Sin drummed his fingers on the tablecloth and tried to pay attention to the discussion next to him. Why did men cease saying anything of interest when they sat at a dinner table? Six long nights of stultifying conversations. Of uninformative, tedious talk where he learned nothing but where the best brandy could be procured in Edinburgh and the latest racing rule formulated by the Jockey Club.
He eyed Winnifred seated at the opposite end of the long, wooden table. She wore a polite smile on her face, but the edges looked a bit frayed. He wanted nothing more than to secrete her away and make that smile genuine.
The man next to him chortled at his own joke, and Sin ground his back teeth. Thank the heavens the guests would be leaving in two days’ time. He was not meant for small talk and suffering simpering fools.
He sighed and pushed his turnips about with his fork.
“Then you agree with me, Dunkeld?” Lord Brandon peered at him from under bushy brows. “That latest prison reform bill was made in jest, surely. Only meant to appease the masses.”
Sin molded his features, trying to approximate interest. “Yes. But then all bills are attempts to appease the people. Very few politicians truly care if their policies succeed. As long as the goose remains fat in their own kitchens is all that matters.”
“How positively anti-monarchist of you.” Lord Abercairn swirled the wine in his goblet. “I didn’t realize that you had such democratic leanings, Dunkeld. You rarely speak in parliament.”
Sin grunted. Speaking was overrated. “Do you disagree?”
The man puckered his mouth. “Only with your conclusion. Placating the masses is often for their own good. Not everything needs a Machiavellian reason behind it.”
Sin narrowed his eyes. No, but more often than not, the people he met didn’t operate with the common good in mind. He opened his mouth to respond, but two figures at the dining room doors drew his attention.
A grin stretched his cheeks. Sin stood and strode for his friends. “Montague! Rothchild! How are you?” He shook his friends’ hands and accepted their backslaps. “I didn’t think you two would be able to make it.”
The Duke of Montague raised his eyebrows. “And miss the chance to meet your new wife? I hardly think so. I’m only sorry Elizabeth couldn’t come. She was most interested to meet the woman who would be a match for you, but I dropped her off at Rothchild’s estate. You know her sister is increasing with their first child.”
The Earl of Rothchild frowned, small worry lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes. “And it has been a difficult couple of months for my wife. If it hadn’t been for Elizabeth’s presence, I wouldn’t have left her.”
Montague coughed into his fist.
Rothchild pressed his lips tight. “Fine, I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” he bit out.
“Amanda packed your trunks herself.” Montague chuckled. “She couldn’t wait to see the tail end of you. Something about your incessant hovering.”
“I do not hover.” Rothchild’s nostrils flared. “I was merely showing the appropriate level of concern.”
Montague slapped him on the back. “The first child is always the most concerning.” He eyed Dunkeld. “You’ve been married about a month now. Any such concerns on your part?”
Sin stepped to the side as footmen carried past two more chairs to the dining table. He ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. He wanted a child with Winnifred, couldn’t wait to see her round with his bairn, but couldn’t deny that the idea of a baby coming from a union where only one parent loved was like a punch to the gut.
Which was nonsense. Most marriages weren’t love matches and the children that resulted from them had no ill-effects. “Perhaps you should at least meet my wife before seeing her pregnant.” He searched out her gaze and nodded, beckoning to her with his fingers.
Winnifred popped to her feet and circled the table, looking relieved to be free of her conversation.
Her skirt brushed his boot as she stood close. “Husband. Judging by your reaction, might I presume these are friends of yours?”
He placed his hand on her lower back. “Indeed. I present the Duke of Montague and the Earl of Rothchild, two of the veriest blackguards I’ve ever known.”
She pressed her lips together, but the edges curled up. Sighing, she turned to his friends. “I feel like it should be my duty to apologize for my husband, but since you’ve known him longer than I have, I presume you are accustomed to his unique manner of speech. Welcome to Kenmore.” She gave a short curtsey as Montague and Rothchild bowed. “Your wives have not accompanied you?”
“They wished to, but were unable at this time,” Montague said. “You and Dunkeld will have to visit us on your next trip south.”
“Speaking of,” Rothchild said in a low voice, “we bear an important message. Can you escape your dinner party for a few minutes?”
Silverware clattered against porcelain. Winnifred glanced over her shoulder and back at his friends. “I’m afraid dinner has just ended. The gentlemen are retiring to the east drawing room.” She sighed. “And I suppose I must lead the women to the parlor.”
Sin squeezed her hip. Winnifred wanted their home as empty of guests as he did. He bowed his head to whisper in her ear. “Almost over. We just have to get through the games and the ball tomorrow and then Kenmore will be our own again.”
She smiled up at him. “I can’t wait.” To his friends: “Gentlemen, I’m glad to have finally met you. I hope we can speak more when the gentlemen join us in the parlor.” Turning, she squared her shoulders and marched off, like a general to a battle.
“She was not what I was expecting,” Rothchild said. “Much more forthright than is conventional. I like her.”
Sin drew his gaze from her retreating hips. “I’m well pleased with my circumstances.” The men filtered out of the dining room, and Sin’s shoulders rounded. Duty called. “Shall we adjourn for some whisky or do you want to eat first and meet me in the drawing room later? I can have the kitchen send up more plates.”
Montague nodded at Lord Brandon as he passed through the doors. “We had a basket in the carriage. Let’s go play nice with the other gentlemen and we can have our private conversation later.”
Sin led them to the drawing room, his shoulders tensing when he spied Abercairn seated in his favorite chair. The only one in the room sturdy enough to not make him feel like he was about to topple over. He gritted his teeth as he trudged to the sideboard and poured himself and his friends a drink.
