"I did." Weldon's voice was edged. "He referred me to you."
Melbourne's eyes became opaque as he weighed his response. "I'll look into the matter, but I can't promise anything. The political situation is difficult just now, very difficult. The Tories are baying at our heels, and my ministry may fall within a matter of weeks. This isn't a good time to do something that could give the appearance of impropriety." He gave a quick, meaningless politician's smile. "Best to let it rest for the time being, Sir Charles. Now I really must go. There's a gentleman I must speak to."
As the prime minister vanished, Weldon stood still, numb with shock, not noticing the buffeting of the guests around him. Bloody, bloody hell! He knew enough of politicians to recognize that his expectation of a barony had just received a deathblow.
In theory, the government granted honors for outstanding service to the nation; military heroes were routinely ennobled. If honors also went to men whose greatest service was their financial support of the political party in power, well, that was the way of the world.
Weldon's baronetcy had cost him twenty thousand pounds, plus other favors over a number of years. Since then, he had contributed another hundred thousand pounds to the Whigs with the unspoken understanding that he would receive a peerage in return.
A hundred thousand pounds was an enormous fortune, more than large enough to save him in his current difficulties. Now the money was gone, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it because—in theory—he had contributed from his love for the Whig party, with no expectation of reward.
The excuse Melbourne had given was nonsense. The Whig ministry had been weak for some time. If it was on the verge of falling, the Whigs would use the final hours to pass out honors with a liberal hand. That also was the way of the world.
Only after Weldon had worked through to that point did he ask himself what had gone wrong. It wasn't like a politician to alienate an important contributor. Though nothing had ever been stated bluntly, Weldon had been assured he would receive his barony. What the hell had gone wrong?
The question rapidly broadened to embrace his whole life. At the beginning of the summer, he had been on top of the world: his businesses were prospering, the title he had always craved had been within his grasp, and he had been betrothed to a highborn woman whose status and fortune would enhance his.
Now, like Job, he was seeing everything turn to ashes. His betrothed had betrayed him, he was on the verge of personal bankruptcy, and his most important business would collapse if the legal problems were not solved very soon. It was as if some malign fate had chosen to destroy his personal and public lives.
The realization that other guests were giving him concerned glances reminded Weldon where he was. He rearranged his expression to conceal his inner turmoil. When business was bad, one must always look confident. Fear would bring the jackals to gnaw on his bones.
He began to make his way along the edge of the ballroom, trying to look purposeful, when suddenly the swirling currents of the party brought him face-to-face with Prince Peregrine. There was a suspended moment while the two men looked at each other. The prince's expression was guarded, but not unfriendly.
Remembering his earlier plan to make peace with the barbarian, Weldon forced himself to smile politely. The barony might be gone, but his financial situation could still be salvaged. "Good evening, Your Highness."
"Good evening." The Kafir nodded toward the center of the ballroom. "This reminds me of a riot in Calcutta."
Thinking that the other man's civility was encouraging, Weldon said, "It certainly is a crush. The Sanfords don't do anything by halves." He put a dash of manly regret in his voice. "I owe you a considerable apology. The last time we met—well, I said some unforgivable things. Quite unforgivable."
Peregrine gave a deprecating flick of his fingers. "You were distraught. Who could blame you for speaking intemperately under such difficult circumstances? To find your woman in another man's arms—every man's greatest nightmare."
"Exactly." Weldon seized on the other man's offered excuse, even as it infuriated him. "Especially when the man is a good friend. Besides being upset for my own sake, I was concerned for Lady Sara. In her innocence, I feared that she might have fallen victim to a casual seducer. But it wasn't simple seduction, was it? The fact that you married her leads me to suppose that it was love rather than mere lust. Since that is the case, I must wish you both happiness."
Peregrine's expression was satirical, but he said only, "I also owe you an apology, for betraying our friendship."
"Friendship often ends where a woman begins." Weldon shrugged. "My loss is your gain. I hope that you and I can put that behind us and be friends again.''