Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [43]
“No, thank you.”
Carlisle put the snuff away again without taking any himself.
“Much pleasanter day, isn’t it,” he remarked.
“Much,” Dominic agreed, still holding onto the paper.
“Anything in the news?” Carlisle inquired. “What’s happening in Parliament?”
“No idea.” Dominic had never thought of reading about Parliament. Government was necessary; any sane man knew that, but it was also intensely boring. “No idea at all.”
Carlisle looked as nonplussed as courtesy would allow. “Thought you were a friend of Lord Fleetwood?”
Dominic was flattered; friend was perhaps overstating it a little, but he had met him lately, and they had struck up an acquaintance. They both liked riding and driving a team. Dominic had perhaps less courage than Fleetwood, but far more natural skill.
“Yes,” he identified guardedly, because he was not sure why Carlisle asked.
Carlisle smiled, sitting back in the chair easily and stretching his legs. “Thought he’d have talked politics with you,” he said casually. “Could be quite a weight in the House, if he wished. Got a following of young bloods.”
Dominic was surprised; they had never discussed anything more serious than good horses, and of course the occasional woman. But come to think of it, he had mentioned a number of friends who had hereditary titles; whether they ever attended was quite another thing. Half the peers in England went nowhere nearer the House of Lords than the closest club or party. But Fleetwood did have a large circle, and it was not an exaggeration to say that Dominic was now on the fringes of it.
Carlisle was waiting.
“No,” Dominic replied. “Horses, mostly. Don’t think he cares much about politics.”
Carlisle’s face flickered only very slightly. “Dare say he doesn’t realize the potential.” He raised his hand and signaled to one of the club servants and, when the man arrived, looked back at Dominic. “Do join me for luncheon. They have a new chef who is quite excellent, and I haven’t tried his specialty yet.”
Dominic had intended having a quiet meal a little later, but the man was pleasant enough, and he was a friend of Alicia’s. Also, of course, an invitation should never be turned down without sound reason.
“Thank you,” he accepted.
“Good.” Carlisle turned to the servant with a smile. “Come for us when the chef is ready, Blunstone. And get me some of that claret again, same as last time. The bordeaux was awful.”
Blunstone bowed and departed with murmurs of agreement.
Carlisle allowed Dominic to continue with his newspaper until luncheon was served; then they repaired to the dining room and were halfway through a richly stuffed and roasted goose garnished with vegetables, fruit, and delicate sauce when Carlisle spoke again.
“What do you think of him?” he inquired, eyebrows raised.
Dominic had lost the thread. “Fleetwood?” he asked.
Carlisle smiled. “No, the chef.”
“Oh, excellent.” Dominic had his mouth full and found it hard to reply gracefully. “Most excellent. I must dine here more often.”
“Yes, it’s a very comfortable place,” Carlisle agreed, looking round at the wide room with its dark velvet curtains, Adam fireplaces on two sides with fires burning warmly in each. There were Gainesborough portraits on the blue walls.
It was something of an understatement. It had taken Dominic three years to get himself elected as a member, and he disliked having his achievement taken so lightly.
“Rather more than comfortable, I would have said.” His voice had a slight edge.
“It’s all relative.” Carlisle took another forkful of goose. “I dare say at Windsor they dine better.” He swallowed and took a sip of wine. “Then, on the other hand, there are thousands in the tenements and rookeries within a mile of here who find boiled rats a luxury—”
Dominic choked on his goose and gagged. The room swum before him, and for a moment he thought he was going to disgrace himself by being sick at the table. It took him several seconds to compose himself, wipe his mouth with his napkin, and look up to meet Carlisle’s curious eyes. He could not think