James wasn’t going to do it. It was Andrew Marwood, the Earl of Cumberland who convinced him otherwise.

He hadn’t intended to go to London at all. It was an abominable time of year to travel, and the expense would be considerable. In the end, Lucy bullied him into going, reminding him that so long as he was still a member of his club, he could stay there nights at no cost to himself.

Phillip pointed out that the horses would need to eat regardless of where they were upon the road while doing so. Hay in London or hay in Hull made little difference to them, and was it not better to use them than not? The argument was overly simplified, as there would be stable fees in London that he would not have while at home, but James was smart enough to know when to admit defeat.

It was at his club that he found the Earl.

The Earl of Cumberland was not all that much older than he was, but they’d known each other for some time since they had taken lessons together as boys. So, when they crossed paths, it seemed natural to accept an invitation to dine, as it gave him a chance to forget the weight of titles and respectability for an hour or so, and allow him to remember who he was before he had been so titled. It was over dinner that he brought up his problem.

“If you would ever finish laughing, we could perhaps discuss this matter like the educated individuals that we are,” James muttered into his wine, irritated that thus far there had been more time spent in the laughing part of the conversation than in the conversation part and thinking that perhaps they had gotten too casual in their friendship.

“I would laugh less if the situation were not so ridiculous. A girl bargaining for a courtship through a trifle? Were I a novelist, I could not tell half so good of a story as all that.” Andrew said, pouring them both some more wine.

They were dining in the Earl’s townhouse, where James was invited to spend the night. At the time that he’d received the invitation he had thought only of how much more comfortable it would be than the draughty club, but he could see that he had been mistaken if he had thought that the Earl would not exact payment of another sort.

“It did not exactly happen in that way,” James said uneasily, thinking that the girl did not come out so well in the story the way this was told. “If you could but see her, you would understand.”

“Why? Is she not beautiful and accomplished like every other lady of the ton?” Andrew asked, raising his glass in a toast to all such ladies.

James thought a moment, remembering her laughter, her eyes, that magnificent hair. “She is indeed beautiful but afflicted in such a way where leaving her home is decidedly difficult. She is a lady of certain…limitations.”

Andrew considered this. “Then it should be no hardship in visiting with her. Is her father a man with whom you can do business?”

“I think so. In fact, I have some papers here. I would value your opinion on them.” James found the packet within his coat and handed them over, glad now for the tacit permission to do just this. Andrew was a man who had made his fortune in shipping, much as the Duke of York had. If anyone would understand this matter, he would, despite his lower station.

The fire beside him crackled in warm comfort as the Earl read through the packet, making interested noises at certain points. Finally, when he looked up, his expression was somber. “This is a serious offer,” he said. “I would say it is well thought out and well-planned. With the proper execution, you stand to get yourself out of the situation you are in now.”

“You do not think it is…charity?” James said the last word with a great deal of hesitation.

Andrew folded the packet of papers and handed them back. “I think you both stand to receive something from this arrangement. He is looking for someone to oversee not only the construction of the ships but the execution of the plan. With your experience, I would suspect you are the wiser for it and less likely to make the same mistakes you did before.”

“Mistakes! When my partner was the one who—”

“It was you who chose that partner, was it not?” Andrew said somewhat harshly. “Before you lay the blame at someone else’s door, it would be wise to check your own stoop to see what has been laid at yours. You made a mistake, and unless you are ready to own up to it, you will not be ready to move forward. The Duke of York might be doing you a favor, sure, but is it also not true that you are doing him one as well?”

“I am not marrying his daughter!” James exclaimed with such vehemence that the dog lying at Andrew’s feet woke and looked up at him.

Andrew reached down to fondle the ears of the animal who sighed and lay back down to sleep. “No one said that you had to. You only need to give her a chance. An open mind perhaps, on both your parts. You say she is not able to get out, so I am assuming she has some infirmity? No, don’t answer that, for I see it in your eyes. If that be the case, then you are doing her a kindness in the same way her father is.”

“How is that not pity?” James muttered, staring morosely into his wine.

“Think of it as a favor. You do her one because you are the good man I know you to be. Give her this experience, that she might have the warm feeling of being courted. Lord knows, such is a fleeting experience; the warmth fades faster than the bloom of youth.” Andrew touched his own cheek and the greying beard there.

“And in return, her father does a favor for me. A trade,” James said thoughtfully.

Andrew shook his head. “Should we play out the other version of this story? I think it was in the book La Belle et la Bête that a girl was forced to play forfeit to a monster for the crime her father committed in stealing a rose from the monster’s garden. One could argue that this story could have gone much, much worse.”

“You quote ancient French novels at me when it is not only my life but my reputation on the line? Still, you have a point. This story could, in fact, have played out very differently. How hard can it be to court a lady?” James picked up his wine glass and drank.

“Say…Do you mean to say you have never courted a lady before?” Andrew’s eyes were wide. “Surely you jest, Your Grace!”

James brushed off his concern and the mocking use of his title. “I have attended balls and danced with many a maiden,” he said and smiled. “How hard can it be?”

“A ballroom does not equate to visiting a lady within her home. There are rules for such things!” Andrew threw up his hands. “I fear we have little time to educate you properly. A book perhaps…there must be a book.” He rose and went to the shelves that lined the room, plucking first one volume and then another, creating a growing stack upon the table where they had eaten.

James picked up one such volume and studied the title. “Don Quixote?” He glanced at the one underneath. “Romeo and Juliet? Even I know these are not stories that end well in the world of romance. What are you giving me?”

“Poetry. Imagination. Courtship!” Andrew said, throwing another book on the stack, this one a collection of poems by Keats, another by Shelley.

“How much time do you think I will have for reading if I am busy in arranging for ships and cargo, and in my spare time, courting a lady who only wishes to be courted for the sake of having been courted?” James complained good-naturedly.

“How about you court your lady and find out how much time you have for the rest,” Andrew said with a chuckle.

‘Your lady.’ The phrase stuck in his head. Was it such a bad thought, this impossible Duke’s daughter who was so delightfully imperfect? He recalled her descent down the staircase, as though walking was for mere mortals. Angels danced or tried to. Maybe she had fallen because she was not yet used to life without wings here on earth.

He stared at the poetry books a long moment and shoved them both back toward Andrew. “I think I have enough poetry to get me into trouble all on my own,” he said and regarded the rest somewhat critically. “On the other hand, it never hurts to revisit the Masters,” he said, retrieving the poetry books and tucking them quietly back into the stack.