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Authors: Sheridan Jeane
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7 - A Measure of Whiskey
Daniel sat in his drawing room, reviewing the documents he’d brought back from the Ambridge Club. He only needed five more minutes to finish them.
And then the front bell rang. When he heard Wentworth’s voice, Daniel let out a sigh of resignation, collected his papers, and then tucked them away in a leather satchel. He’d review them in the morning.
A long shadow appeared in the doorway, followed immediately by Wentworth.
“You’re early,” Daniel said. He cast an annoyed glance at his friend as he sauntered into the drawing room.
Wentworth stopped short. “You don’t sound happy about it,” he said. “I can leave and come back if you like.”
“No, no. Sorry. That was a lousy way to greet you. Please stay. Have a drink.” He crossed to a tall side table, lifted a cut-glass decanter, and waved it temptingly. “I have Glenfarclas,” he said in a wheedling tone. It was Wentworth’s favorite Scotch whiskey. He didn’t bother to wait for a reply and poured a measure into a tumbler.
Wentworth accepted the glass of amber liquid and inhaled its heady scent, savoring it before taking a sip. A smile crossed his lips.
“Happy?” Daniel asked, taking in the contented look on his friend’s face.
“Quite. You should have some, too. You’re too tense.”
Daniel poured a second measure of scotch but didn’t sip it immediately. Instead, he stared into the tumbler, trying to banish some of that obvious tension from his body. He focused on the reflected light from the fireplace as it brought the liquid to life. The amber echoes of the flames moved and shifted inside his glass.
He willed it to mesmerize him. For a moment, he almost believed he could read something in the patterns, like reading tea leaves. But then he frowned at the glass. He’d find no blinding flashes of insight here. After all, it was only a glass of whiskey. And staring at it hadn’t managed to banish his edginess, either.
It would do a better job of relieving his tension if he simply drank it. He downed the liquid in one swallow. “My plan isn’t progressing at all,” he said.
“Yes, of course. Your ridiculous plan.”
Daniel shifted under his friend’s amused gaze. “I’m having trouble finding a highly respected woman who is willing to align herself with someone as—as unusual as I am. I believe ‘colorful’ is the most polite word I’ve heard used to describe me. Although I’ve also heard the words ‘bourgeois’ and ‘unbalanced’ bandied about.”
“Stop it.” Wentworth scowled at him. “With your title, you outrank everyone except a duke and the members of the royal family. Nobody would dare snub you.”
“Perhaps not openly, but once they factor in my shipping business, my lack of polish, my mother’s low birth, and the rumors of my father’s madness, I’m beyond redemption in the eyes of most members of London society.” He downed the contents of his glass in a single swallow, savoring the burn that turned into a spreading warmth. “The thing that provides me with the most satisfaction is the very thing these people find the most damning. My shipping business.”
“Why do you care what they think?” Wentworth said as he gestured angrily toward Daniel. “Why place so much emphasis on propriety? After all, your primary goal in this is to find a woman who can provide you with an heir, isn’t it? Why complicate the issue by insisting that she and her family also be paragons of propriety? Don’t you see your own hypocrisy?”
Daniel thumped his glass down on the sideboard and yanked the stopper from the decanter, sloshing another inch of liquid into his tumbler. “I know I’m not a saint, but I refuse to put my children through the same hell I endured.” He turned and glared at his friend. “You, better than anyone, know how much I suffered at Eton. You were there with me. How can you ask
7 - A Measure of Whiskey
Daniel sat in his drawing room, reviewing the documents he’d brought back from the Ambridge Club. He only needed five more minutes to finish them.
And then the front bell rang. When he heard Wentworth’s voice, Daniel let out a sigh of resignation, collected his papers, and then tucked them away in a leather satchel. He’d review them in the morning.
A long shadow appeared in the doorway, followed immediately by Wentworth.
“You’re early,” Daniel said. He cast an annoyed glance at his friend as he sauntered into the drawing room.
Wentworth stopped short. “You don’t sound happy about it,” he said. “I can leave and come back if you like.”
“No, no. Sorry. That was a lousy way to greet you. Please stay. Have a drink.” He crossed to a tall side table, lifted a cut-glass decanter, and waved it temptingly. “I have Glenfarclas,” he said in a wheedling tone. It was Wentworth’s favorite Scotch whiskey. He didn’t bother to wait for a reply and poured a measure into a tumbler.
Wentworth accepted the glass of amber liquid and inhaled its heady scent, savoring it before taking a sip. A smile crossed his lips.
“Happy?” Daniel asked, taking in the contented look on his friend’s face.
“Quite. You should have some, too. You’re too tense.”
Daniel poured a second measure of scotch but didn’t sip it immediately. Instead, he stared into the tumbler, trying to banish some of that obvious tension from his body. He focused on the reflected light from the fireplace as it brought the liquid to life. The amber echoes of the flames moved and shifted inside his glass.
He willed it to mesmerize him. For a moment, he almost believed he could read something in the patterns, like reading tea leaves. But then he frowned at the glass. He’d find no blinding flashes of insight here. After all, it was only a glass of whiskey. And staring at it hadn’t managed to banish his edginess, either.
It would do a better job of relieving his tension if he simply drank it. He downed the liquid in one swallow. “My plan isn’t progressing at all,” he said.
“Yes, of course. Your ridiculous plan.”
Daniel shifted under his friend’s amused gaze. “I’m having trouble finding a highly respected woman who is willing to align herself with someone as—as unusual as I am. I believe ‘colorful’ is the most polite word I’ve heard used to describe me. Although I’ve also heard the words ‘bourgeois’ and ‘unbalanced’ bandied about.”
“Stop it.” Wentworth scowled at him. “With your title, you outrank everyone except a duke and the members of the royal family. Nobody would dare snub you.”
“Perhaps not openly, but once they factor in my shipping business, my lack of polish, my mother’s low birth, and the rumors of my father’s madness, I’m beyond redemption in the eyes of most members of London society.” He downed the contents of his glass in a single swallow, savoring the burn that turned into a spreading warmth. “The thing that provides me with the most satisfaction is the very thing these people find the most damning. My shipping business.”
“Why do you care what they think?” Wentworth said as he gestured angrily toward Daniel. “Why place so much emphasis on propriety? After all, your primary goal in this is to find a woman who can provide you with an heir, isn’t it? Why complicate the issue by insisting that she and her family also be paragons of propriety? Don’t you see your own hypocrisy?”
Daniel thumped his glass down on the sideboard and yanked the stopper from the decanter, sloshing another inch of liquid into his tumbler. “I know I’m not a saint, but I refuse to put my children through the same hell I endured.” He turned and glared at his friend. “You, better than anyone, know how much I suffered at Eton. You were there with me. How can you ask
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