“Haversham, I have complete confidence that you can make it happen. Once the lands are returned, she will ask the Lord Lyon in Scotland to recognize her as baroness, which, because it is a feudal barony with the title derived from ownership of the land, they will do. What happens here will be a formality, and it would cause unnecessary hard feelings if it were resisted.”
Haversham pondered the problem.
“Also, while the king remains under the illusion that I sold my manhood in marriage to save him from dishonor, tell him about our current attempts to return the slavery question to Parliament’s attention. I do not expect him to speak in favor of any bills. I only ask that he not speak against them.”
Haversham grimaced. “I’m not sure—”
Eric arched a brow at him.
“I will see what I can do, Your Grace.”
He took his leave of the sycophants flattering the king and now closing in to flatter the Duke of Brentworth. He rode back to Mayfair and stopped on Bond Street. He mounted the stairs to the dressmaker’s shop Davina said the duchesses were taking her to this afternoon.
“Your Grace.” The owner of the shop, Mrs. Dove, swept out and curtsied low. “It has been a long time.”
“I trust you did not mention to my wife that there was ever another time.” Clara and Amandawouldhave to choose a shop he had visited with several mistresses.
“Of course not, Your Grace. You have never been here before. The ladies are choosing designs and fabrics. If you come with me, you can inspect the orders submitted thus far.”
He did not doubt Clara would see to this with good taste and aplomb. All the same, he followed Mrs. Dove for no more reason than he wanted to see Davina.
Davina jumped up when he entered and came over to him. The duchesses exchanged unfathomable looks with each other.
“How good of you to join us, Brentworth,” Clara said. “I promise we are not bankrupting you, if that is your concern.”
“They are rather overdoing it,” Davina whispered. “They asked if you had given me an amount and when I said you had not, they went a little mad.”
“I have no concern about the bills, Clara. I am just curious to see what you have chosen.”
Davina took him to her place at the table and laid out fashion drawings and trims and pointed to colors. Her excitement touched him. He was glad he had interrupted.
He lifted one of the dinner dress plates. “Not this color. Primrose.”
She looked up and blinked at him. Then she smiled. “Ah, I remember. Primrose it will be.”
He glanced around the chamber, laden with fabric samples and stuffed with ladies’ frothy things. He spied a Venetian shawl gently patterned with blue on cream.
“Have you chosen the carriage ensembles yet?”
“One. It is lovely.” She pulled out a drawing. It appeared appropriate for London or the southern counties, but not for anything farther north.
“Davina will need a few more,” he told Clara. “At least two with fur. Ermine for one, because I favor it. Also cloaks. One of those should be fur as well.”
“Nowyouare overdoing it,” Davina murmured. “I promise not to take chills.”
“I’ll not have you cold.”
“Leave it to us, Brentworth. An excess of fur will be commissioned,” Clara said. “Amanda, where is the drawing we set aside, the one with the fur mantle?”
The two of them shuffled paper. He took the opportunity to give Davina a kiss. “It will be our first evening at home alone in London. I have some gifts for you.”
“Thank you, but this is already too generous.”
“Nonsense,” Clara interrupted, not even pausing in her perusal of the carriage ensembles.
“As she said, nonsense.” He gave her another kiss, letting his lips linger on hers. “I am going to Whitehall. I will see you at dinner.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