“What’s the lay of the land?” Rothchild leaned against the wall and swirled his whisky. He looked the epitome of bored elegance, but his eyes were hard as they flitted from face to face.
Sin raised his glass to cover his mouth. “Abercairn has been implicated in the recent riots but is as cagey as a sodding sneak.” He gritted his teeth. “I’ve learned nothing from him this past week. He never struck me as a Jacobite, but due to conversations with his wife, Winnifred suspects it is so.” Thank heavens she had more luck loosening tongues or else this house party would have been a complete waste of time. “I want to know the reasons behind his involvement. And put a stop to it, of course.”
“Of course.” Montague cracked his neck. “Liverpool asked us to give you whatever aid you needed.”
Sin squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “And it is most appreciated. Although you have already provided the best aid possible. Your shipments of grain and produce have been life-savers to my people. It is something I can never repay.”
“And as my friend, you never have to.” Montague raised an eyebrow. “Besides, what is the point of being the dissident duke who sullies himself in trade if not to help those I care about?”
“Charming as this show of amiability is,” Rothchild said dryly, “it gets us no closer to a solution. How do you propose to investigate Abercairn? As a member of parliament, we can’t just accuse the man.”
“I’m trying to make him think I’m supportive of independence.” Sin pursed his lips. “Which I am, but I want it done in the proper fashion and time.”
Montague’s lips twitched. “You are attempting a ruse?” He shared a look with Rothchild. “I think we’ve come at the right time.”
Sin pushed away from the wall. “I might be the bruiser of the group, but I can be stealthy when required.”
Rothchild smothered a snort. “Have you searched his rooms yet?”
“Of course.” Sin glared at Abercairn as the man threw his head back and laughed as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “My man, Dugald, found nothing.” He turned his back on the room and huddled closer to his friends. “Summerset was to search his Glasgow residence in his absence but I have yet to receive any report.”
Rothchild clapped his shoulder. “So, it is up to us to feel him out.” He nodded toward Abercairn. “Shall we have a go at it?”
Sin nodded and stomped to an unoccupied sofa near the earl. He plopped down and tried to think of another angle of attack. It seemed he and Abercairn had spoken of everything and nothing over the past five days. Aside from threats of physical force, he was at a loss of how to proceed.
Rothchild sat next to him and crossed one silk-clad leg over the other. “Where are Sutton and Summerset? I thought they were yet in Scotland?”
Lord Abercairn turned in their direction and leaned forward in his chair. Sin’s chair. “Last I’d heard, Sutton was causing trouble in Glasgow. Something about a fight in a distillery. Several casks of whisky were destroyed apparently.”
Damn. Sin hadn’t heard about that yet. Which raised the question … “Where did you hear that? I’ve heard no such report, and if the baron or Summerset found trouble in Scotland, I do think I’d be the first they’d write.”
“Would you?” The man licked the tip of his index finger and ran it along his eyebrow. “Perhaps you aren’t as informed as you think of your friends’ activities, or who directs them.”
An uneasy silence descended. Montague, standing next to the sofa, stiffened. Rothchild grew deeply interested in a scuff on his boot.
“I’m sure there is much of the inner workings of the British government that I’m unaware of.” Sin examined Abercairn’s words from every direction. Did he know Sutton and Summerset worked for the crown as spies? Did he know about the rest of them? “My friends don’t go about starting fights.” Not unless it was necessary. Or diverting. “And in these times of unrest in Scotland, I’m sure they’d know not to rouse unnecessary anger.”
Abercairn shrugged. “The line between necessary and unnecessary grows slimmer every day.” He glared up at Brandon as the earl stepped to close and jostled Abercairn’s drink arm. “Careful. Save the physical sport for the games tomorrow.”
“You intend to participate in the games?” Montague asked.
“Of course.” Abercairn finished his whisky and waved to a footman to refill his glass. “A Highland gathering is a way for real men to demonstrate their skills, and an uplifting display for our downtrodden countrymen.” He raised his glass Sin’s way. “I commend you for holding them before your ball.” Even though Abercairn was seated, he somehow managed to look down his nose at a standing Montague. “But dunnae worry, your grace. No Englishmen would be expected to muddy his boots in them.”
“I quite like muddying my boots.” Rothchild gave the man a smile that was all teeth. “Besides, as you say these are difficult times. I think it would be a good show if the English and Scottish were to join together.”
Abercairn raised his eyebrows. “I look forward to meeting you on the field of play tomorrow. Perhaps a gentleman’s wager would be in order?”
Sin tuned the voices out, having no interest in the Thomas-wagging contest. He and his friends had been agents of the crown for over ten years now. He supposed it was only to be expected that their activities would be uncovered with time. Since their marriages, Montague, Rothchild, and Sutton had cut back on the jobs they’d taken. As the thought of leaving Winnifred for any extended period of time made his skin itch, he supposed he’d curb his activities, as well. But if word was getting out, they’d all be forced into early retirement.
That would put Summerset’s back right up.
There was a lull in the conversation, and Sin lifted his head. Montague raised an eyebrow at him, expectant.
Sin grunted. Right. Host duties. This was why he never held ball or parties. He stood. “Shall we join the ladies?” Not caring if anyone objected, he turned and strode for the door. A footman swung it open just before he reached it.
The evenings with his guests were interminable. At least Winnifred would soon be by his side. He could survive anything with her next to him. Even two more nights of mindless gossip and failed attempts at espionage.