“That was most kind of you,” Follett jested.
“Wasn’t it?” Oliver replied.
Haskett spoke up from across the table. “I saw you conversing with Miss Lockhart.” He smirked. “She is quite the beauty. I can see why the Duke of Billingham wants her for himself.”
Oliver stiffened. “They aren’t married yet,” he said, hoping he kept the terseness out of his voice.
“No, they are not,” Follett remarked. “I heard the duke is marrying her even though she has no dowry.”
“They must be a love match, then,” Booth commented dryly.
Follett glanced down at the cards in his hand before saying, “Everyone knows the duke likes to collect pretty things, including wives.”
“It is a shame his wives keep dying on him, though,” Booth said.
“They probably grew bored to death,” Haskett joked. “After all, have you tried speaking to the duke? It’s exhausting.”
“Regardless, Miss Lockhart will become a duchess soon,” Follett said, “and she will deserve everything she gets for being married to the duke.”
“I couldn’t be married to someone like him,” Haskett declared. “Not for all the money in the world.”
A servant walked by with a tray of flutes filled with champagne, and Oliver reached up and grabbed one. He was growing tired of this conversation. He didn’t want to hear anything more about Emmeline and her upcoming nuptials.
“Are you with us, mate?” Booth asked.
Oliver placed his glass on the table. “I am, but I am growing tired of hearing about the duke.”
Follett nodded as his expression grew solemn. “Perhaps I have something that might interest you.”
“You don’t want to race through the streets, do you?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Follett said. “I had the most interesting conversation with a gentleman at the coffeehouse on Tabley Street.”
“Is that so?” Oliver asked, uninterested.
Follett leaned closer and shared, “We spoke in great lengths about economic and political reform.”
“I must assume that he was a Whig, as well,” Booth commented.
“I have no doubt,” Follett said, “and he invited me to a meeting with other like-minded individuals.”
Now Follet had his undivided attention. Oliver leaned in and lowered his voice. “What kind of meeting?”
“The gentleman said if I was interested in further debate on the subjects, then I should attend the meeting at the Howl Hill Pub,” Follett shared.
“The Howl Hill Pub is in the rookeries,” Haskett said. “Why do you have any desire to attend such a disreputable establishment?”
Follett appeared unconcerned as he remarked, “It could be enlightening.”
Booth reached for his glass. “I am rather wary of such a meeting,” he admitted. “I imagine it might just be a bunch of radicals spouting political nonsense.”
“Don’t you want to find out?” Follett asked as he glanced around the table.
Oliver took a sip of his drink before inquiring, “Who was this man that you spoke to?”
“His name was Guy Stewart,” Follett replied.
Placing his glass down, Oliver pressed, “And he just invited you to this meeting?”
“He did.”
“When is it?” Oliver inquired.
“In five days.”
“I believe I would like to attend,” Oliver said, hoping it was the lead he was looking for.
A smile came to Follett’s lips. “I knew I could count on you.”
Haskett made a clucking noise with his tongue. “I suppose I’m in, too.”
“I’m not,” Booth said. “My father would stop my allowance if he ever discovered that I attended a meeting with radical views. He is a staunch Tory.”
“We don’t know if this is a radical group,” Follett remarked. “It is just a place for people like us to express our views more freely.”
Booth shook his head. “I am going to pass, but I wish you all luck.”
Follett glanced down at the cards in his hand. “We need to hurry and finish this hand,” he said. “I want to go collect my dance from Lady Isabella.”
“Lady Isabella?” Booth repeated with a whistle. “How did you accomplish that feat?”
“It was relatively simple,” Follett explained, smirking. “I just asked her for a dance, and she accepted.”
“Ingenious idea,” Haskett declared.
Oliver chuckled. “You are all fools.”
As they continued to banter back and forth, Oliver kept a smile on his face, but he was processing the information that Follett had told them. He didn’t want his friends mixed up with a radical group, but he needed to see if this meeting had any anti-monarch rhetoric.
Chapter Four
“You turned him down?!” Mary exclaimed. “Are you mad?”
Emmeline pressed her lips together at her lady’s maid’s disapproval. “Lord Oliver is a rakehell. His exploits are legendary amongst the ton.”
“But he isn’t the duke,” Mary pressed.
“I know, but I couldn’t tie him down,” she replied. “It would have been entirely unfair to him, especially since I believe it was out of pity.”
Mary gave her an exasperated look. “Whyever would that matter?”
“I don’t want a marriage based upon pity.”
“Of course not,” Mary replied, lifting her brow. “Instead, you would prefer to marry an eighty-year-old man who still retains a mistress across Town.”
Emmeline walked over to her bed and dropped onto it. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “I turned him down, and I have no doubt that he is relieved by my refusal.”
“Why do you say that?”
“After I refused him, he stormed off and spent his evening in the card room.”
Mary walked over and sat down next to her. “Were you watching him?”
“Perhaps.”
“Lord Oliver may not be perfect, but he would have treated you kindly,” Mary remarked.
Emmeline reached for a pillow and brought it in front of her. “But he wouldn’t have remained faithful.”
“You don’t know that.”
“My cousin was adamant that Lord Oliver would never stay true to her,” Emmeline said. “That is why she broke the engagement with him.”
“People can change.”
“Not that much.”
Mary shook her head. “You have known Lord Oliver for a long time,” she started, “have you ever thought he would betray you?”
“No,” Emmeline replied, “but we have only ever been just friends.”
“Your cousin might have been wrong about Lord Oliver.”
“I don’t believe that to be the case,” Emmeline said. “His words are too smooth, too calculated. At times, I wonder if he’s
