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of his soul, Alex might
want
to love the woman he would marry. That maybe, just maybe, he would realize Marlaine did not strike the chord in him that made him want to move mountains just to please her.
    Alex's gaze met hers across the table, and he very subtly lifted a brow, as if inquiring what she was thinking. Hannah shrugged helplessly. He smiled faintly and shifted his gaze to Arthur, who was relating some outrageous event that had occurred at a rout of the infamous Harrison Green, much to Edwin Reese's considerable amusement. Hannah had noticed that other members of the youthful set hung upon every detail of a Harrison Green affair, but Alex, as usual, looked bored.
    His mother was mistaken—Alex was not bored. He was quietly plotting to entice his future father-in-law into supporting a set of reforms sure to make their way out of the House of Commons next Season. Reforms that would lower the sky-high tariffs he was paying on his shipping line.
    When supper was concluded and the women retired to the green salon, Alex, Arthur, and Lord Whitcomb stayed in the dining room for the customary cigar and port. Alex absently watched the hands
    of the porcelain mantel clock as Arthur and Whitcomb discussed a pair of hunting dogs. Convinced the expensive timepiece was winding down, Alex checked it against his pocket watch.
    "Are we boring you, Sutherland?" Whitcomb grinned. Startled, Alex hastily shoved his pocket watch out of sight.
    "He's smarting over another reported loss from East India," Arthur said, chuckling.
    "That so? Never thought dallying in shipping was the way to go," the elderly earl remarked.
    "It would be quite profitable if the tariffs weren't so damned high," Alex said.
    Whitcomb shrugged. "Those tariffs also keep foreign grain from coming to our shores and competing with what you grow out here, son."
    "Yes, and when the domestic markets are flooded, it keeps the smaller farmer from exporting his grain to the continent."
    Whitcomb chuckled and puffed on his cigar. "Don't know why you'd worry about that. From what I hear, most of them can't afford the labor tax necessary to harvest the grain to begin with. It's not as if they are competing with your exports."
    "My point exactly, Edwin. Competition is healthy. This country is long overdue for economic reform.
    Taxes are strangling the shipping and agricultural industries—the system is antiquated and lacks equity. Just think of the profits you would realize in your factories if the labor tax was equalized across all industries," Alex said calmly, and took a long sip of his port, eyeing his future father-in-law above the rim.
    "Perhaps," Whitcomb said thoughtfully. "Can't deny the countryside suffers worse than the manufacturers.
    But I don't like the reform package the Radicals are pushing—they want to do away with the whole parliamentary system, I fear, and the first step would be allowing the Catholics a seat. Can't have that, you know."
    Alex did not immediately respond. Catholic emancipation was a point of great contention among his peers, but he honestly could not care less if Catholics held a seat in Parliament. "All I know is that we need relief and a
new, fair
system of taxation. Perhaps next Season we could work together toward a more palatable set of reforms."
    Whitcomb smiled as he drained his port glass. "I might be amenable to that. Always enjoyed a good fight in the Lords. Well, gentlemen, shall we see what the ladies are about?" He did not wait for an answer, but shoved away from the table. Alex and Arthur dutifully followed him to the green salon, where they sat quietly listening to the ladies talk of engagement parties for two hours more.
    Later, as Alex stood in the foyer with his mother, he heard Marlaine mention that she and Lady Whitcomb would return the next day to discuss the winter engagement party. He managed not to snort impatiently.
    Two days later, having escaped the tedium of Sutherland Hall, Alex stopped at a rushing stream so his