Chapter Six
Several weeks after the Sherwoods’ house party, Tristan stood on the sidewalk and took one last glance at the bow window next to the front door of White’s, one of London’s most respectable gentlemen’s clubs. He’d requested membership a few years ago, on principal, but hadn’t entered since—too full of boring stuffed shirts trying too hard to prove their self-importance by pontificating about politics. After another bracing breath, Tristan waded through the London fog and up the stairs to the door.
Inside the club, a porter wearing a stylish tailcoat met him. He stopped short, blinked, but recovered his astonishment. “Good evening, Mr. Barrett. May I take your hat?”
“Of course.” Tristan offered a weak smile, surprised the man knew him after all these years. After surrendering his hat, Tristan sauntered into the main room as if he came here every day.
A gentleman glanced over his newspaper, took a second look, blinked, and lowered his paper. A group of men in conversation abruptly stopped talking, while two others whispered, eyes riveted to Tristan.
Perhaps coming here had been a bad idea. Still, he had come for Leticia’s sake and he would see this though—even if it killed him.
“Tristan.” Richard’s voice boomed across the room. His brother strode to his side. “I’m….glad to see you here.”
Tristan lifted a brow. “Surprised, you mean.”
Richard’s smile flashed. Tristan looked away, hoping Richard didn’t see how much his rescue meant.
“Do join us. We were about to order beefsteak.”
Richard led the way back to a circle of peers. “May I introduce my brother Tristan Barrett? This is the Duke of Suttenberg.”
Tristan bowed to the young duke who had a blond streak running through his dark hair. Keen intelligence glittered in his eyes. Tristan had heard Suttenberg lauded as a paragon of an Englishman but had never met him until now. Richard launched into introductions such as, “I’m sure you remember lord thus and such, and of course you know lord so and so.” And on it went with gentlemen too old for Leticia.
Within moments, Tristan dug into an excellent beefsteak as conversation roiled around him. Keeping his mouth full and ears open, he resumed his hunt for potential husbands for Leticia, ruling out those married and those too old to be suitable.
“…got what was coming. Can’t go around destroying expensive equipment, after all,” one lord said.
“No, but capital punishment?” Richard shook his head. “That’s too much. The fellows didn’t kill anyone, merely damaged some looms.”
“It’s the law,” the first man stated.
“The damage cost the factories thousands,” added a second, “in replacing the equipment and loss of business.”
Richard nodded. “Yes, yes, I agree that they committed a crime with significant losses, but execution is too harsh. After all, they didn’t commit murder or treason. Besides, they are desperate; their jobs were replaced by machines. How are they to support their families?”
The first man snorted. “Not by destroying property.”
“No, but how else are they to be heard? If they remain silent, no one will learn of their plight. Nothing will change for them.”
Tristan stared. Who knew his brother would be sympathetic to the Luddites?
“There’s a price to progress.” A third man thumped the tabletop.
Tristan leaped into the discussion. “And while everyone is busy crowing about the advantages of automated looms, they fail to consider the consequences to skilled laborers. Rich factory owners get fat while their former laborers starve.”
Five pairs of eyes trained on Tristan. He raised his chin in silent challenge.
Richard had never needed Tristan’s help in a fight, except one year in school, when fifteen-year-old Richard had been targeted by a group of boys who had jumped him without warning. Tristan, only a first-year student, had sprung to Richard’s aid without hesitation; his brother’s tormenters outnumbered him, and Tristan had acted. He’d received a bloodied nose for his trouble, but Richard’s surprise and gratitude that Tristan had entered the fray for his sake—against much older boys, no less—had left Tristan puffing out his chest for days.
That same surprise and gratitude also shone in Richard’s eyes when Tristan and Kensington had freed Richard from the clutches of the criminal ring run by Mr. Black. Of course, that act of heroism earned Tristan a bullet in the shoulder, but the bond it strengthened between them had been worth the pain.
Surprise and gratitude reappeared in Richard now. With luck, today’s encounter would not result in Tristan losing any blood.
His brother shifted his posture and moved his gaze back to the other men. “I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but if we keep our minds open to options, a better solution can be found to the problem.”
The first man nodded. “Perhaps.”
The second let out a humph. “Next thing, you’ll be noising about how you think we should educate all the poor and free all the women in prison.”
