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up around the
port. I ingratiated myself to the best among them, worked hard and gained their
trust and respect. In the mornings, I was tutored with the children of New York
society. In the afternoons and evenings, I worked. Nights I studied. I had to
scrounge in the trash heaps for enough candles.”
    “Goodness! When did you have time to sleep?” Lady Henrietta
blurted.
    Joseph chuckled. “Sleep is a luxury to the laboring classes,
my lady.”
    He caught the butler’s eye. The old man looked away in
horror. Even the servants of England’s aristocracy felt themselves above him.
    “I apologize,” Lady Henrietta said ingenuously. “I hope I
did not cause offense.”
    “No offense, my lady.” He smiled at her. He really liked
Lady Henrietta, liked that she said what she thought.
    “Might we know any of these families of New York society,
Mr. Phillips?” The marchioness seemed hopeful, perhaps a tad desperate for her
son’s reputation.
    “I sincerely doubt it, ma’am. Not unless you know the
Stuyvesants, Coopers, Schermerhorns and Astors.”
    “Those sound like foreign names,” the duke snorted.
    “I would assume so, Your Grace,” Peel said. “America is
known for its surfeit of immigrants. They are building a new country as
opportunity is lacking in their own.”
    Joseph hid a smile as he resumed eating his dinner. The
conversation quickly turned to more pleasant, vacuous topics, which suited him
just fine. It gave him a chance to observe the marquess and marchioness. Lady
Richmond wore a striped dress of emerald and rust, the green matching her eyes,
the rust-red a reminder of the former vivid color of her graying tresses. Lord
Richmond’s formerly brown hair was now graying in a frame around his face, his
green-brown eyes almost the twin of Arthur’s but with the sadness of regret.
The couple looked weary and seemed to merely tolerate each other despite their
having been wed for what must have been nigh on thirty years. So unlike his
parents. Mother and Father acted more like Arthur and Lady Henrietta.
    He glanced at Lady Sophia and caught her looking at him. Her
guilty blush sent an inappropriate shiver down his back. That morning he had
masturbated to a fantasy of her, to a remembrance of her body trapped by his
against the balustrade. But that fleeting moment of intimacy would be all he
would have with her, especially as her supposed fiancé was fawning possessively
at her side.
    The Duke of Royston was a dour man and utterly unsuitable
for the captivating innocent that was Lady Sophia. But marriage amongst the
upper classes was not for love and passion. Such unions were for wealth and
connections. Joseph had seen some of the daughters of American society married
off at far too young an age to men old enough to be their fathers. Probably
their fathers’ friends and business associates. The practice was despicable.
    Inwardly Joseph sighed. Men such as the duke and the
marquess were mired in history, in tenaciously preserving the past instead of
exploring new opportunities, planning new adventures. There would be more
evenings like this one. Joseph would just have to brace himself.
    * * * * *
    Geoffrey carefully negotiated the warren of dim, oak-paneled
passageways in Harwell Hall on his way to the drawing room. He did appreciate
that the Richmonds were modern enough to have indoor plumbing in their Tudor
manor but the journey from the dining room to the water closet was a bit
circuitous. Of course he might have taken a wrong turn at some point. Perhaps
he needed to visit the main house more often to get to know the place.
    He chuckled. Royston probably knew every blasted nook and
cranny in the estate for all the time he spent there.
    The next corridor should lead him back to the drawing room,
which was next to the dining room. The men would have finished their port by
now. He turned the corner—
    “Oof!” Geoffrey grunted as he crashed into a woman,
instinctively grasping her shoulders to steady