Page 4 of Eight for Losing, One for Loving

Chapter 2

Hamilton,

Congratulations, Lord, but we’re falling like flies. I’m happy for you and wish you and your bride good fortune – not that you need any more good fortune. Indeed, if you could send some of your golden touch my way, I’d appreciate it.

I would have loved to come to the back end of beyond to celebrate with you – truly I would – but I am on a quest, an honourable one, and doing my best to be a Sir Galahad, or Lancelot. Wait, no, he was the one who had an affair with the king’s wife, wasn’t he? Not him. Galahad then. Anyway, it’s not going terribly well. Pray for me.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (son of Mr Nathanial and Mrs Alice Hunt) to The Hon’ble Hamilton Anderson (son of The right Hon’ble Gordon and Ruth Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven).

21st June 1850, Piccadilly, London.

“Leo!”

Leo turned to see Ashton Anson waving at him and pulled the tilbury over to let the man jump in. Ash took a moment to negotiate a space with Mau and sat himself down.

“Well met, Ash. Lord, where did you get that dreadful waistcoat?” Leo asked, grimacing and tearing his gaze away from the appalling apparition while he manoeuvred himself back into the throng.

“My wife bought it for me,” Ash replied dryly.

Leo choked, not having expected that for Ash was famous for his extravagant waistcoats. “Ah,” he said remorsefully. “Beg pardon.”

“Stow it,” Ash said amiably. “Where’ve you been?”

“Taking Violetta out for a turn about Hyde Park,” Leo admitted, glancing at Ash to see the same pitying expression Mau had given him earlier.

“The eternal battle,” Ash replied with amusement. “How goes the war for Miss Spencer’s heart?”

“I’m not dead yet,” Leo said resolutely. “Only wounded.”

Ash chuckled and patted Leo’s shoulder. “Courage, my friend.”

Leo harrumphed and changed the subject, not wanting to speak of his woeful love life any longer. “Where’ve you been then, and where is the lovely Narcissa? I didn’t think you let her out of your sight.”

“I’ve been visiting Larkin, and that’s not somewhere I’d take my wife these days. One never knows what one will find.”

“Ah. Yes, I went last week and tripped over a naked girl. Modelling for a painting apparently, but all the same, not something one wishes to explain to one’s wife, I suppose.”

“Quite,” Ash said with a laugh, and then shook his head sadly. “Was he drunk?”

“Not drunk,” Leo allowed. “Hungover. In good spirits, though, I thought.”

“He’s burning the candle at both ends.”

Leo nodded. “Yes, but he’s not drinking like he was. I thought he was in real trouble for a while there, but it’s more a lot of partying than drinking alone, which was what really worried me.”

“True. But he’s working all hours and out with that artistic set he hangs about with the rest. I don’t think he sleeps. At all,” Ash replied, shaking his head.

“Well, at least a lot of artists and poets are not likely to murder him. Some of the dodgy types he was hanging about with before made me fear he’d end up in the river with his throat cut. Still, whatever he’s up to now, it all might be about to change,” Leo said, falling silent as he negotiated a tight turn.

Ash waited until they were back on the straight and turned to Leo enquiringly.

“His father is coming and intends to shake him up.”

Ash winced, and Leo nodded. They both had a healthy respect for Larkin’s father: a war hero and a man not to be trifled with.

“Your mama told you, I suppose?”

“She did,” Leo agreed. “Lady Rothborn is one of her intimates, but I was sworn to secrecy, so for God’s sake, don’t warn him or I shall be in the basket.”