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tonight. I am dining at my club this evening.”
    He had not planned to eat at Brooks’ until just this very moment, but thank the heavens he thought of it. In addition, he would banish his inappropriate longing for Miss Branford by paying his mistress a long overdue visit.
    David took his leave, then strode out of the drawing room as fast as was humanly possible. He never imagined having houseguests would prove to be so unsettling.

Chapter Three
    The weather for the latter part of October was still comfortably tolerable. David placed his beaver topper squarely on his head, then left Palace of Westminster. For the past three days, he had worked inside the government office. In fact, ever since his houseguest had arrived.
    Not that he was avoiding Grosvenor Square.
    He looked up at the late afternoon sky. Instead of hailing a hackney carriage, he would walk back to his townhouse. A long haul, to be sure, but after discussions with Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, and Lord Liverpool, the prime minister, David needed to clear his head.
    This meeting had been in preparation for next month’s Parliament session. The upcoming debate promised to be a grim one. The summer’s unending rain had yielded a dismal harvest with the almost total failure of the potato crop, and in turn had caused a sharp increase in the cost of corn. Exports dwindled, fields laid fallow, factories dismissed workers. The list of serious woes seemed endless.
    Should a national charity program be implemented? Should there be as little governmental interference as possible with the liberties of English citizens, as the Whig stance believed? Or should the security and welfare of the state have more importance than any particular subject, which was the philosophy of Tory ministers?
    These were the pressing issues in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the rights of the individual versus the rights of the state.
    People looked to the Houses of Lords and Commons to cure the country’s ills. How could Lord Liverpool’s government bring about a return to prosperity?
    Enough politics! David shook away his dismal contemplation and concentrated on his surroundings. His steps had brought him to the road bordering St. James’ Park to the south. Birdcage Walk it was dubbed, so named because of Charles II’s long row of exotic bird aviaries set up along the path.
    As he strolled along the road with its magnificent trees shaking glossy dark leaves in the breeze, he inhaled the crisp autumn air. It had a bracing effect, enabling him to set aside the woes of England.
    It felt good to relax.
    “Ingraham!”
    David looked up and saw his friend Henry Penning handling the ribbons on his high-perched phaeton.
    Penning stopped his horse next to David, then leaned across the seat. “Lud, man, what the deuce are you about, traveling under your own steam, of all things? Why do you walk when you can ride?”
    “Thanks but no thanks, Penning. I have been sitting all day. Where are you headed?”
    “’Tis a pleasurable journey.” A smile brightened Penning’s face. “To see London’s new angel, of course.”
    “And who might that be?” Penning rarely expressed interest in any female, eligible or otherwise. Who had captured his friend’s fancy?
    Penning slapped his muscular thigh and laughed. “Ho! You’ve been so busy with government business that you don’t know. Capitol! ’Tis your very own cousin, man. The toast of the town — Miss Branford.”
    David’s jaw dropped. Miss Branford? Miss Bethany Branford? Her image flashed before him in his mind. True, she was an uncommon beauty, but to have already made a splash for herself in London society…
    He stared at his friend with unseeing eyes. For three days now, Miss Branford had resided in his house. And for three nights he had dined elsewhere. Their paths had crossed only once. She had smiled shyly at him, then curtsied. Her hair, sleek and smooth, shone with a healthy glow. He had bowed, then made tracks out