Byrne's further study of Lady Adele was interrupted by her companion. "Why, Mr. Byrne, your plate is empty."

"So I see."

"We passed you by several times, but you young men of business," Mrs. Fernside tutted. "So distracted."

Mrs. Baddeley had favored a less formal supper tonight, but he must have missed the part where dishes were passed about, yet another crime to lay at the doorstep of his fixation on Miss Crewe. "I'm sorry if I—"

"Nay, nay. I meant no ill. But all that toil can't be good for a person. I imagine you work so very much," the older woman sighed.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. No doubt she imagined he earned so very much. Despite the fact that he'd been, just now, studying Lady Adele, he felt rather put off her now.

"Now, I've no children of my own, but I'd wager boys all have simply ravenous appetites. Allow me to aid you in your selections."

Perhaps he was judging her too harshly. He had a certain wariness of help, especially from the English. If it hadn't been for his interactions with his family, who hardly deserved to be called such, his experiences since with the upper classes had sealed his distrust. But Mrs. Fernside, a paid companion — not an enviable position to start with, and he couldn't imagine the LeMarquands were paying her well — might not have motives beyond kindness. Some people were kind, he tried to remind himself.

He turned to her, giving her a slight smile. "I should be very grateful."

"First, you must try these potatoes." She passed him a platter. "I've no notion who the chef is, but I imagine he's from somewhere most exotic. They have a bit of spice about them."

Considering the cook was his own, Byrne knew very well that she hailed from Ulster. Still, he saw no use in contradicting her. He'd wager Mrs. Doyle would quite fancy being called an exotic chef. "Yes, they look very nice." He spooned some out.

"And this pork shoulder is so tender." She passed another platter, now pushing the food onto his plate. "And the carrots and don't forget these roasted Brussels sprouts. I've rarely had them this late after Christmas. What a rare treat!"

His smile grew strained. "Yes, very rare." He stared at his plate, piled with more Brussels sprouts than should be allowed. Damn that Mrs. Doyle.

"You must taste them."

"This very moment?"

The lady only nodded with an expectant sort of smile. "From France, you know."

"Yes, I'd heard." He'd been tricked into trying Brussels sprouts before, thinking they'd be a rare French delicacy akin to Escargot, which tasted much better than a dish made of snails should. Not so for Brussels sprouts. He'd been disappointed to find they were little more than very tiny, extremely pungent cabbages — so pungent that the smell of them wafted through the entire house when Mrs. Doyle cooked them, which she did far too often. She had a certain affinity for them and seemed determined to present them to him in every possible way until he agreed with her, with typical Northern Irish stubbornness. All had failed. Whether they were drenched in a béchamel sauce, covered in cheese, or hidden in a layered gratin, he'd never been fooled enough to taste them again and always sent them back to the kitchen untouched in protest.

He quickly tucked a bite in. "Mmm," he hummed, swallowing and exaggerating his enthusiasm enough that he hoped Mrs. Fernside wouldn't noticed he'd actually speared a bit of potato.

"I confess, I consider myself a scholar of food. And I've a preference for all things French, but my palate is nothing to Lady Adele's."

At the sound of her name, the girl glanced up slightly. It was likely the only bit of conversation at the table she understood.

"We'd been staying with the Allards — cousins of hers, you know, been here for ages — and Lady Allard asked, nay insisted, that Lady Adele help her choose the menu every week as everything she suggested was divine and..."

Here she launched into a sermon on Lady Adele's impeccable taste in food, lovely ideas on the rearrangement of furniture, how indispensable she was wherever she stayed, how she imagined she could run her own household like it was nothing at all. His suspicions were confirmed. Much like any kindness the English displayed, there was a motive to be found.

He supposed he shouldn't blame her. She was only doing her job, much like the other chaperons, all of whom seemed more aptly suited for the job of an auction barker when discussing their charges. So far, he'd thought himself safe. Mrs. Baddeley, despite her threat to find him a love for the ages, seemed focused solely on Tony and Miss Crewe, whom Byrne avoided looking at, casting his eye over the remainder of the dinner table. 

