Stratton smirked, which made Gabriel think another fight might be in order.
Miles assumed his position near the chair used for shaving. Brentworth stood and pointed at it. “Sit, or we will hold you down.”
They looked like they meant it. Grudgingly, Gabriel stood and threw himself into the chair.
Brentworth looked far too satisfied. “Get him cleaned up, Miles. Then get rid of these bottles. Once you are presentable, call for your horse, Langford, and join us in the park. Fresh air will do you good.”
The two men who called themselves friends left. Gabriel submitted to his valet’s razor. He resented Brentworth treating him like a green boy. Brentworth probably never acknowledged disappointment over a woman. The most ducal duke most likely believed any woman who rejected him belonged in Bedlam.
Wallowing, hell. Except he had been. Nor did he much want to stop yet. The possibilities that had been thwarted deserved a good wallow. A man who did not wallow every now and then had no heart left, was how he saw it.
At least the few hours of sleep this morning made him less sick from the spirits. The fog had mostly left his head. While Miles slid the razor over his skin, he went over every word Amanda had said Thursday night, looking for an argument to convince her that an affair with him was a splendid idea.
Chapter Thirteen
Gabriel dismounted from his horse in front of a town house on Green Street. He paused before approaching the door. It would take a saint to maintain grace during what he was about to face, all for the excuse to see Amanda again.
That did not even cover the potential cost to his pride. Instead of being delighted at his tenacity, she might be angry. Which begged the question of why he was here.
Because your conceit and pride refuse to accept she could give you up so easily. No, that was not why. The truth was that he refused to give her up so easily. He did not begin to understand anything about how he had reacted to the way she’d broken with him. He only knew he would not accept it.
A woman answered the door. Not the housekeeper from the looks of her. If he did not know better, he would say she was a female footman. She performed the usual ritual, bearing his card off on a silver salver. With any luck, the lady would decide she was not at home to him. Then he could ask to speak with the secretary instead.
It was not to be. The footwoman returned to escort him into a library with riots of blooms covering all of the upholstered furniture. It looked like a flower bed tended by an incompetent gardener.
Lady Farnsworth stood at a desk near a window, pawing through some papers. She glanced over at his entrance. “Welcome, Langford, welcome. I will join you shortly. Serve yourself some refreshment. The decanters are on the table over there. Now, where is that letter?” Her attention returned to the desk.
The decanters held a variety of spirits. He decided some whisky would not be out of order. It might ease the torture to which he was subjecting himself.
“I do not understand it. Miss Waverly is nothing if not organized. The first draft should be right here, but I am not seeing it.” She flustered and sighed and walked away from the desk. “It will turn up, I am sure. I just need to check the stacks again. I fear I have made a mess of things.”
“I am sure she will rectify that quickly.”
Lady Farnsworth did not seem to hear him. She took a seat and gestured to one for him. “Sit, sit. I am honored. I daresay I never expected a call from you, of all men.”
“I have come for advice.” He almost choked on the words. Instead he smiled.
“Well, now, that is a surprise. You are not the first man to sit there and say that, but I did not think you would request my counsel.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “Of course, your interests have changed somewhat this last year. Expanded, so to speak. It is possible in some small way they intersect with mine.”
“It has to do with a bill being brought forth. Two actually. One a reform of the criminal laws, and one on penal reform.”
“I have heard of both and followed their progress with interest.”
“I thought you might have some thoughts on which lords are most likely to be open to arguments in favor of them.”
“You seek to line up the votes in advance. That is very wise, especially with a controversial bill. On this particular topic, it will be a difficult battle. However, there are some peers who have on occasion voiced views in this room that were more liberal than they are known for publicly. Now, let me see. . . .”
He waited for her to choose which names she would share. He doubted she could provide more information than Brentworth could, but that bill really had nothing to do with his call. He kept waiting for the secretary to return to her desk.
Lady Farnsworth launched into her response, complete with tangents regarding each peer’s preferred spirits in the event Gabriel chose to entertain the man in his home, which Lady Farnsworth kept suggesting was a wise way to grease the wheels of legislation. “I think my influence is as much to the credit of good Scotch whisky as my own cleverness,” she confided.
On and on she went. Gabriel nodded and frowned and in general tried to appear impressed and grateful. All the while, he kept watching the door, for it to open and for Amanda to appear.
“I have perhaps been long-winded,” Lady Farnsworth finally said with a chortle. “You must forgive me. I so enjoy political discussion. I trust that you have found some of this useful to your endeavor, an endeavor of which I most approve.”
“Thank you, you have been most helpful.” He stood. “You can find that letter now. Perhaps you should call for Miss Waverly and let her aid you.”
She looked up at him and blinked her eyes, surprised. “Oh, I can’t do that. She is no longer here. She has left me. All the papers were in order, she promised, and I am sure they were, but in my impatience, I mixed them up and now—well, it is quite the mess.”