Richard gave him a cold smile. “One battle at a time, Lord Petre.”
The first man nudged Lord Petre. “Averston’s wife is already crusading for that.”
Lord Petre made a sound of disgust. “Reformers. I thought so. Although, I’m as surprised as I am disappointed to find a reformer in a Tory. Are you trying to start a revolution here, too? Complete with Madam Guillotine?”
“No, of course not,” Richard said.
Petre addressed the Duke of Suttenberg, “What do you think, Suttenberg?”
All eyes turned to the Duke of Suttenberg, who’d been quiet throughout the exchange.
The young duke sipped his wine and set down his glass as if placing it in a precise location. “Education and reform are one of the many ways we can prevent a revolution—help them raise themselves up out of poverty so the privileged and the impoverished aren’t so far apart. In medieval times, landowners were duty-bound to protect serfs from invaders and ensure they had adequate crops and shelter. Today, our duty is to help raise them out of poverty. Allowing them at least a rudimentary education seems a reasonable method.”
Lord Petre’s face reddened and he started to rise out of his seat. “You can’t be in earnest. Why—”
“Let’s all agree to disagree, shall we?” Richard waved at a passing waiter. “Another round of brandy for these fine gentlemen, here.”
The duke and Richard exchanged glances, and by the time the brandy had arrived, the conversation turned to less volatile matters such as stories of card games, outrageous dares and wagers, fencing, riding and the hunt. Tristan had more in common with these men than he’d assumed. Except for the overly pompous Lord Petre, they were a likable set of chaps—for a bunch of stuffed shirts, that is.
Later, as the others dispersed, Tristan remembered his reason for coming. Over two hours had passed since his arrival, and he’d actually enjoyed his time in the club. As he sipped his drink, he scanned the main room, noting those of the proper age and rank for Leticia.
Richard leaned in, a teasing smile playing around his mouth. “Why are you here? Really? Surely not to help me debate the Luddite issues?”
Tristan shifted. “Can’t I enjoy food and drink with my brother and his peers?”
“Now? After all these years?” Richard’s eyes conveyed disbelief.
Tristan sighed. He’d rather go for a swim in the Thames than confess to his brother, but dash it, he needed Richard’s help; he had the right kind of connections. Tristan offered a wry smile. “It appears I’ve taken on the job of matchmaker.”
Richard gaped.
“For Leticia,” Tristan clarified. “I feel after my involvement in the house party last year that I, er…well, I owe her a husband.” He cleared his voice and resisted the urge to loosen his cravat.
“I…see…” Richard said.
“Since none of my friends are good enough for her, I’m searching for someone high in the instep and disgustingly respectable—like you—so she won’t have to live out her life as a spinster. She seems to have made up her mind that such is her future.”
A small crease formed between Richard’s eyes and he stared down at his drink, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly, but enough to reveal his dismay at the future of the girl he’d once planned to marry. In a low voice, Richard asked, “What would you ask of me?”
“Not much—a few introductions so I can assess their suitability, then perhaps present one or two of them to her. She seems to think this is a game. She doesn’t know how determined I am to clear my conscience.”
Richard looked up then. “Your conscience will be clear once she’s wedded?”
Tristan kept his tone light. “Of course. You and Elizabeth are sickeningly happy, and Leticia deserves that, too.”
“Yes, she does.” Richard didn’t smile but rather took on an intent expression.
“I, on the other hand, consider wedded bliss akin to a fate worse than torture, but each to his, or her, own.” Tristan smirked.
A grin tugged at the corner of Richard’s mouth. “Trust me, nothing about wedded bliss is torturous.”
“As I said, to each his own.”
“Very well, come to our dinner party Tuesday next. Perhaps you can find someone there who satisfies your requirements.”
“Thank you. I shall, if you don’t think that will upset the numbers.”
Richard grinned. “I don’t believe finding one more lady to even things up will be a problem. Getting enough men to attend is always Elizabeth’s biggest concern.”
“Very well, Tuesday then.” Tristan stood and turned.
“Tristan.”
He paused, looked back.
Richard eyed him with something like—surely not, but it appeared to be—approval. “I think what you’re doing for her is admirable and honorable. I commend you for your efforts.”
Tristan nodded in reply. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d earned Richard’s approval doing something that didn’t include bleeding.