Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [107]
“Then mankind is safe. Its last, best hope will not fall. However, I do not expect any such demands.”
“Hell, she has you almost half-reformed already.”
Hawkeswell kept putting the worst possible light on everything. The man did not seem to see the obvious other side of things, which was that a person almost half-reformed was still more than half-bad. Once he and Daphne were married, Castleford assumed the balance would tilt back to the unreformed side even more again.
“When do you expect the announcement?” Summerhays asked.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“A week at most. Maybe ten days.”
Castleford stood and stretched his legs. One reason he did not gamble much was that the chairs at gaming tables were often uncomfortable. After two hours sitting at this one and not even having the fun of card play, he was more than done.
The men who had joined Summerhays, Hawkeswell, and him appeared very serious and sober as they also prepared to leave. More than a few other tables noted the conversation breaking up, just as the men sitting at them had noticed just who had gathered here at Brooks’s and the way in which whatever was said was spoken too low to do any decent eavesdropping. Castleford trusted that Liverpool would hear of this meeting within the hour and sweat a little.
Not that much had been decided. As he expected, the Commons would have to carry the standard on any criticism of the government’s role in Peterloo. The lords, with few exceptions, would choose to hear what they wanted to hear about those events, because they wanted any sign of the lower orders organizing dealt with harshly. No one had forgotten what had happened in France not all that long ago.
The affairs of state no longer occupying his mind, Hawkeswell could not resist a parting goad. “Ten days, you said. I will be watching the notices in the newspapers.”
It was not the ten days that Castleford ruminated about as he bade farewell to the others. That business about Daphne demanding he reform was what stuck in his head. Hawkeswell could be unbearable at times, but sometimes he saw matters very clearly. Had he not found Daphne vague, and wondered if the “no prying” rule might be self-serving? His instincts about women had served him well there.
Was that what her resistance was about? Did she find him unsuitable? That was a hell of a thing, if so. Backwards. He was a duke, after all. During the season he almost needed a sword to go anywhere, what with all the mothers seeking to add his tail to their trophy walls.
Nonetheless, he tried to see matters through Daphne’s eyes. The exercise was a novelty and not without interest. It distracted him enough that he stood by that gaming table for a spell, fascinated.
He concluded, after trying to think like a woman more than any man should attempt, that her words when they spoke of marriage might have been the honest truth. She did not fancy marrying a man who saw it as penance—and he had to admit that he did, although, if he were honest, the notion of having her around more rather than less had appeal.
She also might not want a husband who intended to continue his fun until he died. What woman would?
She had weighed the benefits against those two points, and found the title, luxury, and security lacking.
He was sympathetic until he got to that last part. Only a fool would do such stupid calculations, and Daphne was not a fool. Clearly he was missing something in his speculations on how she viewed the matter.
Unable to imagine what, he turned to leave. He almost walked right into one of the men who had joined them today, who had not yet left himself.
“You were lost in your thoughts, Castleford.” Tamor Raylor, an MP from Oxfordshire, smiled hopefully, much the way a tailor does when he shows you his most expensive superfines. “I had hoped to have a word with you but did not want to interrupt your deliberations.”
“We have had quite a few words already today, Raylor. I have nothing more to say on the matter.”
Raylor