Another door slamming in the St. John house. Another heir lost to a useless wife. He will be in his study.

Hm. Denied.

You may find him enjoying a drink or two at The Vienna tonight.

About time the old whig got married, that ought to stop the rumors.

CARTWRIGHT

Come sit and share a damn cigar with me you arse.

He will be exclusively at Parliament today. Do try not to miss him.

Aren’t you tempting?

A son. IF I HAD ONE.

Congratulations on ruining the economy further.

Not Philip Hawthorne. Dear God.

not likely.

Shall he go home? No. . . perhaps not. To The Vienna instead.

Now that is interesting . .

“Dance with me.” Never a question. The words were low, delivered almost salaciously to her ear as he leaned down behind Vienna Finch, a smirk threatening to curl his lips — Carlisle’s gaze flickering down the column of her neck to the familiar jewels that rested there.

No

“Are you not resplendent?” He crooned with a smile, margins briefly hidden the crystal rim of his glass as a sip was taken from the bubbling concoction in his hand. “Enjoying the sun, Colette Greengrass?”