Lucien snorted. “Always for you. I’ll send word as soon as I can confirm the appointment. Where will you be?”
“At White’s.” Constantine left, bidding good evening to Reynolds, and went out to his coach. A few minutes later, he stepped into White’s and waited for the familiar air to settle him.
It did not.
In fact, he bristled as Trowley came toward him with single-minded intent. “Aldington, there is a wager in the book about your dear sister, I’m afraid.” His features folded into what was likely meant to have been an expression of concern but in reality made the man look as if he’d stepped in horse manure.
“I pay no attention to the betting book,” Constantine said with his haughtiest tone. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“The wager is that she will remain unwed at the end of the Season. A travesty, to be sure, but—” Trowley clamped his thick lips together and glanced about. Lowering his voice, he started once more, “But no one wants to court her for fear your father will eviscerate them. I, however, am not such a weak-minded sop, and as you know, I have been widowed these past three years. My children need—”
“Excuse me, Trowley.” Constantine had located Brightly on the other side of the room and immediately took off through the throng.
Brightly saw him coming and waved him over, taking a seat at a small empty table. “Ho there, Aldington. You’re a sight for a beleaguered gentleman. I was just about to pick up and head to Brooks’s where there are kinder waters. Too many sharks here.” He glanced about, then winked at Constantine.
This was better. The company of a friend. It was as if Constantine was seeing Brightly for the first time. Yes, they were friends, not just colleagues.
A footman came to the table with a tray offering port or claret. They both chose the latter and Brightly proposed a toast. “To defeating the Importation Act.”
Constantine drank to the sentiment even while he was fairly certain defeat was impossible. Brightly would not be deterred, however. He never gave up on a fight.
“Your cause is rather outnumbered, Brightly.” Constantine set his glass down, but kept his fingers curled around the stem.
“There is still time before the vote. I could use help in convincing others to join us.”
“I haven’t said how I will cast my vote. Is it wrong to want to prevent foreign imports from undercutting good English grain?”
Brightly sat forward, engaging potential debate with his entire body. “Not in theory. However, in practicality, it won’t help the lower classes. Prices are too high, and their wages have not increased. We need to provide relief, such as lower rents.”
“As you’ve done on your estate.”
Brightly’s estate in northern Essex was one of the most profitable in England, producing a great supply of barley and wheat.
“Precisely.”
Brightly made a good argument. He’d lowered his rents a few years ago and had managed to increase his profits.
“I promise I’ll come to a decision—my own—soon,” Constantine said evenly.
Brightly offered a single nod. “I want you to know that no matter what you decide, I still support regulating the apothecaries.”
“Thank you.” Constantine wished he could offer the same assertion to Brightly about the importation law. That the other man pledged his support to Constantine’s cause without demanding something in return was a rarity among those at Westminster.
Brightly grinned. “You’ll come through on the Importation Act, even if it pricks your father’s ire.”
“It will do more than prick it,” Constantine said darkly. “He’ll be livid. I hope you’re prepared for the effects of his wrath.”
Brightly looked surprised. “How will that affect me?”
The duke’s threat to have Brightly expelled from White’s rose in Constantine’s mind, though he doubted his father would actually follow through. He’d been trying to bend Constantine to his will.
Constantine quickly surveyed the large room for the familiar form of the duke but didn’t see him. If he was sitting, he likely couldn’t be seen. Constantine would hope he wasn’t here. “Trust me, he will not forget that you not only championed the opposition of the act, but that you worked to obtain my support.”
“You’re concerned he’ll seek revenge against me for winning you over?” Brightly laughed as he swept up his glass. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I am not frightened of the Duke of Evesham.” He sipped his claret and gave Constantine a devilish look over the rim of his glass.
Constantine admired the man’s courage. It made Constantine wonder if he was afraid of the duke. Not afraid, but cautious. He’d had to be, lest he end up the subject of his disdain like Lucien, and sometimes Cassandra. Thinking of that only stirred the chaos swirling inside him. He took a long drink of claret.
“I understand Lady Aldington has come to town. Mrs. Brightly and I would be delighted if you would come to dinner next week. Would Wednesday suit you?”
Constantine hesitated. Should he make plans for her? What if she’d already committed to something else? He didn’t want to reveal their uncoordinated relationship, so he responded the only way he could. “That would be brilliant. I know Lady Aldington will look forward to it.”
Uncoordinated? What a woeful understatement to describe the status of their marriage.
“Mrs. Brightly will be thrilled. Cheers!” Brightly held up his glass and finished his wine. “Now, I must be off to Brooks’s. Still work to be done this eve.” He grinned heartily, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m glad I saw you this evening—always a high point. Night!” He stood and took himself off.
Constantine smiled in spite of how his evening had started. Brightly possessed an uncanny ability to spread good will wherever he went. It was a wonder he wasn’t able to convince the entire House of Commons to vote with him.
Nursing his claret, Constantine chatted briefly with a gentleman who stopped to wish him good evening. As soon as he left, the duke sat down at the table, a frown creasing his entire face.
“Good evening, Father.” Constantine gripped his wineglass.
“Why were you talking to that miscreant again? I thought we had an arrangement.”
“You hinted at one, but yes, we do have an accord. I am going to vote in favor of the Importation Act, and you are going to appoint my wife as Cassandra’s sponsor. Starting tomorrow.”
The duke clutched a glass of port and lifted it to his lips. “I’ll do it after the vote.”
Fed up with his father’s demands, Constantine leaned forward and spoke quietly but firmly. “That won’t be for a fortnight at least. You’ll make the change now, or I’ll vote with Brightly.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Do you want to find out? Don’t forget who raised me. I will not be manipulated.” But he had been—his marriage was the prime example. “Not anymore.”
The duke studied him a moment, his eyes glinting with something that might have been admiration, but Constantine couldn’t be sure. “I see. I will speak with my sister tomorrow. You may inform Lady Aldington that her sponsorship will begin on Monday. She should come to confer with Cassandra as to her calendar.”