Whitlock nodded sagely. “That’s how I got at least three of my children.”
Blackmoor was also nodding. “That’s how my first happened. We intended the second.”
Thomas looked at Monty in some distress, as though he might have some relief from this madness.
Monty looked around at them all, completely composed. “That’s how it always happens for me.”
“Oh, hell,” Thomas blustered, downing what remained of his drink, hissing as it burned more than he anticipated.
“Relax, Granger,” Blackmoor told him firmly. “You’re a fair distance from that. All we’re saying is that there’s not much that goes to plan when it comes to love or romance, and sometimes, the best things take place when you aren’t expecting it.”
“Most of the time, I’d say,” Whitlock agreed. “But then, I never plan things.”
Confusion ran rampant through Thomas as he looked around at these happily married lunatics who were supposed to be assisting him. “So the best things are likely going to be things that I don’t plan or anticipate?”
Nods bobbed all around.
He all but threw his hands up in the air. “Then what in heaven’s name are you three doing to help me in any way?”
Whitlock raised a brow, then looked at Blackmoor. Blackmoor looked at Monty. Monty looked across at Whitlock. Then all three looked at Thomas.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Monty said with a perfectly serious expression.
That was not helpful.
Thomas exhaled slowly, staring at these powerful men, arguably some of the most powerful in London, and wondered how they could all be so useless. “Perfect. Absolutely, bloody perfect.”
Whitlock chuckled in the face of his irritation, which only increased the feeling. “Not finding amusement in this, Granger?”
“In your lack of any real assistance?” Thomas inquired in as mild a tone as sarcasm would allow. “No, not particularly.”
The marquess tutted softly, shaking his head. “Very well, then. Bring your wife to the ball hosted by Mr. Gerrard’s brother in a few days. Kit can secure you an invitation if you don’t already have one. Scandalize Society by dancing with your wife if you like, or simply flirt with her like an unmarried man. It’s bound to be an evening of great amusements, which should put you both in a properly cheery mood.”
“In the interim,” Monty chimed in with a nod, fair eyes dancing with a merriment that did not suit, “perhaps suggest a stroll in Hyde Park once or twice. Go for a ride in a barouche. You have one, I presume?”
Thomas looked at Monty as though he had sprung additional heads from his shoulders. “Why in the world would I have a barouche?”
“No matter, borrow mine,” Whitlock interjected. “Does your wife ride?”
“Yes, though not usually with me.”
Blackmoor cleared his throat. “Have you recently attempted to ride together?”
“No, there was no need to.”
“Find a gazebo in a nearby garden,” Whitlock suggested. “Come over to mine, if it suits. The most extraordinary things can happen there.”
“Play with children together,” Monty told him. “There is nothing more beautiful than a woman being playful with children.”
“A picnic is a fine idea,” Blackmoor insisted, warming to the game. “Sentimental and intimate. I have no doubt it will entertain your wife creditably.”
Thomas looked around at them all in utter bewilderment, finding the suggestions not only strange but all too specific for his tastes. And not particularly tailored toward the interests of his wife or himself.
“Or why not spend a few Seasons blatantly flirting and then up and marry her?” Pratt offered from his seat.
“What?” Thomas barked, turning to look at him. “I’m already married, Pratt.”
He made a soft noise of disappointment. “Pity, I was hoping I could join in the fun.”
“What fun?”
Pratt glanced over at him, his smile smug. “Didn’t you know? They’re all offering you their own manner of wooing their wives. Most specifically, in fact.”
Thomas turned back to look at each in turn, questioning without words.
Not a single man appeared even remotely ashamed of himself.
This was a waste of time.
“You haven’t a clue, have you?” Thomas asked them without inflection. “Not a single one of you knows how to help me improve my romantic standing with my wife.”
Monty frowned a little. “I’ve got a few clues. I am her cousin by marriage, after all, and know her fairly well.” He considered his own words, then tilted his head from side to side indecisively. “But I’ve never considered her in a particularly romantic light, so perhaps that limits my imagination.”
It was as though the men were determined to be less than helpful.
“It doesn’t matter, Granger,” Blackmoor told him, gently swirling his brandy. “You can do whatever you like in your attempt at courting her, whatever you think will suit her. The most important thing is that you are spending time with her. Devoted, dedicated time with her and her alone.”
“So what place does an evening like this have, then?” Thomas lifted a brow, daring any one of them to explain their reasoning there.
Whitlock seemed surprised by the question. “It is entirely possible to be surrounded by others and to make her feel as though you’re the only two people in the room. Takes a great deal of practice and the right setting, of course, but once you can achieve that, you’ve mostly succeeded in winning her to your side.”
Thomas slowly shook his head. “I’ve never been more confused or confounded in my entire life.”
Monty clapped him on the shoulder, expression sympathetic. “Then you’re ready to begin. That’s exactly how it ought to feel.”
“Maddening thing,” Blackmoor grumbled, making a face.
“Thought I was going mad,” Whitlock confirmed. “Unsettling, to say the least.”
“I don’t know why I asked any of you for help,” Thomas said, wondering if the entire evening had been a waste.
“Nor do I,” Pratt echoed as he laid down a card and took a trick easily.
Everyone ignored him.
“Husbands,” Marianne Gerrard announced to the room, “we wish to dance. Lady Whitlock will play, but the rest of us will dance. And we will defy all politeness by dancing with spouses first. Come and take your
