make a start and it is altogether on a more lofty plane. That is what I’m going after next.’
‘What have you discovered?’
‘Not a great deal as yet, but I was handed a clipped guinea at the wine merchant’s the other day. It had been used to purchase wine. Unfortunately he could not remember who had passed it to him. He has promised to let me know as soon as he sees another one.’
‘You can’t do it more than once in the same shop, surely?’
‘It depends how observant the shopkeeper is. And if the rogue thought he had got away with it he might be tempted to try again.’
They had been walking back towards St James’s as they talked and turned into White’s and the subject of coiners and, indeed, of crime in whatever form was dropped in favour of playing cards. Harry drank and gambled in moderation; he found that men in their cups often let fall titbits of information that helped him in his work for the Piccadilly Gentlemen. And there was nothing to go home for. He could attend soirées, routs and balls, he was always a welcome guest, simply because of his title, wealth and unmarried status, but he became tired of gushing mamas throwing their daughters in his way. He found himself reiterating that he had decided not to marry again, but that did not stop them trying to change his mind.
He could, of course, find one of the hundreds of ladies of the night to amuse him for an hour or two, but he had always found paying for that dubious pleasure distasteful. He went frequently to the theatre and enjoyed supper with the cast afterwards, but there was a limit to the number of times he could view one play, especially if it were not particularly well done. It was easier to spend his evenings at one or other of his clubs.
A four was made up by Benedict Stafford and Sir Max Chalmers. Benedict was a pimply youth of no more than twenty, heir to a Viscount who kept him on short commons, which everyone knew. Harry had never met Sir Max, but he was well dressed in sober black, relieved by silver embroidery and a white lace cravat, matched by the froth of lace emerging from his coat sleeves. With his sharp nose and chin and thin legs, he reminded Harry of a magpie.
‘You have the devil’s own luck,’ Stafford complained several hours later when Harry scooped up his pile of winnings. ‘Unless you take my voucher, I can play no more.’
‘Naturally I shall accept your voucher,’ Harry said, using the high-pitched voice of the fop, though he drew the line at a lisp. ‘But if you have scattered too many of them about, I wonder when I might be paid.’
Benedict laughed. ‘That I cannot tell you, but you are in no hurry, are you? I believe you to be prodigious high in the instep.’
‘So I may be, but neither am I a fool.’ He was idly looking at the coins he had won as he spoke, but not so much by a flicker of an eyelid did he betray the fact that one of them was clipped. He wondered which of the players had put it there and if he was aware of what he had done. The trouble was that it was easy to pass clipped guineas without realising it; they had once been genuine and their only flaw was that, after clipping, they were smaller and weighed less than they should. He put it in his pocket. ‘I like a man to pay his debts.’
‘Then I withdraw,’ Benedict said huffily. ‘Any other man would demand satisfaction for that slur on his honour.’
‘I am relieved you do not,’ Harry said, smiling lazily. ‘I abhor violence.’
‘I will toss you the dice for my share of the pot,’ Ash told the young man. ‘If you win, it will give you the stake to go on playing.’
‘And if I lose?’
‘I will take your voucher.’
‘Agreed.’
The card game was suspended while the dice were called for. Harry spent the time studying his playing companions. Benedict was a young fool, wanting to impress, to be counted a man about town, but he would not have the stomach for passing counterfeit guineas. Max Chalmers was different. He was thirty or thereabouts, not ill looking, though his expression was surly. His clothes were well made and his powdered wig one of the best; a vain man, he decided, then chuckled secretly at himself for his own pretensions.
‘Allow me to offer condolences and congratulations, Chalmers,’ Ash said while they waited. ‘I believe you have recently come into your inheritance.’
‘I thank you, though there is little enough to salvage and I am left with an unmarried sister to provide for.’
‘Is that such a burden?’
‘It would not be if our father had not invested foolishly and left no portion for her. My wife is not over-fond of her and is reluctant to offer her a home.’ He sighed. ‘If only I could find her a husband. You do not know of anyone requiring a wife, do you?’
Ash looked meaningfully at Harry, who frowned at him, but he took no notice. ‘What can you say in her favour?’
‘Not a great deal,’ Max said gloomily. ‘She is twenty-six and not beautiful, but I suppose you could say she has a good figure…’
‘Why does your wife not like her?’ Harry demanded.
‘She is too opinionated.’
‘Mmm, a bad trait indeed,’ Harry said. ‘Is that why she has never married?’
‘It could be. But she has been housekeeper to our father since our mother died. To give her her due she is very good at it. The house always ran like clockwork. That is half the trouble—if she comes to our house, she will want to impose her own ideas…’
Harry laughed. ‘Then you have a problem, my friend.’
‘Marry her off,’ Ash said.
‘So I would, if I could find someone to take her.’
‘Is she healthy?’ Ash persisted in his questioning.
‘Never had a day’s illness in her life.’
‘It seems to me,’Ash said thoughtfully ‘that your contention that she has little in her favour is false. She is a good housekeeper, can hold her own and is healthy enough to bear children. Is she particular as to a husband?’
Max laughed. ‘She cannot afford to be.’
‘You mean she would agree to a marriage of convenience?’
‘If one were offered, I think I could persuade her.’ He paused, realising he might have sounded unfeeling. ‘Of course, I would not let her to go any Tom, Dick or Harry…Oh, I beg your pardon, Portman.’
‘Granted.’
‘I would wish to know she would be dealt fairly with, not kept short of pin money or treated like a skivvy,’ Max went on. ‘She is, after all, a lady. Our family can trace its lineage back to Tudor times.’
‘Dowry?’ Ash asked, ignoring the kick Harry gave him under the table.
‘Alas! There you have me.’
Ash chuckled. ‘Not much of a bargain, then. How do you propose to bring this marriage about? Advertise her for sale?’
‘That’s