There were two empty chairs waiting for Miss Marbury and this friend she was bringing, in case the two arrived during dinner. Or was it a companion? No. Mrs. Baddeley had been so distressed about the continued state of uneven couples that it must be another young lady. He only hoped this one came with a maid. He'd already lost his scullery maid to looking after Lady Adele, though she insisted she could still keep with her other duties. If this one didn't have her own lady's maid, he'd likely be drafting his cook next.

Miss Poole looked bored, but that didn't stop Mrs. Garvey, who insisted on telling one and all how much the girl was enjoying herself, despite all appearances to the contrary. She seemed to focus her efforts most heavily on Tony and Lord Swinton. Lord Swinton was busy eating, but it was interrupted by every other bite dropping off his fork and onto a book where he was sketching. Byrne could only imagine it was more bugs, which he doubted were aiding the appetite, but the man has no such qualms. 

Mr. Walford, two seats down from Mrs. Baddeley, was proposing that they all indulge in a tour of the surrounding areas with what seemed like enough detail to cause Mrs. Baddeley's eyes to glaze over as she smiled and nodded. Walford was the only gentleman who had yet to experience a chaperon fawning over him for the sake of her charge. No title and not quite rich enough, Byrne supposed. 

Either way, the man didn't seem to be downcast at the lack of attention and likely only accepted this invitation so that he could more easily tour the grounds and buildings at Cambridge. He'd been talking quite animatedly of such delights since his arrival. No surprise, that. Having met with several architects on various endeavors, Byrne found they were often as enthusiastic about the work of the past as their own; ostensibly that of the future.

Perhaps Byrne could speak to him about his connections in construction. He surely had many. Once he gained the properties needed, he might require some experienced men — though his aims were less about building up houses and more about tearing them down, but responsible workers were needed nonetheless. It was a good thought and he was now rather eager to escape to the library with the men while the ladies claimed the drawing room, but Mrs. Fernside was still talking— now about Lady Adele's particular skill at arranging flowers.

Dinner was ending for everyone else, forks being set down, one by one, but he knew Mrs. Baddeley would not break up the party until every last one seemed finished. He pushed his plate slightly away, but Mrs. Fernside did not seem inclined to stop. He finally promised to endeavor to discuss Lady Adele's merits with the girl herself over a dance when they joined the ladies again. Endeavor being the operative word. Even with the girl's lack of fluency, he'd never got much more than varied giggles out of her.

As the ladies and gentlemen began separating, he found his eye returning to Miss Crewe. Tony seemed reluctant to let her depart and Byrne noted with a certain satisfaction that she didn't seem similarly reluctant, attempting to follow the ladies as he kept calling her back. At his last beckoning, she finally turned toward him and laughed quite loudly at something he said, then she seemed to be reluctant to let him go.

Eventually, however, the parties went their separate ways.

His planned tête-à-tête with Walford forgotten, Byrne approached Tony as the men convened in the library for cigars. He held his, but rarely puffed on it except to prevent it from going out, the nasty thing. "I see you've made progress with Miss Crewe," he observed, knowing he sounded sour. 

Tony turned to him, thankfully smiling and oblivious. "How so?"

"She seemed disinclined to leave you. And she seemed to be laughing a lot... at the end. I wonder at what," Byrne said, making his tone studiously light. Because this was all a bit of nothing, of course. He should remember that.

"Oh, that!" Tony rolled his eyes. "I was thanking her for the dog, said he might give me a new leash on life."

Byrne frowned. Hadn't she used a similar pun herself? Why would she laugh so raucously over something so...

"I thought it might get a chuckle or two, but she seemed to find it very funny. Talked to me more then than she had all through dinner, assured me how grateful the dog was, how sweet and biddable he would be, how intelligent—"

"Yes, the dog." Of course. "Miss Crewe seems to think it her mission in life to tout his virtues to one and all." That this was all in service of the dog made more sense than some sudden preference for Tony.

"I confess, I'm not so fond of the dog," Tony grumbled. "He's made an awful lot of trouble."

"Yes, he has," Byrne said eagerly. "And Miss Crewe is entirely too fond of him. You know, you could do better," Byrne began carefully, "find a girl less difficult to woo."

"Here, now!" Tony pointed his cheroot at Byrne. "I thought you were just congratulating me on my successful wooing."

