Sebastian studied Drake’s expression. As usual, it gave little away. “I presume by insurgents you mean the Young Irelanders.”
Drake shrugged. “I imagine so, but until I get confirmation, I can’t be certain. After their failure in ’48, they retreated to lick their wounds, but they haven’t gone away. There have been various minor protests, but this is the first whiff I’ve had of anything potentially serious.” He arched a brow. “I have to follow it up.”
“Ennis is an Anglo-Irish peer.”
“Just so. And there’ll be other Anglo-Irish gentlemen at this house party.”
Sebastian caught Drake’s gaze. “So are the two issues connected—what you’re hearing from your Irish contacts and Ennis’s sudden wish to speak with you face-to-face?”
“It’s tempting to imagine so, but there’s no way to tell at this point. I have to go to Ireland and see what I can winkle out, while you, my friend, need to stand in for me at Pressingstoke Hall.”
His eyes locked with Drake’s, Sebastian considered, then faintly grimaced. “You said there were reasons—plural—why you selected me specifically to take your place. What are the others?”
“Just one, really. Out of all those of our ilk I might call on to attend the Ennises’ house party, you are the only one who can do so without appearing entirely out of place.” In response to Sebastian’s look of disbelief—he was heir to a wealthy and powerful dukedom as much as Drake was—Drake continued, “As you rightly pointed out, either one of us turning up at Pressingstoke Hall without some acceptable reason to excuse our presence is going to attract an inordinate amount of attention, which will fuel gossip and speculation—precisely what Ennis wishes to avoid. But Ennis sent a guest list. As you’re no doubt aware, Lady Ennis is something of a social climber—she invited an old friend and encouraged said friend to invite her more exalted circle, which includes Antonia Rawlings, who will be attending.”
Drake sat back; raising his interlaced fingers to his chin, he smiled at Sebastian. “I suggest you use your persuasive talents and convince dear Antonia to allow you to accompany her into Kent. The association between your families is widely known. As Antonia’s mother will not be accompanying her, no one will be all that surprised to see you acting as Antonia’s escort.”
Sebastian frowned. He could appreciate the scenario Drake had described. And yes, he suspected he could make it a reality. It would mean gaining Antonia’s support and spending more time with her than he had in recent years—indeed, than he ever had—but she came from much the same stock as he and Drake; he didn’t doubt that she would help him for the same reason he would help Drake.
After a moment of imagining, he shot a look at Drake. “Ennis is not going to be pleased to see me.”
Drake’s swift grin surfaced. “Not initially, but he will be. I’ll write to him and explain that I won’t be coming, but that I’ll send someone in my stead. Given Ennis’s trepidatiousness, it seems entirely possible someone at the house party is involved in whatever scheme he intends to bring to my attention, so I’m not going to put your name in writing. Instead, I’ll tell Ennis that my surrogate will be the very last man he’ll want to see.”
Sebastian groaned.
“No—think about it. As you’re one of his wife’s ex-lovers, Ennis won’t want you there, and his animosity will show. No one is going to imagine him willingly telling you—trusting you with—anything sensitive. You are the perfect gentleman for the task.” Drake’s smile returned. “Being Antonia’s escort and the hostess’s ex-lover…no one will look for any other reason for your attendance at Pressingstoke Hall.”
* * *
The following morning at a little before eleven o’clock, Sebastian walked down the steps of St. Ives House in Grosvenor Square. He was correctly attired for a morning visit in coat, waistcoat, and trousers. Idly swinging his cane, he headed for Green Street.
After his meeting with Drake, he’d dined with friends. Rather than join the group in a night on the town—a diversion that was increasingly losing the attraction it once had held—he’d returned to the peaceful quiet of St. Ives House. With his parents still in the country and his sister visiting friends in the Dales, only he and Michael were currently residing in the mansion, and Michael, as usual, was out.
Sebastian had walked into the library, poured himself a brandy, then slumped into an armchair by the cheery fire, sipped, and turned his mind to this morning’s endeavor.