(continued...)

"I shall be the first to succeed with Prudence Crewe where all others have failed because..." Tony grinned and sat across from Byrne, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa. Unfortunately, it was the one holding his drink. "I've gathered intelligence, listened to the sob stories of all the men who she's sent scampering away with a word or even a look, consoling them with drinks when I can afford it."

Byrne nodded, trying not to wince at the idea of the drink tilting and dripping on the very expensive wood trim. He couldn't abide messy things. "Yes. Much better than talking to the girl herself."

"Oh, I'll do enough of that when she's here. But I know enough about her to know that no one has ever tried to win her my way, which is the only one that will work. It seems so obvious to me, but these other fools have missed--"

"What way?" Bryne cut in, frustrated at resisting the urge to place something under Tony's drink when he put it on the table.

"They've tried flattering her looks, which she doesn't go for. They've tried interest in her art, which she doesn't believe. They've tried discussing books, at which she's trounced them handily." He ticked off each item on his fingers. "They've even tried pretending to agree with her ideals about women owning property and suffrage and all that stuff—"

"All that stuff." Byrne rolled his eyes. He didn't consider himself a great advocate, but there was something in him that understood women's complaints, bucking at the idea of being ruled by people who claimed to know better.

"Anyway, none of it works. She is not fooled. And I think that's because she is no fool. So..." Tony threw up his hands. "Why try to fool her?"

"I don't completely follow. If you think she is no fool, then why not agree that she should own property or—"

"Oh, it's not about that. You know me. I've never been political. I'm not one to get outraged at whether women vote or not. They're welcome to it. Tedious business. No, I quite respect her reluctance to suffer false praise and promises. Yes, I might flirt a little. It's only polite, after all. But, apart from that, I shall offer her the truth," he finished triumphantly. "You see now?"

"No," Byrne said, quite honestly. Sometimes Tony tended to communicate as if the other person was somehow privy to the thoughts in his head, which was never so.

"You should. I got the idea from you. You once told me that negotiation was nothing more than showing the other party you could give them what they want, while really getting what you want."

Byrne laughed. "I'd been talking of business, not marriage." He paused. "Though I suppose there are a few similarities, it's not a precise--"

"Both parties enter with certain needs, you said. I need money and she needs freedom. I think we can both be satisfied. She provides a dowry and I provide a marriage where she can do as she wishes... within reason, of course. She can paint and read her novels and have meetings about her high ideals with like-minded village ladies or even the lads at Cambridge. It's not far from here. As for me, I can go on as I have, maybe even get a steward to see to things so I rarely have to bother her."

"And being married and bearing your heirs won't bother her at all?" Byrne had to ask.

"Yes, there is that. But my part in it is very minimal. I'm sure she won't mind my absence after. You see, I've worked it out." Tony tapped at the side of his head. "Prudence Crewe is not some picky miss waiting for the perfect husband. She wants no husband, I'm sure of it. She's done all but beat contenders off with a club. As she is still on the marriage mart, something must be compelling her to stay, but it's not her want of a husband so I have cleverly devised to offer her... Well, I can't offer her no husband at all, but perhaps the least possible amount of husband. There now!" Tony stared at him, as if waiting for something, possibly applause.

Byrne only shook his head. "I hope it works for your sake, but I also wonder how well you know a girl you only met once or twice, that she would accept such an arrangement. What if she refuses you? Perhaps Prudence Crewe's reasons for not marrying are more than whether it inconveniences her hobbies or ideals?"

"Don't think I haven't considered that. When a woman refuses all men, one has to wonder if..." Tony sighed loudly. "Well, if she prefers women. But that would be no problem for us. If that is the case, she might find the heir business a bit of a chore, but so would I if she proves a less-than-eager partner. But we shall both suffer through it if need be. Granted, her suffering will be greater when it comes to birthing, but if she can contend with it—"

"Pembroke, this is folly. You are projecting ideas, not reality. If you don't know what her objections are, how can you truly counter them?"

"I have considered all possibilities. Whatever reason she has for not marrying, none of them apply to me. I hold, I suspect, the answer to all her wishes."

Byrne couldn't argue with this brand of reckless confidence, but he also couldn't agree with it, nor listen to it any longer. "I wish you luck." He excused himself, pulling aside a maid to ask her to take care of the furniture when Pembroke was finished, then made his way outside.

The gardens at Sculthorpe were overgrown, though the wilderness had a pretty way about it. Byrne hoped this Prudence Crewe would enjoy taming it... also a life alone in it. Of course, she, or what she might like, wasn't his concern.

Truly, finding a wife while important, was second to his true reason for being here. The real reason he'd been so eager to befriend Tony in the first place, but that could not be set in motion until Thursday. While he waited, it would be prudent to choose a wife among the girls here. It would save him time and bother later.

