“Excellent news,” Shelding said with a smile, adjusting his cuff. “These are difficult times for commerce.”
Damien merely raised a brow and waited, his expression unreadable as he studied the other man. The man continued, leaning slightly closer as though discussing a matter of importance.
“I was only saying yesterday how unfortunate this war business with France remains. Trade restrictions benefit no one.”
Damien narrowed his eyes slightly and shifted his weight onto one foot, watching Shelding carefully over the rim of his glass.
Damien replied smoothly. “Quite unfortunate.”
Lord Shelding launched into a lengthy opinion regarding tariffs, shipping routes, and international trade. Damien listened politely while mentally dissecting every word. Theconversation itself was harmless enough, but he disliked the man's enthusiasm whenever profit entered the discussion. There was nothing inherently wrong with ambition. Damien himself possessed plenty of it.
Still. Something felt off. Not dangerous, yet. But enough to warrant attention. Speaking against the crown’s interest in war could be seen as treason by some.
After several minutes, Damien excused himself with impeccable courtesy.
The moment he escaped, he headed directly towards his sister’s husband, Caspian Turner.
The Duke of Amberhall was lounging beneath a tree looking entirely too relaxed for a man responsible for forty guests. Caspian held a glass of brandy despite it being the middle of the afternoon.
“Your Grace,” Caspian smirked as he lifted his glass in a lazy salute.
“How formal of you,” Damien said and glanced towards the crowd. “What do you know about Lord Shelding?”
“Not much. I know he has some business dealings with Lord Pemberley.”
Damien's expression darkened at once.
Pemberley. The very same man I punched. Wonderful.
“And?” Damien prompted, arching a brow.
Caspian swirled the brandy in his glass before answering. “And that is all I know.”
Damien frowned. “Why was he invited?”
Caspian laughed outright, tipping his head back. The sound earned him a flat stare from Damien. “My dear fellow,” Caspian said between chuckles, wiping at the corner of one eye, “you are asking the wrong host.”
Damien crossed his arms across his chest. Caspian grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Thalia arranged most of the guest list,” Caspian said, taking another leisurely sip of his brandy.
That sounded exactly like his sister. “Why?” Damien asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Caspian's smile widened further. “Because she is attempting to play matchmaker,” he replied, gesturing vaguely towards the assembled guests with his glass.
Damien nearly groaned.
Of course she is.
“She invited every eligible bachelor she could find who lacked scandal,” Caspian added with a chuckle.
“That seems reckless,” Damien said dryly.
“That seems like Thalia,” Caspian countered, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
Damien reluctantly conceded the point. Caspian studied him for a moment, his gaze sharpening with interest. Then his grin became suspicious.
“Why do you care?” he asked, tilting his head.
“I do not,” Damien replied immediately.
