who’ll pull him to the top of the social heap. My sisters are, without a doubt, the best hostesses in London. An invitation to one of their parties is a privilege much sought after.”
“Then you’ll be giving parties like that?”
“No doubt.”
“And the ton will fight for your invitations, as they fight for your sisters?”
“I’d better pull it off, or Lord Rawson will be disappointed again.” With a shrug of sorrow for her ragged nails, Bronwyn demolished her manicure.
“How else is Adam disappointed?”
“I’m not witty. I don’t play the harp.” Sweeping her hand along her length, Bronwyn explained, “I’m certainly not beautiful.”
“Ah.” Mab’s head went down, and she hid the expression in her eyes while she stitched. “Of course, your sisters’ beauty has made their lives perfect.”
“Well, no.” In her mind, Bronwyn drifted out of the room. Mab’s constant probes made her remember the dream she’d had as a child. The dream of a man who’d laugh with her, talk with her, love her for herself. But the picture of Adam, scowling, sarcastic, intruded into her imagination, and she sighed. “Actually, their husbands keep mistresses, and some of my sisters have their lovers, too.”
Satisfied, Mab said, “Their beauty hasn’t kept their husbands by their sides. But there is another way.”
On Adam’s return to the drawing room, he found Walpole taking his leave. “Must you go, Robert? This is going to be a deadly bore without you.”
“Love to help you out”—Walpole’s grin denied his concern—“but indeed I must leave. The actress who is my trollophas made a small fortune on Change Alley and is retiring. Tonight, she insists, is her farewell performance. You don’t expect me to miss it, do you?”
Adam walked with him toward the door. “What was her name again?”
“Mrs. Ash,” Walpole said.
“Mrs. Ash is such an exhibitionist, she’ll return to the stage regardless of her wealth.”
“Oh, it’s not her farewell performance on the stage ,” Walpole corrected.
Adam digested that. “Then you must not be late. How would she perform without you?”
“My thought exactly. But I did want to speak to you.” Walpole glanced about him. “Where can we be alone?”
Adam led the way into his study, and Walpole shut the door behind them.
With lifted brow, Adam studied him. “If you’re going to tell me a state secret, I don’t want to know.”
“The only state secret I know is that the Prince of Wales hates his father,” Walpole said absently.
Adam snorted. “Quite a secret.”
“It’s quite a state.” Walpole took a turn about the room while Adam leaned against the edge of his desk. “It’s this South Sea Company business,” Walpole burst out. “There’s something wrong with it.”
“Indeed there is,” Adam agreed, “but I thought we’d covered that.”
“There’s something more.” The normally placid man tapped his fingers against the elaborate marble fireplace mantel. “My spies are bringing me some damnable rumors, and I don’t like them. I can’t confirm them, but I don’t like them.”
“Such as?”
“There’s more here than a simple swindle. The directors are too smart for their own good, and I believe they have plans for the government.”
“The government?”
“You know I used to be first lord of the Treasury and chancellor of the Exchequer.” Walpole rolled the title off his tongue, and Adam grinned.
“A very able chancellor, too.”
Settling his shoulder against the mantel, Walpole shrugged without modesty. “I tend to agree. Now I’m merely a lowly Member of Parliament.”
“Hardly lowly,” Adam observed. “You may pretend to be a country squire, you may be the lewdest man I’ve ever met—”
Walpole beamed, not at all offended.
“—but there’s none more competent than you when it comes to steering the government. Someday, God willing, you’ll direct this country to its proper
“Then you’ll be giving parties like that?”
“No doubt.”
“And the ton will fight for your invitations, as they fight for your sisters?”
“I’d better pull it off, or Lord Rawson will be disappointed again.” With a shrug of sorrow for her ragged nails, Bronwyn demolished her manicure.
“How else is Adam disappointed?”
“I’m not witty. I don’t play the harp.” Sweeping her hand along her length, Bronwyn explained, “I’m certainly not beautiful.”
“Ah.” Mab’s head went down, and she hid the expression in her eyes while she stitched. “Of course, your sisters’ beauty has made their lives perfect.”
“Well, no.” In her mind, Bronwyn drifted out of the room. Mab’s constant probes made her remember the dream she’d had as a child. The dream of a man who’d laugh with her, talk with her, love her for herself. But the picture of Adam, scowling, sarcastic, intruded into her imagination, and she sighed. “Actually, their husbands keep mistresses, and some of my sisters have their lovers, too.”
Satisfied, Mab said, “Their beauty hasn’t kept their husbands by their sides. But there is another way.”
On Adam’s return to the drawing room, he found Walpole taking his leave. “Must you go, Robert? This is going to be a deadly bore without you.”
“Love to help you out”—Walpole’s grin denied his concern—“but indeed I must leave. The actress who is my trollophas made a small fortune on Change Alley and is retiring. Tonight, she insists, is her farewell performance. You don’t expect me to miss it, do you?”
Adam walked with him toward the door. “What was her name again?”
“Mrs. Ash,” Walpole said.
“Mrs. Ash is such an exhibitionist, she’ll return to the stage regardless of her wealth.”
“Oh, it’s not her farewell performance on the stage ,” Walpole corrected.
Adam digested that. “Then you must not be late. How would she perform without you?”
“My thought exactly. But I did want to speak to you.” Walpole glanced about him. “Where can we be alone?”
Adam led the way into his study, and Walpole shut the door behind them.
With lifted brow, Adam studied him. “If you’re going to tell me a state secret, I don’t want to know.”
“The only state secret I know is that the Prince of Wales hates his father,” Walpole said absently.
Adam snorted. “Quite a secret.”
“It’s quite a state.” Walpole took a turn about the room while Adam leaned against the edge of his desk. “It’s this South Sea Company business,” Walpole burst out. “There’s something wrong with it.”
“Indeed there is,” Adam agreed, “but I thought we’d covered that.”
“There’s something more.” The normally placid man tapped his fingers against the elaborate marble fireplace mantel. “My spies are bringing me some damnable rumors, and I don’t like them. I can’t confirm them, but I don’t like them.”
“Such as?”
“There’s more here than a simple swindle. The directors are too smart for their own good, and I believe they have plans for the government.”
“The government?”
“You know I used to be first lord of the Treasury and chancellor of the Exchequer.” Walpole rolled the title off his tongue, and Adam grinned.
“A very able chancellor, too.”
Settling his shoulder against the mantel, Walpole shrugged without modesty. “I tend to agree. Now I’m merely a lowly Member of Parliament.”
“Hardly lowly,” Adam observed. “You may pretend to be a country squire, you may be the lewdest man I’ve ever met—”
Walpole beamed, not at all offended.
“—but there’s none more competent than you when it comes to steering the government. Someday, God willing, you’ll direct this country to its proper
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