it," Lucien said shortly, his eyes on Diana's father.
"No, of course not. I had hoped for more, but I am prepared to agree."
"I thought you would. You may deal with Leighton in my absence, and George will see the papers are forwarded. Good day."
As he entered the foyer where the viscount awaited him, he could hear the low murmur of dissatisfaction behind him. It didn't matter—he meant to put that portion of his life behind him.
"How'd it go?" Leighton asked soberly.
"As well as could be expected."
"Bad business."
"Yes."
It was not until they were in the viscount's carriage that either spoke again. Leighton wiped the steam from his window and peered outside. "Looks as though it might snow."
Lucien did not answer. Instead, he leaned back, resting his head against the button-tufted velvet squabs. For a long time, he stared absently toward the ceiling. Finally, his friend could stand it no longer.
"Are you going through with the divorce?"
Lucien nodded. "I told them you would tend to everything for me."
"Well, I will, but I still cannot believe you mean to sign up. You are as mad as Mad Jack!"
"I've already done it."
"War's a nasty, uncivilized business. Liable to come home in a box," Leighton declared glumly.
"I doubt many would count it a loss."
"Ain't no reason for you to go! Dash it, but let Diana flee the country! It ain't as if you was the guilty party, is it?"
"I'd not talk about the divorce, George. Let us proceed with the holidays. Besides, it's to be expected that Mad Jack's son would want to go, don't you think? After all, everyone expects me to be like him," he added bitterly.
"Before your uncle died, Jack was the younger son. Ain't the same—you got the money and the title. You know, sometimes I think I don't know you at all," Leighton grumbled.
"How far is Stoneleigh from your place?" Lucien asked abruptly. "Or more to the point, how far is it from Langston Park? I bought the Park, you know."
"Neighbors then. Six or so miles from my house, depending on the road taken. Park's even closer. Why?"
"I have a bit of business there—a country party, I believe." He reached into his coat pocket and drew out Ashton's letter. "On the seventh of January."
"At Stoneleigh? Didn't know you knew Kingsley, and cannot think why you would want to pursue the acquaintance, anyway. Deuced encroaching fellow, if you was to ask me. Bought the title, you know."
"The old mushroom has wed."
"Wed! At his age?" For a moment, Leighton was diverted. "Got him a dowager, eh?"
"An infant."
"Thought he was too old to have one in the oven."
"My dear George, as far as I know the girl is not increasing—it's the infant he's wed." Lucien recalled his brief encounter with Elinor Ashton and her father. "A fifteen-year-old beauty."
"Egad! Why'd he want one so young? Fellow must be sixty—maybe older."
Lucien shrugged. "I expect for the usual reason."
"You've seen her?"
"Ashton's daughter. She was there the night he tried to fleece Bell."
"I didn't see her."
"Your loss," Lucien murmured. "You could have been a hasty bridegroom."
"I beg your pardon?" Leighton recoiled visibly. "Not me, I can tell you. I'm not ready to wed, and if I was I'd not take a poor girl—Ashton's damn near run off his legs."
"It doesn't signify. But you can look her over at Stoneleigh."
"Never knew you to frequent country parties. Deuced boring, if you was to ask me."
"In this case, I have business. I'd collect from Ashton before I go, else I'll never see the money."
"As if you needed it," Leighton snorted.
"I'll be hanged before I give Diana any of my own gold, George. I'd much rather give her Townsend's and Ashton's." He leaned back and pulled his hat forward so that the brim shadowed his eyes. "Call it principle, if you wish."
"If you won it, it's yours."
"Suffice it to say that somehow it seems different."
For a time, Leighton left him alone, choosing to stare out at the spitting snow. He'd argued against the divorce, for he knew what
"No, of course not. I had hoped for more, but I am prepared to agree."
"I thought you would. You may deal with Leighton in my absence, and George will see the papers are forwarded. Good day."
As he entered the foyer where the viscount awaited him, he could hear the low murmur of dissatisfaction behind him. It didn't matter—he meant to put that portion of his life behind him.
"How'd it go?" Leighton asked soberly.
"As well as could be expected."
"Bad business."
"Yes."
It was not until they were in the viscount's carriage that either spoke again. Leighton wiped the steam from his window and peered outside. "Looks as though it might snow."
Lucien did not answer. Instead, he leaned back, resting his head against the button-tufted velvet squabs. For a long time, he stared absently toward the ceiling. Finally, his friend could stand it no longer.
"Are you going through with the divorce?"
Lucien nodded. "I told them you would tend to everything for me."
"Well, I will, but I still cannot believe you mean to sign up. You are as mad as Mad Jack!"
"I've already done it."
"War's a nasty, uncivilized business. Liable to come home in a box," Leighton declared glumly.
"I doubt many would count it a loss."
"Ain't no reason for you to go! Dash it, but let Diana flee the country! It ain't as if you was the guilty party, is it?"
"I'd not talk about the divorce, George. Let us proceed with the holidays. Besides, it's to be expected that Mad Jack's son would want to go, don't you think? After all, everyone expects me to be like him," he added bitterly.
"Before your uncle died, Jack was the younger son. Ain't the same—you got the money and the title. You know, sometimes I think I don't know you at all," Leighton grumbled.
"How far is Stoneleigh from your place?" Lucien asked abruptly. "Or more to the point, how far is it from Langston Park? I bought the Park, you know."
"Neighbors then. Six or so miles from my house, depending on the road taken. Park's even closer. Why?"
"I have a bit of business there—a country party, I believe." He reached into his coat pocket and drew out Ashton's letter. "On the seventh of January."
"At Stoneleigh? Didn't know you knew Kingsley, and cannot think why you would want to pursue the acquaintance, anyway. Deuced encroaching fellow, if you was to ask me. Bought the title, you know."
"The old mushroom has wed."
"Wed! At his age?" For a moment, Leighton was diverted. "Got him a dowager, eh?"
"An infant."
"Thought he was too old to have one in the oven."
"My dear George, as far as I know the girl is not increasing—it's the infant he's wed." Lucien recalled his brief encounter with Elinor Ashton and her father. "A fifteen-year-old beauty."
"Egad! Why'd he want one so young? Fellow must be sixty—maybe older."
Lucien shrugged. "I expect for the usual reason."
"You've seen her?"
"Ashton's daughter. She was there the night he tried to fleece Bell."
"I didn't see her."
"Your loss," Lucien murmured. "You could have been a hasty bridegroom."
"I beg your pardon?" Leighton recoiled visibly. "Not me, I can tell you. I'm not ready to wed, and if I was I'd not take a poor girl—Ashton's damn near run off his legs."
"It doesn't signify. But you can look her over at Stoneleigh."
"Never knew you to frequent country parties. Deuced boring, if you was to ask me."
"In this case, I have business. I'd collect from Ashton before I go, else I'll never see the money."
"As if you needed it," Leighton snorted.
"I'll be hanged before I give Diana any of my own gold, George. I'd much rather give her Townsend's and Ashton's." He leaned back and pulled his hat forward so that the brim shadowed his eyes. "Call it principle, if you wish."
"If you won it, it's yours."
"Suffice it to say that somehow it seems different."
For a time, Leighton left him alone, choosing to stare out at the spitting snow. He'd argued against the divorce, for he knew what
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