Midnight Bride by Barbara Allister

friends— tentatively at first but later firm and steadfast. The two Roberts spent all of the younger's school holidays together. And Darington made certain that Robert, unlike his father, was well trained in estate management and in business.
    For the first time in his life Robert had someone whom he could love and trust. His father had cared only for himself; his mother, only for her eldest, Edward. Neither trusted the earl; they had quarreled with him early in their married life, leaving his estate for that of Robert's mother's brother. Although his maternal uncle was fond of Robert, the boy knew that his uncle often regretted his impulsive invitation to his brother-in-law, an invitation that had cost him twelve years of support for a man he had learned to hate. Robert too regretted those early years, years he could have spent with his grandfather whom he had learned to love. Only on two things did Dunstan ever argue with his grandfather: buying a set of colors and marrying the daughter of the family who owned the next estate.
    The first, buying a set of colors, he decided to forgo. His grandfather introduced him to a friend in the Home Office who found interesting work for him to do. Sometimes it was interesting, he reminded himself. Other times, like the house party, it was decidedly dull. The post would have gotten the message there as fast as he did, and he would not have needed to endure the endless round of gambling and meaningless activities he disliked so much. Of course, he would not have renewed his acquaintance with Elizabeth either, he added to himself.
    Acquaintance? he asked himself. Then he laughed quietly. "She probably has another word for it," he said, startling the footman who had quietly entered to make up the fire on the hearth.
    "Did you say something to me, your lordship?" the man asked.
    "No." Dunstan lay back on his pillows, struck once again by the subtle plotting that might have been his undoing. Had he not been in his bed when the footman came in? He could imagine the stories that would have gone around belowstairs , especially when it was discovered that he had not been off the estate.
    Remembering the humiliation of listening to the whispers about his father and his brother, he was determined he would not be the subject of gossip again. The years of being snubbed or being regarded as a fortune-hunting gamester had made their mark on him. Now he lived his life as circumspectly as possible, not even his closest friends knew his liaisons. In the last years his reputation had begun to improve. He did not intend to change that fact.
    Like Dunstan, Hartley did not intend to change his way of living. The money he and the others had lost to Dunstan would have to be replaced. That thought was the first in Hartley's mind as he awoke that morning to the noise the footman was making on his hearth. "What's the time?" he demanded, his voice rough with sleep.
    " It's past seven, sir," the footman said quietly; he had already seen Hartley's displeasure when the man thought his importance had been slighted.
    "Seven!" At first Hartley reached for the heavy candlestick to throw at the servant who had awakened him so long before his usual hour. Then he remembered. He sat up in bed, pulling the sheet around him. "Who else is awake this early?"
    "Lord Dunstan spoke to me when I was making up his fire." The footman paused in his work and looked at the man in the bed. The man's face was mottled with anger. Quickly the footman finished his work, hoping to be through before the wrath spilled over onto him. "Is there anything I can get you, sir?"
    Hartley waved him away, not noticing how fast the man made his escape. Dunstan was in his own room. The frown on Hartley's face grew darker. Somehow the man had cheated him again. Hartley lay there silently for a long while. Then a sly smile crossed his face, making it light up in a ruthless way. He slid out of bed and crossed to the bell pull.
    A few doors down the hall,