.
“If it’s a question of whether or not a man has a right to some sort of recognition for his achievements at war, then I say yes,” Lord Dabney began. “But truly, there is more to being a lord than military pursuits.” He was a thin older gentleman with a slightly curved back that diminished his height, but like Napoleon, height didn’t seem to hold any power in the room. “A boy, an heir, is groomed for taking the title as a child. A grown man will never have the time to learn everything he needs to know.”
The men— lords— who stood behind him, agreed with either hums or the nodding of their heads.
Mr. Palmer came to Reuben’s defense. “I disagree, for the original lords of Great Britain were, in fact, warriors, and were it not for the man who pledged his allegiance to the Crown over a hundred years ago, you’d be no one, good Lord Dabney.” Palmer was older as well, but bigger in stature and size, and he used that to his advantage.
A cheer rose from the common folk, bankers and miners, including their wives and the women they’d brought with them. Ladies had dared to enter the parlor. It was another sign of the divide between the bluebloods and the rest of the world.
Reuben stood and watched the debate, but more so the eyes of the men around him. Most of their expressions were readable— either looking on with agreement or disagreement— while others were a complete mystery.
Karl was grinning, but his eyes were on Reuben. When he’d offered to introduce Reuben to the other gentlemen at the party, Reuben had known what to expect, yet he had no intentions of wasting the night in here. Already, half an hour had passed since he’d left Rachel’s side, and he needed to get back to her. It was a matter of safety, because Karl and his party held a certain unexpected element that he wanted to safeguard Rachel from. At least, that’s what he told himself repeatedly.
When another round of cheering came, Reuben used the opportunity to move things along. “At times like these, I can’t help but think of the Duke of Wellington.”
“Yes.” Palmer readily agreed. “Now there is a lord who has more than earned his title. He led the military into war and came victorious.”
Reuben crossed his arms and cut in again. “Indeed, he defended Crown and country, but now, most lords fight in Parliament. It’s civil war with words. The Tories are for the Crown while the Whigs are for the country. I wonder what would happen if the men of Parliament were given swords.” He turned to Lord Dabney. “You are a Whig, are you not?” The Whigs were against absolute power of the monarchy. “Who would say would fight on your side?”
Lord Dabney’s eyes widened. “Fight, my lord? This sounds like treason.”
“Or you simply believe your side will lose,” Palmer shot back, obviously identifying himself as a Tory.
His crowd laughed.
Karl jumped in, his eyes glowing. “I like the direction this has taken, Lord Eastridge.” Then he turned to Lord Dabney. “Choose your side, sir. Do you think Lord Avon is up to a duel or two?” Karl’s stance became that of a fighter ready to parley. He crouched and lunged his imaginary sword in Palmer’s direction.
There was laughter from both sides. The simple image of the Duke of Avon with a sword, made Reuben’s lips twitch, as well. He saw why people came to Karl’s parties. He had a way of starting fires and then putting them out, over and over again. It was a dangerous game that he’d mastered.
Which Reuben had bet on, when he’d first made his comment that could have very well alluded to treason.
Whoever wanted to assassinate the king was likely a Whig, one who wanted the people to have more power.
Dabney began to list who would be on his side, while Palmer did the same. The names of lords, and even their wives, were mentioned. There were gasps and more laughter when Lady Charles became Joan of Arc. On the face, the conversation was silly, but Reuben took note of everything that was shared, and watched the reactions of the gentlemen.
Then something caught his eyes. Red hair. He looked up and watched Rachel pass the doorway on someone’s arm and glared, when he realized to whom that arm belonged… and just how much he wanted to break it.
Lord Castell.
“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular, as he slipped from the room. He opened his mouth to call her, but was cut off by another man.
“Lord Eastridge.”
He turned to face Lord Stephen Dew, and was surprised the man had approached him at all. Still, being a duke’s son— even if he was a third son— forced Reuben to incline his head. “Lord Stephen.”
Stephen had one arm vertical, holding his head, while the other lay across his belly holding up the former. He was clearly in thought, as he took a considering look at him.
Reuben thought to turn and leave. His time was being wasted.
Then Stephen spoke. “Odd, that you’re the first man to escort Rachel to a party, in years. Tell me, what occurred for that to be the case?”
Reuben lifted a brow. “Are you implying something, my lord? Attempting to disgrace Lady Rachel?”
His eyes widened, and his arms dropped. “Oh, never. I simply find it strange that you would be the one she turns to, when real lords have tried and failed to gain her hand for years.”
“I am a real lord.” He said the words, even though he didn’t believe them.
