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She bobbed a less dramatic curtsy and hurried away. Baines continued in precisely the opposite direction.

The passage narrowed, then opened unexpectedly into a small withdrawing room overlooking an inner courtyard which was empty. Beyond the parlour stood a staircase too narrow for formal use—probably a servants’—and beside that another door leading to what appeared to be an old gallery. He marked the arrangement mentally and returned towards civilization.

He decided Blackthorn had been built by several generations of men who disliked each other and expressed the sentiment architecturally. There were too many passages, too many staircases, and too many rooms from which another room might be reached without crossing the principal hall. Perfect for servants, lovers, children, spies, and anyone else with reason to move unnoticed. His spirits improved.

The billiard room contained three gentlemen and a decanter. Edward Finch stood at the table, lining up a shot. Beside him lounged Mr. Pembroke, whom Baines recognized from Judith’s earlier exchange regarding porcelain casualties. A third man, broad through the chest and elaborately dressed for so early an hour, occupied a chair near the fire.

The room itself had been modernized more recently than most of Blackthorn, though not with particular restraint: dark green walls, sporting prints in gilt frames, a massive mahogany billiard table beneath a brass lamp, and worn leather chairs.

Edward straightened. “Baines! Come save us. Pembroke has begun speaking politics.”

“I have done no such thing,” Pembroke protested.

“You mentioned representation,” Cranford corrected.

“That is politics,” Edward protested.

“I mentioned it only because Cranford says the Scots are incapable of governing themselves.”

The man by the fire lifted his glass. “I said no such thing.”

“You said they are incapable of governing themselves sensibly,” Pembroke argued.

“That is entirely different.”

Baines approached at a leisurely pace. The man by the fire was Lord Cranford, presumably. Mentally he listed details: late thirties, perhaps forty; expensive coat; rings on two fingers; a thick neck and powerful shoulders of a man who still hunted hard despite an increasing fondness for port, while a florid complexion and faint heaviness beneath the eyes suggested that neither pursuit had been neglected.

“Major Baines,” Edward said, “Lord Cranford. Mr. Pembroke you may already have heard destroying the house.”

“I object to the word ‘destroying’,” Pembroke said. “I have damaged only two objects.”

“Three,” Edward corrected.

“The vase was structurally unsound.”

Baines smiled. “Then I am relieved to meet a fellow victim of circumstance.”

Pembroke brightened. Cranford merely looked him over. “You are Baines of Renforth’s lot?”

Baines took the offered cue and made himself appear mildly bored. “I am Baines of no particular lot at present. Renforth has abandoned me to leisure, which I intend to abuse thoroughly.”

Cranford’s expression eased. “So you have come north for sport?”

“Sport, cards, decent wine, if Sir Lionel still possesses any, and perhaps enough scandal to justify the distance.”

Edward grinned. “Then you have chosen correctly.”

Pembroke gestured towards the billiard cue. “Care to play?”

“With pleasure.” Baines removed his coat and dropped it casually over the back of a chair.

For the next twenty minutes he played badly enough to seem human and well enough not to offend himself. The conversation wandered precisely where he expected: Scotland; reform; the government; troops.

Cranford considered the radicals fools but believed Whitehall more foolish still. Pembroke defended reform in principle whilst objecting violently to anyone who actually demanded it. Edward, apparently accustomed to hearing the same discussion every evening, contributed little beyond jokes.

Cranford knew more about troop deployments than a civilian gentleman ought. That alone proved nothing. Society fed upon military gossip as avidly as scandal, and half the country knew where regiments had been sent within days of movement.

“Your turn,” Edward said.