Page 42 of Earl of St. Seville

Their conversation varied between jesting about a certain lord to talk of coming balls and even ventured so far as to delve into bets they’d made recently at White’s.

Sin held his breath, willing his headache to subside.

Coventry remained silent for most of the meal, as had Sin, allowing Harrington and Davenport to drone on and on about ton gossip—mainly referring to lords and ladies Sin had never heard of.

“Did you hear about ol’ Pembroke?” Harrington took a long sip from his ale as he glanced around the table. When no one offered any response, he continued, “He’s found himself a bride. Rumor has it she is as beautiful as the night and equally as mysterious. A high-born lady who could do far better than the likes of Pembroke.”

“I heard they’re already wed…out of necessity, if you know what I mean,” Davenport countered, bringing his hands up as if he held an extended belly.

If Sin had missed the meaning of his words, he would have understood the gesture well. This Pembroke fellow had gotten a woman with child, certainly not the worst occurrence, especially if the man were smitten with the lady in question.

“The lot of you would do well to secure a match with a fine woman—start a family before you’re too old and grey to attract anything but the lightskirts who fancy Vauxhall.” Coventry signaled the servant for another drink. “I have met the Countess of Pembroke, and she is a lovely, beautiful, wise young lady.”

Sin half listened as the conversation continued, but Coventry’s warning and Harrington’s jest about this man Pembroke had Sin’s thoughts returning to Lady Patience. The daughter of an earl—a lord who happened to be one of his father’s friends. Her dark countenance and single-minded determination were much akin to his own. Yet, similar to Pembroke and his lady fair, Patience deserved a life far above that which Sin lived: tilling the soil, mending his tenants’ roofs, taking his land’s crops to market in Dorset. That was what kept Sin occupied.

Lady Patience deserved a gentleman who would lavish her with beautiful, handmade gowns and shining gems. A lord who knew his way around society with friends of great prestige. A learned man.

Not a male of oxen portions who would fare better at sea than in a London ballroom.

Despite all her words and actions to the contrary, she appeared resolute in her place outside the norms of society. But Sin could not believe that was what she wanted for the rest of her life.

Why had the thought even come to mind? Patience was assisting him in the art of pugilism, nothing more. They had no other attachments beyond the sport. Soon enough, he would have the funds he needed to return home, and she would remain in London. Time—and distance—would erase their memories of one another. Their association would likely end long before Sin returned to Brownsea Island.

“Do you know anything about Devin Parsons?” Coventry broke into Sin’s depressing thoughts.

“Parsons?” Sin asked, glancing up to see all three men staring at him. “Should I know the man?”

Harrington chuckled, turning a huge grin at Davenport. “I told you we made the correct wager.”

Sin was growing exhausted with the back and forth between the gentlemen, and his headache increased. Why had he agreed to accompany Coventry for dinner in the first place? Because he’d been wallowing for hours after receiving Patience’s note that she’d meet him at the fight as opposed to them making the trip together.

It shouldn’t upset him. He hadn’t wanted her to attend the fight at all.

“What wager?” Coventry inquired.

“We placed a bet at White’s last evening when word of the match circulated.” Harrington turned a hesitant glance in Sin’s direction. “We know St. Seville is a formidable lord; nonetheless, Parsons has trained with the likes of John Gully and was declared the victor against Tom Cribb some years back.”

Davenport straightened in his chair, his head swinging back and forth between Sin and Coventry. “I told him that meant nothing. Just because Parsons seems the obvious pick, doesn’t mean St. Seville here can’t knock him down a peg or two. However, because I lost to Harrington in regards to the Duke of Mulberry’s situation, I had to allow him his way.”

Sin could only imagine what the Duke of Mulberry’s situation entailed.

“You scoundrels,” Coventry shouted with a booming laugh, bringing the attention of the entire room to them. “You wagered against St. Seville?”

“Not my choice,” Davenport shrugged. “The Duke of Mulberry’s situation, remember?”

“Quiet down,” Sin hissed, leaning forward. “Does everyone think I am to lose?”

The Wicked Earls’ Club was brimming with men—eating, drinking, gambling, and playing billiards before setting off on their evening’s entertainments. When he’d entered, Sin had overheard a group of gentlemen discussing their plans to attend the opera that night and how they could extricate themselves and accompany Coventry to Seven Dials for the prizefight instead.

While Sin hadn’t necessarily settled in among the group of earls, he also hadn’t gotten the sense that he wouldn’t be accepted if it were something he wanted. But now…

“Thirty to one odds, I’m afraid,” Harrington said. “Based on the outcome of your fight in Bedford Square, I’d say that some misguided fools have faith in your ability that I do not. Doesn’t mean I don’t believe you to be a fine chap, but money is money, and you know my dear grandfather, the old fool, thinks if he starves my allowance, I will return to the fold.”

“He does have his sights set on bringing you to heel at any cost, does he not?” Davenport winked at Harrington.

“The Devil of Davenport thinks to make a jest about my financial situation?” Harrington leveled back.

Sin couldn’t help but wonder if the men were friends or enemies. It was hard to tell with their back and forth bickering.