Never Lie to a Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

strain between Wellington and Lord Eldon. Nash did not much concern himself with English politics, but he knew Tony lived for it, so he murmured polite responses and nodded at all the right places.
    “I tell you, Stefan, this damned Catholic question is going to be the death of somebody,” Tony finally finished. “At best, it is slow political suicide for the prime minister.”
    “And trouble in the family is never a good thing,” said Nash wryly.
    Tony just laughed again. “By the way, old fellow, that reminds me,” he said. “Mamma is to celebrate her fiftieth birthday next month.”
    “Yes,” said Nash. “I had not forgotten.”
    “I believe I shall have a celebration,” said Tony. “Something more than her usual birthday dinner party. Perhaps a ball, and a few guests up to Brierwood for the week, if you do not mind?”
    “Of course I do not,” said Nash. “Jenny will be pleased to have something to do, won’t she? I’m told females enjoy such things.”
    “I am not sure a house party for Mamma’s friends is Jenny’s idea of excitement,” said Tony. “Still, will you come, Stefan? It is your home—and Mamma would be so pleased.”
    There was an almost imperceptible tightening of Nash’s mouth. “We shall see,” he finally said. “What are your plans for the day, Tony? Shall I see you at White’s this evening?”
    “I shouldn’t think so,” said his stepbrother. “We’re to meet after dinner to whinge over the Test and Corporation Acts, but we are just beating a dead horse if you ask me. And then there’ll be a by-election strategy meeting.”
    “Why do you not dine here, then?”
    “Certainly, if you will forgive me for rushing away afterwards,” said Tony. “These bloody meetings will likely drag into the night as it is.”
    “But your seat in the Commons is quite safe. You have been reelected. What more must you do?”
    Tony pushed back his chair and rose. “It is the nature of English politics, Stefan,” he said. “Elections do not simply cost pots of money, they take effort. One hand washing the other, and all that rot. And rotten boroughs do not come cheap. You are fortunate to be in the Lords, old fellow, where one need not concern oneself with the opinions—or the palms—of the common man.”
    Nash smiled and languidly took up his coffee. “Indeed, I never give him a thought, Tony,” he said, staring over the brim of his cup. “I am too preoccupied with exercising my upper-class prerogatives—and, of course, my upper-class vices.”
    His stepbrother scowled down at him. “It is just that sort of talk, Stefan, which blackens your reputation,” he chided. “I beg you to have a care—and to think of Mamma, at the very least.”
    “I cannot think anyone imagines my stepmother responsible for my character, Tony,” said Nash. “I am fond of Edwina, as she is fond of me. But she did not raise me, more’s the pity.”
    Whatever argument his brother might have countered with was forestalled by Gibbons, who crossed from the dressing room to the window. “It is a miracle, my lord,” he announced, staring down at the street below. “The rain has stopped. I think you may safely go out now.”
    But Nash was not simply going out. He was going on the offensive. “Excellent, Gibbons,” he answered. “Send word to bring round my gig, and fetch my charcoal morning coat.”
     
    In Wapping, the skies did not clear until midafternoon. Xanthia stood at her office window, staring across the Upper Pool toward St. Savior’s Docks and trying to keep her mind on her work. London’s weather had done little to still the traffic on the Thames, for this sort of hustle and bustle was driven by hardier men than that.
    The whole of London’s Docklands was still a constant fascination to her. Even now, some four months after her arrival, she was awed by the industry and commerce of the East End. To Xanthia, England was Wapping. She remembered nothing of her infancy in Lincolnshire.