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with thick arms and chest. Geoffrey was taller and
thinner than either of them.
    “This is bad, right?” Joseph crinkled his brow.
    “Stand up, Phillips.” Geoffrey circled thoughtfully around a
mystified Joseph. “Right. I have to go home to dress anyway. I’ll bring you
something of my father’s. You look to be about the same build.”
    “Hale and hearty?”
    Geoffrey chuckled. “Similar sense of humor as well. He’s got
more around the middle though.”
    “Thank you, Geoff. We’ll make do. I’ll have to set you up
with my tailor soon, Joseph.”
    “You make me feel like a duke, my lord.”
    Arthur’s jaw dropped and Geoffrey roared with laughter. A
shared private joke was the perfect beginning to their partnership.
    * * * * *
    Dining every so often with the marquess and marchioness
would be necessary, Arthur had said, and Joseph agreed to comply with his
wishes, albeit with a little reluctance. Insipid, polite chatter while liveried
servants watched and listened was disconcerting. But he would have to get used
to such surroundings and mingling with the aristocracy if he and Arthur were to
have any success. Besides, Lady Sophia would be in attendance. The opportunity
to gaze at her would be a pleasant diversion.
    A long oak table, its thick legs carved in twisted spirals,
dominated the linen-fold-paneled dining room. Joseph was placed on the left of
the Marchioness of Richmond, a place of honor Arthur had said. The Duke of
Royston sat directly across from him, Lady Sophia at the duke’s right, which
meant the duke could not leer at her without being conspicuous. Disgust
bristled the nape of Joseph’s neck. A wrinkled, portly man ogling a girl who
looked as if she could be his granddaughter was just grotesque. Not only was the
duke presumably lacking in wealth, he most definitely lacked manners. Why Lady
Sophia allowed his suit was beyond comprehension.
    For the moment though, Joseph had the advantage. Unlike
Royston’s sidelong glances with slivered gray eyes, Joseph had a full view of
her stunningly low neckline, the pale skin of her bosom flushing a delicate
rose whenever she dared meet his gaze.
    Peel sat next to Joseph and it seemed when Lady Sophia
wasn’t glancing at him she was glancing at Peel. Her gaze was more confident
when turned on the lanky solicitor, the flush mellowing to a creamy ivory, the
curl of the lip knowing. There was definitely something between them.
    The marquess, his face lined too deeply for a man probably
only in his forties, occupied the far end of the table. Arthur sat on his left,
Lady Henrietta across from her fiancé in the place of honor. A flicker of joy
brightened Arthur’s face every time he looked at his beloved, a sight wonderfully
sweet to behold.
    Of the other men and women present, Joseph had only a
passing acquaintance. A few were potential investors Arthur had said. But most
were friends of the marquess and marchioness who had stayed on after Lady
Sophia’s birthday ball and who now eyed him with the same curiosity reserved
for the creatures in a zoo. The marchioness, at least, tried to engage him,
probably at Arthur’s behest.
    “Did you say your father owns the docks in New York,
Mr. Phillips?” Lady Richmond’s voice dripped with honeyed hauteur.
    Joseph looked up from cutting the succulent spring lamb on
the gold-rimmed porcelain dinner plate set before him. “No, ma’am. I said he
works on the docks in New York City. These days he takes care of the books—the
accounts—for a few companies.”
    “Oh my word.” She gasped in obvious shock, her hand covering
her mouth, her eyes clouding with incredulity. She glanced around at the
guests, whose own conversations had paused at her outburst. “Then how is it you
seem so well-educated and refined?”
    Joseph ignored the condescension in her voice. Maintaining a
veneer of civility took a lot of fucking effort around the half-witted upper
crust. “One meets quite a number of interesting people growing