am losing big, and fate decrees I stop for a spell.” He stood. “Here, use my chair. I can ruin my fortune another day.”
“I’ll be damned before I sit next to him.”
With an affable smile, Langford clasped Rothborne’s shoulder. He pressed hard, bringing his weight and strength to bear. “I insist you take my chair.Sit.”
Rothborne’s body slammed into the chair. His face turned red. He slowly turned his head until his gaze met Adam’s, right beside him.
“I am sure you want to apologize,” Brentworth said from Adam’s other side. He gestured to the footman to deal him another card. “Before this hand is finished would be wise. I doubt I can hold Stratton back longer than that.”
“Apologize, hell.”
Brentworth sighed and shook his head. “And this was such a pleasant day. Now it will end badly, and all because a drunken fool did not know to hold his tongue. I am sorry, Stratton. As host I feel responsible.”
“It had to happen eventually. If not this drunken fool, then another one. I have grown somewhat accustomed to killing them.” He turned his gaze back on Rothborne and hoped this particular fool would come to his senses in the next two minutes.
Langford bent low to speak in Rothborne’s ear. “Lest you are so far gone as to forget how this works, let me remind you. Stratton here must now call you out. Your pride will not let you stand down, even when in the morning you awake sober and realize you will die soon. It was not a small insult to his honor, and he was an expert shot by the time he was fifteen.”
“I won’t die, he will, with more honor than his father at least.”
Another tight silence claimed the men around the table. Adam noted that a few of the others in the stand watched now. Hell.
“Rothborne, you give me no choice but—”
“Apologize.” The Duke of Clarence, who had been watching with rapt attention, spat out the command. “Am I to explain that I sat here while a duke and a marquess arranged a duel? Stop being an ass, Rothborne.”
“But I—”
“I said apologize now, or I will have George call you to the palace like a schoolboy and send you down to the country. A few years’ rustication might do you good.”
Rothborne looked miserable. His chin went down to his chest. He muttered something. Langford, still bending close, looked over at Adam and shrugged.
“We cannot hear you,” the Duke of Clarence said. “You threw insults loudly enough. You can speak clearly now too.”
“My apologies, Stratton. I am not myself today.” He barely got it out, his voice was so strangled.
Langford released his hold on Rothborne’s shoulder but gave him a very hearty clap on his back that shook the man’s body. “Ah, there we are. Now, stay and play a round or two, so everyone can see what good friends we all are.”
Rothborne played two rounds, then rose and staggered away. Langford retook his chair. His gaze met Adam’s in one meaningful exchange. Adam said nothing. He would thank both Langford and Brentworth later.
“We appreciate your help,” Brentworth said to the royal duke.
“Yes,” Adam said. “You spared me considerable unpleasantness.”
“I couldn’t have him ruin a fine day when I am enjoying such good whiskey. Irish, you say?” He drank a swallow.
“I will have a case sent to you,” Brentworth said.
