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a Hellion was all well and good,’ David allowed. ‘But challenging the prevailing view has served its purpose. Now that the goals we dreamed about are going to be realised, shouldn’t we turn our efforts into getting a hand in determining how they are implemented?’

      ‘Very true,’ Christopher said. ‘Why not take advantage of whatever benefits membership at Brooks’s can offer?’

      ‘You could even pass them along to us,’ David added with a grin. ‘It’s the only way I’ll ever gain access to them, after all. Their politics might be liberal, but never in this lifetime are high-born Whigs going to allow the orphaned son of farmer into their club, regardless of how highly placed his sponsor might be.’

      ‘Or the illegitimate son of a governess,’ Ben added.

      ‘A gently born governess, whose father is now a viscount and acknowledges him,’ Giles reminded Ben. ‘If you asked, your father would likely sponsor you at Brooks’s.’

      ‘So the members could mutter under their breath about my mother as I walk by, like the boys did at Oxford? I think not.’

      ‘As for me,’ Christopher said with a grin, ‘being in the unusual position of being considered my legal father’s son even though I’m not, I could be put up for membership. Except that dear legal Papa is a Tory who frequents White’s.’

      ‘I doubt they would have voted me in, had Lord Newville not been insistent,’ Giles said. ‘I can only imagine how much arm-twisting was involved.’

      ‘Your nomination did place the members in an awkward position,’ David said. ‘Many of them are friends of your father, and there’s the sticky matter of George. If anything happens to you, George gets the title; like our Oxford classmates, few there would want to befriend you and offend him, in case some day he attains real power.’

      ‘We’ll just have to see that he doesn’t,’ Giles retorted.

      ‘Faith and the devil, that reminds me!’ Christopher exclaimed. ‘Wychwood told me that George lost his seat!’

      ‘In Hampshire, my father’s county?’ Giles asked, astounded.

      ‘Yes. Despite how strongly the voice vote went in favour of the Reform candidate, Wychwood said George insisted on a formal counted vote. And lost it decisively.’

      The other three whistled as the significance of that registered. ‘Pity his poor servants—and any other unfortunate who crosses his path in the next few days,’ Christopher said. ‘He’ll be as quick to lash out as a temperamental stallion with an abscessed hoof.’

      ‘He’ll surely look for some way to transfer the blame to you,’ David warned.

      ‘And whine to his father about it,’ Christopher added.

      ‘I’d avoid him,’ Ben advised.

      ‘I always do,’ Giles replied. ‘But now, I’d better get to that meeting. With any luck, I’ll be back to drink another mug before midnight.’

      ‘Take good notes, so you can give us a full report,’ Christopher said as Giles shrugged on his coat and headed for the door.

      As he walked out, Davie followed him, then stayed him with a hand on his arm. ‘This might not be the best of times to provoke a quarrel over a lady,’ he said quietly.

      ‘I don’t intend to quarrel,’ Giles replied. ‘If he tries to start one, I’ll ignore it, as I always do.’ No matter how much I’d like to plant a facer in the middle of that smug face, he added silently.

      ‘Just...watch your step. I’ve always thought George like a coiled snake, ready to strike if cornered. Don’t give him any more reason.’

      ‘I shall be the soul of diplomacy.’

      ‘Giles, the most hot-headed member of our group?’ David retorted. ‘Just remember that resolution, if you encounter George when I’m not there to restrain you. It would be...undignified for a rising Member of Parliament to mill down a former Member in public.’

      ‘Besides which, George would be sure to haul me up on assault charges. Temper or no, I promise to be on my best behaviour.’

      And he would be, Giles promised himself as he walked out to hail a hackney.

      * * *

      Several hours later, dinner and consultation with Lord Grey and two of his ministers complete and a sheaf of notes in hand, Giles had just left the small private dining room when an unwelcome voice assailed his ears.

      Hearing his name called again, he turned towards the card room, girding himself for the always unwelcome encounter with his half-brother.

      ‘It is you, then,’ George said, and walked towards him.

      At least he’d won that small satisfaction, Giles thought as he waited for his half-brother to approach: George had finally learned that Giles would not come running to him when his half-brother beckoned, like the lackey George wanted him to be.

      As the man proceeded closer with his measured, self-important tread, Giles noted he was splendidly dressed, as usual, in a dark coat featuring the newly popular cinched-in waist, an elaborately tied cravat of fine linen with a large diamond winking out from the knot, and long trousers. A walking advertisement for his tailor, and for being a man who spared no expense on his person.

      George stopped beside him, looking him in the eyes for a moment without speaking. His half-brother was of a height, but had the fairer hair and hazel eyes of their father and a pleasant face that, when it wore a congenial look Giles seldom saw, was accounted handsome, or so numerous society ladies seemed to think.

      Apparently Lady Margaret wasn’t of their number. That recollection pleased him more than it should.

      When Giles refused to rise to the bait of asking his brother to tell him what he wanted, at length George broke the silence. ‘Didn’t believe at first you’d actually entered a gentleman’s club, instead of hobnobbing with the lowborn sorts you usually associate with. Devil’s teeth, to think how much blunt Lord Newville must have dropped, bribing the members to get you accepted here! But in this instance, I suppose I should thank him for sparing me having to track you down in that dive you frequent.’

      Drawing in a deep breath through his gritted teeth to stem the rising anger, Giles made no immediate response. He’d long ago figured out the best way to deal with his half-brother’s demeaning remarks was to ignore them, no matter how infuriating—thereby depriving George of the satisfaction of provoking him.

      ‘Do you having anything of substance to say, or did you just want to tender the usual insults?’ he said in a tone as bored as he could manage. ‘If the latter, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ With a nod of dismissal, he turned to go.

      ‘Wait! I do have something else to say.’ George stayed him.

      Much as Giles would love to snub him and walk out, if his half-brother truly wanted to speak with him, leaving now would only delay the confrontation. Tenacious as a bulldog, George would simply run him down somewhere else.

      Wondering what his brother could possibly wish to discuss with him—unless he’d already figured out a way to blame Giles for his electoral defeat—he raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you might wish to do so somewhere more private than Brooks’s entry hall?’ With a gesture, he indicated a small anteroom.

      After George followed him in, Giles said, ‘I’ve still got work to do tonight, so I’d appreciate your keeping this short.’ With what he considered true nobility, he refrained from adding that it involved important business for the new Parliament—the one in which George would not be serving. After closing the door, he said, ‘Shall we dispense with the charade of exchanging pleasantries? Just say what you must.’

      ‘I will be brief. I’m warning you to leave Lady Margaret Roberts alone. She’s a gentlewoman from a distinguished family, her father a nobleman highly regarded by his

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