Stephen smiled, as if knowing his disbelief. “Of course, though between you and I...” He lowered his voice and moved closer. “I think you’d have better luck with a bride from your own distinction. You have no idea what it takes to court and marry a true lady.” He sighed with exaggeration. “Trust me, I know. Lady Rachel has managed to cultivate a graceful and classic reputation for herself, but attaching herself to someone like you could ruin all she’s gained.” He gave Reuben a look that made it clear he expected Reuben to understand. “It’s best you not go there, my friend.” And then he tapped his shoulder, as though they were friends.
Reuben didn’t feel his face change, but he watched Stephen’s face pale before he stepped away. Then the man straightened his suit. “Just some friendly advice. She’s too good for you.”
He already knew that. He’d told himself that very thing, over and over again. He didn’t need to hear it from Lord Stephen.
Though, maybe he did.
“Where I come from, a man knows to keep to his own business.”
Stephen took another hasty step back, but stopped abruptly, as if realizing what he’d done. Then he straightened his stance. “In this Society, a gentleman protects a lady, even if it means to protect them from one’s self.”
The words hit Reuben right in the gut, and he turned away before Stephen could see. “Good evening, my lord.” He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he rushed down the hall, telling himself he was running toward something, and not away from it.
He found Rachel and the Earl of Castell standing in the middle of a group of other ladies and lords. They were all laughing at something one of the other lords said, and Reuben had never felt more out of place in his life.
How many times had he told himself he didn’t belong? So why did he keep trying?
As if sensing him, Rachel’s head lifted, and then she turned. There was surprise, as though she’d forgotten he was there, and then her face broke into a smile. Realizing his companion was distracted, Lord Castell looked over as well, and even sported a grin.
“Lord Eastridge.” The man bowed. “I was just about to get the lady a glance of punch.” They were heading in the direction of the room that had been set up with food.
“Actually, I was just about the ask the lady if she would dance with me.” Reuben walked over to her, and he took note of the way her eyes widened anxiously.
A serenity he could only find with her, settled over him.
“I would be delighted.” She slipped from Castell’s hold without a backward glance.
And with that, he took her hand and led her away from the prince.
“Did you have fun with Karl? Isn’t he a wonderful host?” she asked, as they turned a corner.
“Wonderful.” He looked down at her, as he guided her to the ballroom upstairs. “Are you expecting me to be anything like him at my own affair?”
“Certainly not.” Her smile was vibrant, and her cheeks pinked. Was it just him, or was there an added glow to her? “I’ve already told you that the only man I wish for you to be is yourself.” She sighed lightly.
He felt the urge to tell her that being himself wouldn’t be good enough. Not for her. Not for society. His thoughts were in turmoil, yet Rachel stared up at him, as though everything were in its right place, nothing amiss.
He settled her into the position for a waltz before asking, “What has happened?”
Rachel blinked, and the music started. “What?” She nearly tripped over the word even as her feet moved deftly with his own.
“You seem flushed.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did Lord Castell—”
She gasped. “Reuben.”
His name was a hiss, but he didn’t care, for it was the first time she’d said his name since being reunited. “Why do you look so happy?”
Her lips curled up and her cheeks reddened further. “Is there something wrong with being happy? I can tell you’ve kept up with your dance lessons. You’re marvelous. At least this is one area that no one would dare criticize you for.”
He was glad for her words. They’d danced together in their youth. She’d needed a partner for her lessons, and the dance instructor had thought Reuben the right height to partner her. He had to admit, the man had been right. They moved in easy harmony together, without much effort or concentration on either side, as though they’d been dancing all their lives, as though six years had not passed without them standing together this way.
Her smile grew, and while it eased him, it also made him suspicious.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
She tilted her head. “What’s wrong with smiling?”
He pulled her slightly closer when they passed close to another couple, and whispered, “What have you been doing since I left you in the foyer?”
She turned away and hummed. “Well, let’s see. I spoke to Susanna. Then I danced with Lord Stephen. He escorted me to Aunt Esther, who was still speaking to Lady Charles. Then Lord Castell came over. We all had a pleasant conversation, Aunt Esther included, since no one grows offended with shouting at a party such as this. Then Castell offered to escort me to the dining room. And now I’m here. With you.”
With you.
“And you’re smiling,” he told her. “Why?”
She rubbed his shoulder, warming and distracting him, as she adjusted her hand. “I just told you. I’m here with you and because... you asked me to dance.”
His pulse quickened, but thankfully, his feet stayed steady with the tune.