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longer,” Darlington said. “I have such trouble choosing cravats some evenings. If I dread making mistakes in the selection of a pink versus yellow cravat, who knows how difficult it will be to choose a wife?”
    â€œWives are like cravats in that you must simply determinemarket value, and make your decision accordingly,” Berwick said. “There are only a handful who can support you in the manner to which you will rapidly become accustomed.”
    â€œDamned if you aren’t going to be a magnate by the time you’re thirty if you keep being this intelligent, Berwick,” Thurman said.
    Berwick smiled.
    â€œYou are a magnate!” Thurman gasped.
    â€œDear, dear Aunt Augusta,” Berwick said, his usual thin smile somewhat more vivid. “Apparently no one had any idea just how interested she was in all those northern industries. Why, she funded an entire coal mine. Said she liked the shiny black color of it.”
    â€œMy God, once that news leaks, you’re going to be the talk of the ton . Every mama’s dream,” Thurman said.
    Darlington did what had to be done, what had to be done by any man whose friend has been suddenly elevated into the highest reaches of society, or at least as high as one can go without discovering nobility in the family tree. He slapped Berwick on the back, swallowed his rage. And then: “I have been thinking for some time that we have outgrown our little gatherings at the Convent.”
    Thurman gaped at him and Berwick’s eyebrow shot into the air.
    â€œThe whole business of the Scottish Sausage is growing tedious. I’m having thoughts of morality, which just goes to show that I’m growing stupid in my old age.”
    â€œYou ain’t old,” Thurman said.
    â€œI shouldn’t have done it,” Darlington said. “It wasn’t as clever as the Wooly Breeder, though God knows I probably shouldn’t have done that either. I can’t believe I did anything prompted by Crogan, who has to be one of the more repellent fools on the earth. In truth, I did it for the pleasure of herding about all the witless men who call themselvesgentlemen, and damned if I didn’t make myself as witless as the least of them.”
    â€œWitless? Everyone knows we’re the clever ones,” Thurman bleated.
    Darlington didn’t know why he’d spent so much time with such a cretin.
    Berwick was as intelligent as they came, and he didn’t show a flash of emotion at this sudden parting of boyhood friends. He bowed, as elegantly as any magnate. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said, a marked lack of interest in his voice.
    They had banded together on a whim, and it seemed they would part with as little ceremony, albeit years later. Darlington nodded at him, and nodded to Thurman.
    He turned and walked a few feet before scanning the room for a wife. But what he really wanted wasn’t money, a single woman as rich as Berwick’s Aunt Augusta.
    He wanted intelligence. Someone who was amusing and would talk to him, rather than reflecting back his own empty jokes. It was unfortunate that the task of finding her seemed Herculean.
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    He left behind a couple of dumbfounded men.
    â€œDamned if he didn’t mean it,” Berwick said. “I think he means to marry.” And then, after a moment’s contemplation, “The poor sod.”
    â€œPerhaps he’ll take the Scottish Sausage,” Thurman said, an edge in his voice showing that he didn’t take to being snubbed by the man he’d bought so many rounds for. “ She can afford to pay his tavern bills, by all accounts.”
    â€œHer brother-in-law’s as rich as Croesus,” Berwick said.
    â€œShe’s one that won’t be looking in his direction, though,” Thurman said. “The Sausage won’t be able to marry until next season, if then. Remember the Wooly Breeder?”
    Berwick shrugged. The truth was