"Yes, she laughed at one joke, and that's after you exerted yourself through three meals and a scavenger hunt. Perhaps if you exerted yourself half as much with the other girls," Byrne tried, "they might laugh twice or even thrice."

Tony waved him off, chuckling. "I grant you, I've not yet charmed Miss Crewe, but I've not yet tried properly. Tonight, I shall—"

"Aye, but you've not tried at all with the others. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Why limit yourself?"

"I will say I wish Miss Crewe were a bit more like Lady Adele. That one giggles no matter what is said and, though I doubt she understands anything that's said, it's quite flattering." He sighed. "But since the both of us are poor as church mice, a match is not prudent for either of us."

"I meant Miss Poole."

"Miss Poole? Preposterous."

"Because of her heritage?" Byrne peered at him closely. "I hadn't thought you prejudiced, Tony."

"I am not," Tony said, aghast. "I'll have you know I am quite the abolitionist. 'Oh ye who at your ease sip the blood-sweeten'd beverage!'  Wasn't it Southey who wrote that?" He shuddered. "Read those words when I was a lad and could not abide it. When I came home from school, I personally refused sugar even when my mother and father tried to force it upon me, if you can imagine such a thing. Aunt Dotty got them to let up, dear thing. Told them I was showing marvelous scruples and restraint and should be congratulated." He chuckled. "Then again, Aunt Dotty has always thought everything I do is delightful. Anyhow, all my sugar is East Indian now, every bit. Very expensive, but it's my one indulgence, so—" ***

"Admirable," Byrne droned, thinking Tony had more than one indulgence, but the English gentry did like to be congratulated on those rare moments when their scruples trumped their desires. "But being against slavery is not the same as being without prejudice. What have you against Miss Poole? The unknown circumstances of her birth? The color of her skin? Or is it both?" Was it strange that he was itching to argue with Tony, whatever the answer might be? Why must he chase Miss Crewe? Why not Miss Poole?

"It's neither," Tony said, tossing his words with such nonchalance that arguing would be one-sided, indeed. "In truth, if my father were alive, I'd marry her just to see the look on his face."

Byrne was tempted to take Tony to task for such a thought, but hadn't he thought the same? Her name and picture was still the second most likely to put his marriage on the front page of all the papers, the second mostly likely to catch the eye of his own father, if such a man could be called a father.

"Hell, I'd do it now just to imagine the old lout spinning in his grave," Tony went on.

"How very tempting for her," Byrne drawled sarcastically, now actually considering the words. For the first time, Byrne wondered what he was doing, choosing a wife based solely on how it might be seen in the papers, without considering what the wife in question might think of such an arrangement, of such perhaps unwanted attention.

"Aye, I won't deny it. She's more tempting for me than I am for her," Tony said lightly. "Look, Miss Poole is quite a pretty thing and Lord knows she has more money than I'd know what to do with. Honestly, I'd considered her just after Miss Crewe and she might have taken first place, but then... Well, we've met now."

"And?"

"And I've not a ghost of a chance with Miss Poole."

"Her companion seems to prefer you," Byrne pointed out.

"Aye, and the woman shows just as much preference for Lord Swinton. Miss Poole's benefactor has obviously set poor Mrs. Garvey after a title for the girl, such that even a 'sir' will do. But the girl herself might have her own ideas. And they don't include me. Nor do they include Lord Swinton. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. If Miss Crewe seems difficult to woo," he laughed, "we can easily say Miss Poole is impossible. Come now, haven't you noticed how she rebuffs me, even in conversation?"

"She rebuffs everyone," Byrne pointed out. "It doesn't seem to be particular to you. And you need an heiress to keep this place afloat, do you not?" This was really all for Tony's good. "I think you've given up before you've tried. With such a dowry, you could make this place—"

"This place," Tony broke in, waving him off. "I've no grand dreams for it. Nor for myself. I'm not ambitious like you, Byrne, and I never shall be. All I ask is enough to keep myself and Aunt Dotty comfortable. So I've no need of a Miss Poole nor a Miss Marbury."

"Ah, Miss Marbury," Byrne said quickly. "She's yet to arrive and I think you are hasty in—"

"Let's just be glad the pleasure has been postponed," Tony broke in. "She's delayed because of some friend, is she not?"

