“Hear him out, old fellow.”
“Yes,” Winthrop said quietly from his throne. “Hear him out.”
“The last time she allowed me into her presence, it was to tear into me for my sinful ways.” Jocelin ran a hand through his hair. “She thinks I’m a satyr in evening dress.”
“You are,” said Stapleton with his nose in the snifter.
Jocelin threw up his hands. “She threatened to refuse to receive me.”
“Well, Jos,” Asher said with a grin, “she has her throne to keep, you know. Can’t appear to tolerate debauchery, not our proper little German hausfrau queen.”
“There. You see?” Jocelin rummaged through the liquor cabinet for whiskey.
“Cowardice is unbecoming to you,” Asher said.
Jocelin glared at his friend and sloshed whiskey into a glass.
Asher continued. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t thought you could do it.” He came to Jocelin and placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “Her majesty doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s drawn to you. I’ve seen it. Think, Jos, of how it must be for her, stuck with that stuffy prig of a husband. She doesn’t realize it, but part of her longs for a bit of dash and go, a minuscule taste of what she’ll never have—courting and romance.”
“She disapproves of me,” Jocelin said as he shook off Asher’s hand.
“Not as much as you think.” Asher lowered his voice so that only Jocelin could hear him. “Only I know the whole of it, my friend. Only I ever will.”
Jocelin glanced at his friend briefly, unable to bear for long the sympathy he found there.
“You don’t play fair, Ash.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s just it,” Jocelin said quietly with a smile. Turning to the others, he said, “Vincent will have announced you by now, and Mother will be wondering where you are.”
Winthrop waited for Stapleton to open the doorfor him, and the two left. Asher remained behind, his gaze fixed on Jocelin.
“Will you do it?” he asked.
Jocelin shrugged. “If I must. We need people like you in Parliament. And now you must excuse me. I’ve an appointment.”
“Not with that Ross fellow. Dear God, I thought when you came back from this bloodletting of yours, you’d have purged yourself of this, this need.”
“Nick Ross is a friend.”
“But what you’re about has nothing to do with friendship.”
Asher approached him again. Jocelin concealed his surprise when the older man snatched his whiskey glass from his hand.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Asher said. “It’s perilous beyond imagining, not only to your body, but to your soul.”
Jocelin turned away from Asher. “I lost that long ago. I live my days in a dark night of the soul. I’m irredeemable, Ash. Let me go.” He rang for Vincent.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“But I won’t go alone,” Jocelin said as Vincent entered with his coat, hat, and gloves.
He donned the garment and took his hat and gloves from Vincent. Asher accompanied him to the door, and Jocelin slapped him with his gloves.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Such a mawkish face you put on. If the tzar’s army couldn’t kill me, I should be safe in London.”
He left Asher staring at him with a worried frown, ran down the steps to the street, and climbed into his carriage without looking back. He hated the way Asher seemed to know without asking when hewas going into East London. He disliked causing his friend pain.
Asher had taken him in that night fifteen years ago, when he’d fled Yale’s house. He’d taken him in, heard his confession, and accepted him in spite of it. Throughout the ugliness that followed, Asher had remained his friend. As his commander during the war, he had taken from Jocelin more than most officers would take from a junior.
The carriage came to a halt in front of a town house of grand proportions. For a few minutes Jocelin remained inside, lost in memories. The interior was dark, but a street lamp cast
“Yes,” Winthrop said quietly from his throne. “Hear him out.”
“The last time she allowed me into her presence, it was to tear into me for my sinful ways.” Jocelin ran a hand through his hair. “She thinks I’m a satyr in evening dress.”
“You are,” said Stapleton with his nose in the snifter.
Jocelin threw up his hands. “She threatened to refuse to receive me.”
“Well, Jos,” Asher said with a grin, “she has her throne to keep, you know. Can’t appear to tolerate debauchery, not our proper little German hausfrau queen.”
“There. You see?” Jocelin rummaged through the liquor cabinet for whiskey.
“Cowardice is unbecoming to you,” Asher said.
Jocelin glared at his friend and sloshed whiskey into a glass.
Asher continued. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t thought you could do it.” He came to Jocelin and placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “Her majesty doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s drawn to you. I’ve seen it. Think, Jos, of how it must be for her, stuck with that stuffy prig of a husband. She doesn’t realize it, but part of her longs for a bit of dash and go, a minuscule taste of what she’ll never have—courting and romance.”
“She disapproves of me,” Jocelin said as he shook off Asher’s hand.
“Not as much as you think.” Asher lowered his voice so that only Jocelin could hear him. “Only I know the whole of it, my friend. Only I ever will.”
Jocelin glanced at his friend briefly, unable to bear for long the sympathy he found there.
“You don’t play fair, Ash.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That’s just it,” Jocelin said quietly with a smile. Turning to the others, he said, “Vincent will have announced you by now, and Mother will be wondering where you are.”
Winthrop waited for Stapleton to open the doorfor him, and the two left. Asher remained behind, his gaze fixed on Jocelin.
“Will you do it?” he asked.
Jocelin shrugged. “If I must. We need people like you in Parliament. And now you must excuse me. I’ve an appointment.”
“Not with that Ross fellow. Dear God, I thought when you came back from this bloodletting of yours, you’d have purged yourself of this, this need.”
“Nick Ross is a friend.”
“But what you’re about has nothing to do with friendship.”
Asher approached him again. Jocelin concealed his surprise when the older man snatched his whiskey glass from his hand.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Asher said. “It’s perilous beyond imagining, not only to your body, but to your soul.”
Jocelin turned away from Asher. “I lost that long ago. I live my days in a dark night of the soul. I’m irredeemable, Ash. Let me go.” He rang for Vincent.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“But I won’t go alone,” Jocelin said as Vincent entered with his coat, hat, and gloves.
He donned the garment and took his hat and gloves from Vincent. Asher accompanied him to the door, and Jocelin slapped him with his gloves.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Such a mawkish face you put on. If the tzar’s army couldn’t kill me, I should be safe in London.”
He left Asher staring at him with a worried frown, ran down the steps to the street, and climbed into his carriage without looking back. He hated the way Asher seemed to know without asking when hewas going into East London. He disliked causing his friend pain.
Asher had taken him in that night fifteen years ago, when he’d fled Yale’s house. He’d taken him in, heard his confession, and accepted him in spite of it. Throughout the ugliness that followed, Asher had remained his friend. As his commander during the war, he had taken from Jocelin more than most officers would take from a junior.
The carriage came to a halt in front of a town house of grand proportions. For a few minutes Jocelin remained inside, lost in memories. The interior was dark, but a street lamp cast
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