Chapter 20

How did one manage courtship and debates in a single day? Not very well, it seemed, at least in Nicholas's case. He'd had Lady Mercy in his arms only a few hours ago. How was he supposed to deal with the inane arguments Lord Rayleigh kept spewing while standing in front of his seat at Parliament?

"The time to take action is now." Nicholas closed his eyes. "Every day we delay aid, families are suffering."

"You say the time is now," Lord Rayleigh countered. "But the time was now two years ago, and for all we know, it will be for the next two years. The Irish won't solve any of their problems if we are constantly sending them aid. We need to allow them time to make the adjustments needed in production and labor. Those families you speak of will be better off in the long run if they become independent."

The two of them had been standing for the past ten minutes without any sort of conclusion. Nicholas could see the rest of the lords growing weary of the conversation. The only thing worse than opposing lords were disinterested ones. At least an opposing lord had a mind Nicholas could try to change. Most of them men surrounding him seemed more interested in finishing this conversation and filling their own bellies than filling the bellies of the starving in Ireland.

Nicholas spun completely around, glancing at as many men in the eye as he could manage. Only a few even looked at him, and only Lord Driarwood managed an encouraging smile. The man had to. Nicholas was courting his daughter. This was futile. He wasn't his father, nor would he ever be. He'd almost kissed Lady Mercy, for heaven's sake. How could he expect these men to listen to him when he could barely manage to govern himself?

He didn't bother with a response. He turned and stalked passed the men sitting to his right until he had a clear path out of the chamber. If he wasn't doing any good, he might as well leave. Let the House of Lords have their dinner. He was done stopping them.

He'd been out of the room for only a few paces when he heard steps behind him. He didn't turn. If Lord Woodbury wanted to cajole him into returning, this time he wasn't going to be able to do it.

"Harrington." The voice behind him was not his old general's. It was too suave, with a bored drawl that no man who'd purposely followed another down a corridor should have.

Nicholas sighed and turned around. "Lord Bryant, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lord Bryant smirked, and his crooked smile simply managed to make him look more like an Adonis statue in a garden. Nicholas didn't have the patience to deal with him now. "I wasn't about to stay in that stuffy room after you left it. I only go because Diana thinks I can be a good influence somewhere. But, thus far, I haven't seen an opportunity for it."

"Perhaps if you'd dallied with fewer daughters of the men in there, you might have more luck."

Lord Bryant tipped his head to one side. "Perhaps." He lifted a shoulder. "But still, if given the choice, I'd rather impress those daughters of whom you speak than their fathers. They are much more pleasant to look at." Nicholas couldn't argue with him on that point, especially after walking out of the chamber unable to look at any of the men another minute. "That is my excuse, but what is yours? You gave up on your arguments rather quickly today. Is something wrong?"

Nicholas resumed walking. He didn't want to have to make small talk with any other lords leaving the chamber. Lord Bryant accosting him was bad enough. The man came beside him and matched his stride.

"Trust me. You are about the last man who would understand my concerns."

"Has your cravat gone flat?" Lord Bryant groaned. "Because if that is the case, you are right. I can't help you. I don't care one lick about cravats. But I'm fairly well versed in most any other subject."

"My cravat is perfectly well-behaved, thank you very much."

"But Lady Mercy is not?"

Nicholas coughed, but at least he managed to keep one foot moving in front of the other. Had a member of the Zoological Society been watching Nicholas and Lady Mercy when they were alone? Had Lord Bryant heard something? "What the devil do you mean by that? And be careful in your words, Bryant. I outrank you, and I won't have Lady Mercy's name besmirched."

"Ah, touched a nerve, have I? I wouldn't besmirch Lady Mercy. She is lovely, and even more lovely because of that mischievous glint in her eye. She is trouble of the highest and best nature. I was only wondering if she finally managed to crack that perfect gentleman's demeanor of yours? Heaven knows we are all waiting."

Nicholas scoffed. Him? A perfect gentlemen? That only showed how little Lord Bryant knew of him. "Trust me. I will crack long before she tries to manage me in any way."

"What makes you—" Lord Bryant stopped. He grabbed Nicholas by the elbow, pulling him to a stop as well. In just a few more feet, they would be out of the building and he could put a stop to this undignified conversation. "You've cracked already, haven't you? Well, well, well."

"No, I haven't cracked." He couldn't allow Lord Bryant to get the wrong impression. Lady Mercy's reputation was at stake.

"But you wouldn't mind cracking. Is that what you are saying?"

"No. I mean yes." Nicholas ran a hand through his hair. He would be in his carriage in a moment anyway, so he shouldn't have to see anyone else. He sighed. "What I mean is she might have seen me... that is to say... she might have deduced from my treatment of her that I am not uninterested in... um..." When did he become such a bumbling idiot? "In cracking."

Lord Bryant did nothing. Said nothing. He stood in the corridor with his hand on his hip, staring at Nicholas as if he were an unanswered but elementary mathematical problem. After a moment, he dropped his hand. "And?"

"And what?"

Lord Bryant raised his eyes to the ceiling as if Nicholas were an exasperating child. "How did Lady Mercy react?"

"She was shocked."

"No."

"Yes, she was. I'm a thousand steps ahead of her in this courtship. I'd happily make her my wife tomorrow." Happy was not at all the right word to describe the way his body reacted to the idea of calling her his wife. For a plan he'd been more than hesitant about when Ottersby had first mentioned it, he was suddenly quite taken with the idea of becoming a married man.

"You could always ask her."

"To marry me?"

"I suppose that would work. It does leave you open for rejection. But I meant ask her if she wants you to ask her to marry her."

"That feels a bit convoluted."

"It sounds like giving the young woman a choice."

Blast. It was a sad day in London when Lord Bryant was the voice of reason when it came to women. But the man had a point.