"I'm not sure precisely what has caused her delay, but I suppose—"

"Let's hope her friend," Tony grumbled, "is a little less... No, I won't say it."

"Say what?"

"Nothing."

Byrne rolled his eyes. "Now you must say it. You've seemed less than enthusiastic about Miss Marbury before, but you never say just why."

"And I will not do so now. It would be unfair to put you off her before you've met the girl."

"I have met Miss Marbury."

"Have you? Then perhaps you've seen it for yourself. She's a rude, smug little thing, isn't she? I only invited her because Aunt Dotty insisted she display her musical talents and keep us entertained, but I can't imagine why she would accept."

"Rude?" Byrne shook his head. "I'd only had occasion to meet her when our parties collided at the symphony, but Miss Marbury didn't seem rude to me in the least."

"Well, it might be that she's only rude to me. I rather suspected that. See, I'd had a party collide with her a time or two myself, and she seemed to make a pointed effort to be quite civil... until it came to me. And we've known each other for years, yet every time I see her, it's been thus. I cannot think what I did to deserve it." Tony frowned into his port.

"And her fortune would not be enough for you to try to charm her?"

"It's not about the money. There's more to it than that," Tony said and, to Byrne's surprise, he sounded quite serious. Of course, that changed quickly as Tony never did like to be serious for long. He laughed, shrugging. "Miss Marbury wouldn't do for me, even if she didn't loathe the sight of me. She'd be the sort to insist on being in London all too often for concerts and musicales and who would live the country life here with poor Aunt Dotty?"

As if summoned, Mrs. Baddeley opened the doors then. "Are you all still in here, you naughty boys? The girls are all quite eager to dance and have quite despaired of you ever joining us!"

Tony stubbed out his cheroot. "Why, Aunt Dotty, you're the naughty ones! We've been here so patiently waiting upon your summons. No one is more eager to dance than we are. Is it not so, Byrne?"

"Er... yes. Quite eager," Byrne lied. Mr. Walford and Lord Swinton sounded about as sincere as he did. Still, he'd paid for dancing lessons for three months leading up to this nonsense and he'd rather not consider it money ill spent.

"Then make haste," Mrs. Baddeley barked, softening it with a laugh as she flitted away.

Tony gripped Byrne's arm and let the other gentlemen pass, leaning in. "Don't worry too much about my prospects, Byrne. Like I said, I've not yet tried properly with Miss Crewe, but tonight... Well, people often get overheated when dancing. Perhaps a stroll about the patio will help."

Byrne knew it wasn't his business to ask but... "How so?"

"A little time alone can't hurt. Perhaps I can speak more plainly." Tony started off, but Byrne held him back.

"And what can can you say alone that you couldn't say at supper?" Byrne forced a laugh. "The only thing she talked to you about at any length was the dog."

"Precisely. That was a capital idea you had!"

"What idea did I—"

"If she finds the dog so charming, perhaps he's the key to wooing her. Wouldn't she want to stay here? With the dog she so loves? Now that I've taken him in... I didn't quite understand at the start, but now I see what you meant by it." Tony clapped him on the back. "You truly are the best of all possible friends."

Byrne glowered after Tony as he danced off into the drawing room. He hadn't encouraged Tony to take the dog in for any reason other than... Dash it all, he hadn't wanted to take the dratted dog in at all! But for it to lead to this felt like he was hoist by his own petard, even though he hadn't damned well meant to set off this bomb.

TBC

*****************

*** That sugar boycott was a thing that quite a few people did in that time. It started with Quakers in the 1780s and slowly spread to the wider population. By 1820, there were actual sugar bowls proclaiming that the sugar was from East India and not made by slaves. Slavery wasn't allowed within UK borders, but quite a few people got rich off outlying colonies. The Quakers in the northern US also spread this boycott, encouraging people to buy and shops to only sell "free" goods. Those in the south called them radicals (Quakers? Really?). Anyway, the sugar boycott didn't spread as quickly in those times as it would have today, but public sentiment did eventually turn so against it that slavery was abolished in all British colonies in 1833. Unfortunately, it took quite a few more years and a war for America to do the same. :(

Anyway, is anyone else obsessed with it? 

One word. Three syllables.

Bridgerton