The dinner went better than Morgan had hoped. Pratt was neither French nor temperamental and had a family to support, so the food was ready on time with little complaint. If it was not as elaborate as some he’d enjoyed at this table, the quantity of dishes more than compensated for its simplicity.
More to the point, with the aid of some excellent wine and a few probing questions, Peter Wilton seemed willing, even eager, to tell Morgan of his family and his older brother’s hopes, both military and matrimonial.
“Richard’s been army mad since he was old enough to understand what 1066 meant. We played with soldiers for hours on end.” The covers had been removed and the four sat with glasses of port and an evening of amiable play ahead of them.
Rhys and an Oxford mate, William Gaffney, were discussing some esoteric astronomical discovery with the intensity only two inebriated intellects could command. Morgan gave Peter his undivided attention.
He sipped his port, wondering how much of Wilton’s childhood he would hear about before Christiana entered the picture.
“When my mother was ill with her last confinement, all three of us, even our oldest brother Henry, spent much of our time at Lambert Hill. Christiana’s brother was as keen on battles as Richard and we would combine our soldiers for some dashed fine fights.”
“Miss Lambert has a brother?”
“Yes.” Wilton nodded. “George. He is in Jamaica visiting an uncle.”
“If you three and George were anything like me and my brothers, more than once those battles escalated into fist fights and bloody noses. Did the Miss Lamberts nurse the wounds?”
“Christiana and Joanna were always underfoot. So we put them to work, constructing the Alps from papermaché when we reenacted Hannibal’s invasion and then made up battles of our own. But Richard tired of those games years ago.
“Father knew General Moore and after Corunna he finally consented to purchase a commission for Richard and in his old regiment. Now he is off on what Father calls ‘Napoleon’s version of the Grand Tour.’”
“Hardly the pleasure trip the Grand Tour was supposed to have been,” Morgan drawled and recalled the awful stories of the Corunna retreat. “Your father is Sir Howard Wilton?”
Peter nodded. “A second son who inherited when my uncle died from an inflammation of the lungs. Father was set on a military career himself. He loved the army but had only six months’ service before he had to sell out.”
Which explains why he was willing to let his second son go off and risk his life.
Morgan had dismissed the footmen with the covers and offered to pour Peter another glass of port. Wilton smiled, but covered his glass with his hand. “If I am to play tonight I must refuse.” His youth was apparent when he added, “I learned that from watching you, sir. You always have a glass at your elbow but you rarely do more than sip at it.”
The boy was observant. He would give him that. On the other hand, Wilton should have stopped three glasses ago if he truly did wish to keep a clear head. “I expect that your brother—Richard is it?—will find plenty of opportunity to test his skill at cards in the army.”
Peter laughed. “Not to be disloyal, sir, but my brother has no skill at cards at all, though he thinks he does. He told Christiana he would not play but, sir, I know there are battles, but there must be equally as many long encampments. What else is there to do?”
“Miss Lambert does not approve of gaming?”
“Oh no, it is not that, my lord. It is my suspicion that she wants him to save every bit of his pay.”
“Are they engaged then?” Morgan sipped his port and cleared his throat.
“Oh no, my lord! Not with Christiana’s Season and Richard in harm’s way as he is. It is only my assumption that they will one day find their way to the altar.
I mean she has been forever around our home and we hers. They get along well enough, and a union between a Lambert female and a Wilton male would suit my father perfectly. It will put an end to a squabble over some property that both families have claimed for four generations.”
Morgan controlled his smile. It was about settlements and not sentiment after all. “The land would be part of the marriage settlement?”
Peter waved his hand. “Some nonsensical arrangement made years ago that the land would go to the first Wilton-Lambert union, with the land to go to the male half of the marriage regardless of which family it was. Of course, there is no doubt that the property belongs to us. It is only that Lambert land borders it on three sides.”
Wilton’s words were spoken with a righteous indignation that he must have inherited direct from his father.
Morgan frowned. “Does Miss Lambert know this?” He could not believe that she would agree to it if it were expressed quite that way.
“I think not, sir. It would not suit her romantic nature at all.”
Exactly. But why did the phrase he had just thought sound so belittling when given voice by Wilton? He considered it a moment as he watched Rhys and Gaffney still talking with earnest intensity. To Wilton, Christiana’s “romantic nature” was a shortcoming and for Morgan it was an intrinsic part of her charm.
He could almost convince himself that she needed to be rescued from the machinations of her land-hungry neighbor. But that was not what this was about. It was a ruse to satisfy James, to win for himself the time he needed to earn his own fortune so he could declare his independence.
It was hardly a sacrifice to escort a lovely lady to such entertainments as they would both enjoy. If, in the process, she learned there was more to romance than a provincial land-hungry beau, then she would learn what dozens before her had. It sounded less noble put that way, he decided, and just a little more cruel. But then the truth often was.