“Better question, has Cossington ever accomplished anything?”
There was rolling laughter around the table. Paisley Waistcoat grimaced. “Yes, yes. Very droll. My wife throws a better party than all of yours.” He finished his drink and motioned for another.
One of the other men, whose morning coat was edged in gold thread—real, no doubt—turned to Finley. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, chap, but no one is going to pay good money to make a chambermaid’s life easier.”
The impact of his comment was softened only because Fiona had come to the same conclusion that morning. Hence her pessimistic woolgathering when William had ambushed her.
“Well, seems like the businessmen of London agree with you. Can I get a drink?” Whiskey would be preferable, but at this point she’d take anything. Her eyes drifted back over to Edward, laughing with the man who stood so solidly and immovably in the way of crucial electoral reform.
A nearby footman appeared with a crystal cut glass and poured Fiona a dram of whiskey from the decanter on the table.
She swallowed it in one go.
One of the dandies—whose costume was less ornate but no less expensive—took pity on her. “You know, you might get a better result talking to someone like the Earl of Livingworth. He’s got plenty of spare blunt and a bleeding heart. Insufferable to be around, though.”
“True,” one of the other men said. “Or you could try Viscount Chester. Less a bleeding heart and more of a betting man. He’s been known to take a gamble on new business ventures. Sometimes it pays off; he was one of the lucky bastards that invested in the Andaman Silk Company.”
“Didn’t he lose a thousand quid trying to manufacture a ventilating hat?”
For the first time that day, Fiona felt a little bit of hope. She pulled a notebook out of her satchel and wrote down all the names the men threw out, ignoring the scorn and jibes that went with them.
Yes, a distributor would have been ideal—someone with connections in London households who could help her scale her product quickly and successfully. But her matches had proved to be too much of a risky endeavor for men who needed to balance the books every month.
A lord with those same connections and enough wealth to invest? That’s what she needed. A little voice in the back of her head threw out its own names. Benedict. John. Edward.
She discounted Benedict; he had the money but not the London connections. The same could be said for John. Edward had both, but she wasn’t about to ask for his help. Especially not while he was consorting with the enemy.
“So, what are the plans for tonight, gentlemen?” William asked the men at the table.
“Boodle’s for a meal, a few hands at the Black Dwarf, and then rounding off the night at Madame Leverie?” Gold Thread asked.
“A solid plan,” Paisley Waistcoat responded. The men around her raised their glasses and murmured their assent, so she raised hers and grunted.
“You with us, McTavish?” William asked.
Was she? A night drinking and gambling in London with a strange group of men? For one, she had no money. For another, it seemed rather risky. The more time she spent with these men, the more likely it was that one of them would discover her secret.
But what could she possiblysay to get out of it?
“Aye. I’m with you.”
From behind, Edward’s voice sounded. “No. You’re not.”
Chapter 14
She hadn’t heard Edward approach and the sound of him directly behind her made her lurch up straight, whiskey sloshing over the glass rim and onto her pants.
She twisted in her chair, a move that put her face-first into his crotch. His breeches hugged him tightly, showing off the hard curve of his hips, the long firm muscles of his thighs, the sizeable bulge behind the fall. She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes away from the body parts in front of her to his face. From the arch of his eyebrow it appeared he was aware of where her thoughts lay. Thank God for her shirt and cravat. They hid the worst of her blushing.
“I think Finley can make his own decisions,” William said, coolly. “Or does your iron fist extend to your guests also?”
The tension that radiated from Edward was almost palpable, but rather than confront his brother, he simply said: “I promised Charlotte a family dinner, and she wants Finley to attend. You as well.”
Fiona had no idea whether or not that was the truth, but it was the excuse she needed. However irked she was about his high-handedness, she appreciated the out. “I did swear to Lady Charlotte that I’d join her this evening.”
The dandies around her groaned. One even booed. Gold Thread looked up at Edward. “What concessions did you wrest from Liverpool today, Duke? How many more of our rights have you eroded?”
Fiona’s ears pricked up and she looked at Edward. A muscle ticked along his jaw. “If you want to have an opinion, Mallen, I suggest that you make an appearance in chambers once in a while. Otherwise, let the men work.”
