The Duke of Leverton took no pleasure in arriving at the gates Duke Kent-upon-Barr’s home. Though the Manor wasn’t imposing and the lawns were beautifully arranged, George still found no peace.

The carriage came to the coach gate and stopped, and with a few knocks to the roof, George indicated he was alighting. He didn’t have the patience to wait for a formal arrival and approached the door. George’s pistol was armed and ready if the foolish Newberry tried to do anything George even perceived as threatening.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” The dark clad butler bowed, “Please let me show you to the study where the other Graces are assembled.”

Nodding his assent, George followed the butler and after giving his thanks, stepped into the room with his face schooled into a stoic demeanor.

Inside, some of the twelve already-gathered men were seated and holding glasses of sherry while chatting, and others were speaking in groups of three and four at the other ends of the room.

George took pains not actively to seek out the Duke of Newberry but saw him anyway. Newberry was speaking to Duke of Southingale while holding a glass of liquor.

“And the Duke of Leverton has finally arrived,” the Duke of Kent-upon-Barr, nicknamed as Kenton, called out while raising his glass in a mock salute. “And now we can assemble. Peers, to your seats.”

A small grumble came from one group as the chatting was forced to close. The men approached the table and sat, with George sitting at one end of the table while the Duke of Newberry took the other end.

“Well,” Duke Kenton drawled, “I do assume that we all know how His Royal Highness, is faring…mentally, and has elevated his son, our dear Prince Regent, to continue his insanity. But that is not of this assembly’s concern. We have convened because the “Condition of England” is becoming a grave issue. Our resources are spent on these wars with the French, and I see no end to the son’s frivolous spending. We must do what we can to preserve our wealth by inter-dealing within ourselves.”

“A good thought, Kenton,” the swarthy Duke of Southingale replied, “but that would take us days of analyzing our assets and choosing the best ones to trade with.”

Kenton’s inflection and enunciation that he directed to the Duke were ones used by someone in the presence of an insane person. “Which is why we are here, Southingale. I do think we have enough powers to decide this in one sitting.”

“Lead on, good man,” Southingale replied.

Each Duke was ordered to examine the best assets of their duchies and then barter where the best profit would be gained. George addressed almost everyone except Newberry, and, sadly the speaker of the meeting noticed it and called them out.

“Dukes Newberry and Leverton,” Kenton said a bit wonderingly. “Your two duchies are the closest out of all of us, so despite your families’ history, put pride aside and deal with the economics of your people.”

“The economics of my people, Kenton,” George said stiffly, “is the only reason I am sitting civilly at this table.”

“As is mine,” Noah replied icily while crossing his arms over his chest. “Since I have pledged to not speak with you on any other matter until you reply with an affirmative to my request for peace.”

“A request which is denied,” George said before turning his attention to another Duke.

“For God’s sake men,” Duke Kenton was appalled, “Are you going to suffer your people for a grudge? Are you Dukes or squires kicking a dead horse?”

“A duke with honor,” George returned easily, “and one that does not bow to menials.”

“Tread carefully, Leverton,” Noah’s voice was lethal as he leaned in, “that is fighting talk.”

“Gentlemen!” Duke Kenton was alarmed to the point he stood up, “Please, hold the gauntlets. This is not the age of savagery!”

“Unfortunately,” Noah replied with ice chips lancing through every word, “we are hosts to one, an uncivilized savage who is unyielding in matters of speaking peace like a childish imbecile. Your education, Leverton, has profited you nothing.”

“Newberry–”

“Enough,” Kenton snapped, “We need to focus on money matters men, not your squabble, and for that, I am ordering you two to trade. Your duchies are the closest, and your goods are in harmony. Get it together.”

Just looking at the smug look on Newberry’s face, George felt a low-simmering fire in the middle of his stomach but swallowed over it. “It seems we are ordered, Newberry. What is your offer?”

Despite Leverton’s animosity towards Newberry, through their negotiation, he had found that the man did have a shrewd business sense. His own duchy led in iron works and Newberry’s in coal; goods that were as complimentary as Kenton had said. His fruit fields were laden with strawberries, pears, currants, and gooseberries but were lacking men to pick them, while Newberry had men in abundance. They had–civilly –agreed to trade the goods and workers by the time luncheon came about.

The other Dukes left to the get refreshments while George sat with his eyes pinned on Newberry who had decided not to move an inch. The Duke’s gray eyes were lowered while he sat back with perfected ease. The man’s very body language irked him–he had no right to be so smug.

“You will release your hold over my sister,” George said stonily.

“No,” Newberry replied just as flinty. “Not in this life, or the next.”

“Then I can happily usher you into it,” George spat. “Lady Emmeline has better prospects that you, Newberry. There are other men, wealthier, dignified, honorable, and who come from better families that she can choose from.”

“Which are all as bland as white soup,” the Duke replied, “and stop trying to play me as a fool. Emmeline will not be allowed to choose her husband as you’ll happily do it for her, won’t you, Leverton?”

George’s eyes bugged out at the Newberry’s impertinence at addressing his sister in such an informal way. “How dare you speak of her like you are equals! You are not of the same tier, Newberry, and do not ever assume such! If you must use her name use it properly–to scum like you, she is Lady Emmeline Grant!”

Newberry’s jaw worked, and his lips thinned to slits. “We are done here, Leverton–until you wake up and realize that you’ve been blinded and have blinded yourself by false reports.”

“Your grandfather tried to kill my granduncle,” George spat. “And my uncle defended himself–there is nothing to deny about that.”

“And who told you that report, hm?” Newberry replied, “Your addled Grandfather, whom I presume was not even at that hunting party that day. You were told half-truths.”

The irritation George felt blossomed into a rage. “How dare you impugn my grandfather’s honor? He told me the solemn truth about what happened that day. You are the only one who’s fooling yourself.”

“Are you admitting to killing my grandfather then?” the Newberry asked.

George glared, “My uncle did not touch the man. It was your grandfather who attacked him.”

The debate had picked up speed, and by the look on Newberry’s face, it was heading to a precipice. Both men were on edge, bodies stiff, and eyes hard, while a stony silence permeated the air.

George’s molars ground so strongly it was a miracle his jaw hadn’t locked up. “Keep away from her, Newberry, and it is for your own good. I have no hesitation in loading you with lead if you don’t.”

The Duke of Newberry's face was set in stone, “I have come to realize, that despite my heritage and my attachment to Lady Emmeline, those are not the only problems you have with me. Do you care to enlighten me as to what you perceive I have done?”

George’s voice was tight, “This is no place for that discussion, Newberry.”

“And when would I, of my own volition, see you again?” Newberry asked while holding his anger at bay. “I have pledged to not interact with you until you cry peace, so for you to reply, it is now or never. What have ‘I’ done to make you hate me so? Tell me now or suffer in silence.”