"That's an awful lot of brandy for just one man," a voice called, interrupting Robert's reverie.
"I am an awful lot of man," Rob called back, flexing his bicep and offering a grin to his cousin Benjamin .
"More mass than muscle, I'm afraid," Ben replied, quick as ever, with a scandalised glance at Rob's midsection.
Rob sat up straight and pulled his stomach in; he was not fat! Why, just the other day, one of the gossip columns had commented that there was no better man to wear clothes than the Marquess of Thornbrook.
"At ease," Ben grinned, observing Rob's reaction, "I was merely jesting with you. Your stomach is as small as your vanity is large."
"Nothing wrong with a man who likes to keep himself in shape," Rob grumbled, though he was good natured, "What brings you to White's?"
"Michaels and I attended a ball at Lord Peterborough's," Ben winced at the memory, "We absconded once we realised there was no fun to be had. Then, we decided to make our way to Pickering Place, but the walk was long, and we were in need of refreshments for the remainder of the journey."
"You are both lost causes, if you cannot make it less than one hundred steps without stopping for brandy."
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," Ben winked; he knew all of Montague's secrets, "Ah, here is Michaels now."
Robert turned and spotted Michaels, weaving his way across the room on unsteady feet. After Oxford, when Orsino had left to join the army and Penrith had been busy with his ducal duties, Robert had fallen into a trio with his cousin and Lord Michaels.
They had been hellions of the highest order; gambling in Pickering Place, attending boxing matches in the Seven Dials, and drinking from dusk 'till dawn with the Prince Regent in Carlton House. While Michaels, and to a lesser extent Benjamin, were still hellions of sorts, Robert had taken a step back from the endless carousing.
He had wanted to take life more seriously—take himself more seriously. But, alas, when one has played the fool for so long, it is hard for anyone to see them as anything else.
"Saint Montague of St James' Square," Michaels called in greeting, "Can we tempt you with a night of revelry, after such a long absence? Word is that Crockford has hired a bevy of new girls for our ocular pleasure."
"Just ocular?"
"Well," Michaels grinned, "I didn't want to say, but they might tend to carnal pleasures too, if your coin is the right colour. What do you think? A couple of drinks, coupled with a couple of light-skirts?"
"I think I am far too long in the tooth for such pursuits," Montague said firmly.
"You have but a year on me," Michaels objected.
"But what a difference a year makes, old friend," Montague grinned, "When you are nearly one and thirty, you will understand that the choice you offer me is between pleasure now and pain later. I have no desire to spend all of tomorrow morning casting up my accounts into a chamber pot."
"You would if you saw Crockford's beauties," Michaels objected, but he knew when he was beat.
The three men made quick work of polishing off the remainder of Montague's brandy, before then heading off.
"Are you certain we can't tempt you?" Michaels called, as they reached the corner of St James' St and King St.
"Quite certain," Montague replied, and with a cheerful wave, he turned to make his way toward home.
It was not normally recommended to walk alone at night in London, but King Street was well lit, and the hour was not so late that it was deserted. Carriages, bearing their passengers to this party or that, trundled past, and Montague felt quite content to amble slowly home.
Montague's mind began to wander back to Lady Julia, and he found that his feet, almost of their own volition, turned the wrong way when he entered St James' Square.
Staffordshire House was to the left of the square, whilst Cavendish House was to the right. When the Earl of St Alban's first laid out the square for development, some two hundred years before, the houses of Montague and Cavendish were amongst the first families to acquire plots. The Earl had possessed the good sense not to place the two families side by side, and had instead placed them on opposite sides of the square, where they might glare at each other from across the gardens.
Montague had never paid much heed to Cavendish House, though his father, when he was in town, could oft be found scowling across at it from the window of his library.
The house was grand; a stucco fronted, three storey home, with a sweep of steps up to the front door, and perfectly proportioned windows which looked out onto the square. All was dark within the house, which indicated that its occupants were long in bed, apart from one room, just above the front door.
Light streamed from the French doors which led to a small balcony and, as Montague paused and strained to listen, he could hear the sound of female voices.
Was it Lady Julia?
Montague crept up the front steps of the house, keeping to the shadows, hoping that his elevated position might help him hear better.
