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more interesting to talk to.”
    â€œBut you can’t marry someone who’s interesting to talk to,” Thurman pointed out, absolutely correctly. “And Darlington, you need to marry.”
    Darlington sighed. It was wearisomely true. If only to stop his father’s imminent apoplexy.
    Thurman never knew when to shut his mouth, and so hekept going. “I really thought you wouldn’t be invited tonight, and you know, if the Essex sisters shut you out, you’d have a demmed hard time finding your way back into society. Those women left Scotland, descended on England like a swarm of locusts and married every title on the market.”
    Berwick frowned at him. “Keep your voice down. You’re at a wedding ball for one of them, you ass.”
    â€œNo one’s listening,” Thurman said, looking around. The ballroom at the Duke of Holbrook’s town house had ceilings so high that even the chatter of hundreds of overexcited members of the ton just floated upward and resulted in a pleasant buzz. The orchestra at one end sounded like the dim hum of caged bees.
    â€œI suppose I should find a wife,” Darlington said, feeling ineffably depressed.
    â€œI certainly mean to,” Thurman said. “I require beauty, a sufficient dowry, and a docile disposition. Oh, and an impeccable reputation. After all, I bring the same to her.”
    â€œWhat a fortunate woman she will be,” Berwick said. “And you, Darlington? What will you require?”
    â€œA sensible view of life,” Darlington said flatly. “That, and a great deal of money. I am very expensive.”
    â€œShall we meet in an hour or so and exchange notes?” Berwick said, something of a genuine smile lighting his eyes. “I must say that I am thoroughly amused.”
    â€œWill you be looking for a wife as well?” Thurman demanded.
    â€œI believe not,” Berwick replied. “I was on the edge of that decision, but luckily I have been delivered from penury in the nick of time. And everyone knows that penury is the final step before marriage.”
    â€œSo you got some money from somewhere, did you?” Thurman said. “Is that why you’ve been out of a town for a fortnight? Did your father die? Can’t say I heard that. And you’re not in black.”
    â€œTsk tsk,” Berwick said. “I do have a black armband, albeit edged in a charming shade of purple. My adored and loathsome Aunt Augusta succumbed to some sort of malady while in Bath. Naturally, she left all her money to her beloved nephew.”
    Darlington felt even more depressed, but exerted himself to suitably compliment Berwick on the pleasures of financial stability. Unfortunately, there were no aunts, loathsome or adored, in his family tree. And even if there had been, he was the least likely to be chosen as an heir; his brothers were all eminently respectable in comparison.
    Thurman’s little blue eyes were shining as he taxed Berwick about his income. Then Darlington noticed that at some point Wisley had slipped away without a good-bye, likely to his wife’s side. He wouldn’t come to the Convent that night, or ever again. Darlington knew that.
    The days of the little circle of friends from Rugby were over. Wisley was gone. Berwick was rich, and Darlington couldn’t bear the idea of Berwick picking up a tavern bill. Thurman was a fool, but Berwick was not.
    If he didn’t change his ways, he’d be left with Thurman to spout his own witticisms back at him, and reflect his bad temper.
    Darlington shuddered faintly. “The search is on, gentlemen,” he said. “Wives.”
    Thurman and Berwick stopped talking about canal stocks in mid-sentence. Berwick raised an eyebrow. “The season just grew far more interesting,” he said softly.
    â€œI expect I’ll choose the right wife by the end of the evening,” Thurman said.
    â€œIt may take me slightly