As for the candidates... With or without the undeniable fact that Miss Crewe was Tony's to woo and not his, she would not do for him. Even with her connection to the Dartmore line — where, it was said, she was the particular favorite of the duchess — she was still no more or less than the daughter of a country baron, which was nothing to him. Her dowry meant even less. Her certain advantages only ensured she did not need him, not for money and not for position. Not that he could offer position. Only a certain level of fame. Not even much fame. Rich young upstart that he was, he'd only been in the more prestigious papers three times.

It would be much more if he married right.

His wedding, when it happened, would tempt all the papers, gossip sheets or otherwise. If it didn't, he would pay for the press, just to be sure he knew.

Still, his bride should be prepared for the attention. Whether she was high-born or highly interesting, she had to have a story the press could tell. He just had to decide which bride would look most intriguing on the front page of all the papers...

WEALTHY INDUSTRIALIST WEDS NIECE OF DUKE

Cecilia Marbury was indeed the niece of a duke. She had been such a favorite of said duke that he settled every pence that could not be inherited upon her. She wouldn't need money, but she could likely be persuaded as she had spent six seasons without even the whiff of an offer as she was, it was known, no great beauty.

Not that she was terrible to look at. He'd seen her at the odd concert hall and they'd spoken a time or two when their parties collided. She seemed to be a great lover of music. There was something rather charming about her enthusiasm, but she was certainly more plump than fashion favored. He didn't care too much about that. With the right clothing, she would suit him well enough. But she wasn't the only option...

WEALTHY INDUSTRIALIST WEDS WEST INDIES HEIRESS

Miss Vanessa Poole didn't need his money either. She had upwards of fifty-thousand pounds on her head. But her skin was dark and, though Lord Mayworthy insisted she was no more than a promising young girl he took in as his beloved ward, everyone knew she was his daughter.

Byrne wasn't one to pass her over for the the color of her skin, nor for being illegitimate. He would be the worst sort of hypocrite if he did. For The Ton to see him wedding her... It would make every paper. He would see it, surely. What might he think? Byrne was positive he would disapprove, which only made Miss Poole more tempting. But he couldn't help thinking she was too rich to consider him. There was always...

INDUSTRIALIST WEDS FRENCH ARISTOCRAT - WHO ESCAPED BEHEADING!

That text needed some work, but some variation of it might be his best chance at his marriage being on the lips of all. Lady Adele Le Marquand was the most interesting as a public figure. Her family was old nobility. They had managed to escape France amid The Terror with their heads intact, but without a franc to their name. Her family now relied on old friends and relations to survive, feted from one month to the next, but without a home of their own.

She was a sympathetic figure, hearkening back to a time before the war, an innocent girl caught in the crossfire of a fight she had no part in. She would have to marry sooner rather than later, if only so her family could rest for a spell. Really, she encompassed everything he was looking for. She would need him, or at least his money, she was noble enough to raise his profile, pretty enough to turn heads, and her story would sell the most papers.

So far, she was his first choice, despite the fact that he had yet to meet her. But if it didn't work out, one of them would do. If not, he was still only ten miles from his true target and that would be in his favor. His instincts had yet to fail him. This party was, he could feel it, a step in the right direction.

At the very least, tedious as Tony thought it would be, it would be a sight less awful for Byrne than the parties he was known for. Still, they had also been a necessary evil. He could never be nobility, not with the circumstances of his birth, his religion, his country of origin. But if he worked at it, he could get as close to a position of influence as possible.

The wild parties, despite the way they taxed his staff and his furniture, had been a way in. If the old guard wouldn't accept him, the younger could be swayed — with a bit of spectacle, good food, and lots of drink, not to mention women.

Those, he hired, though he was careful to tell them they need not put up with unwanted attention at the hands of his guests. He'd nearly come to blows with a few miffed young lordlings who seemed to think they could do as they wished when a girl was unwilling. He'd had them tossed out and banned from future parties despite their puffing and posturing that they'd never associate with him again. He'd just as well not get into future endeavors with such vile coxcombs, anyhow.

The parties had been about more than just the connections or ingratiating himself to future nobility. He liked to observe how other men maneuvered when they believed they were free from judgment — which they weren't, not from his, at least. And the majority of them did not pass.

Tony was one of the few. While a bit shallow and vain at times, he was a harmless fellow. Yet while he did believe Tony genuinely enjoyed his company and even his more sober-minded advice, he didn't fool himself about him. He was sure the friendship would dry up when the parties did.

And the aforementioned Stanborough and Crewe were also tolerable. He'd never had trouble with them destroying his property or harassing the girls he hired to dance or sing bawdy tunes or... otherwise.

He always made clear to his guests that anything otherwise was at the discretion of the lady. Then again, Stan was successful more often than not. He didn't have to grab at them, just smile and say something or other that invariably ended up with them in his lap.

As for Crewe, he'd observed him as well. His chosen method seemed to be attempting to make them laugh. It worked for him about half the time.

There were a few other less than terrible young heirs. Sadly, none of them would be coming to this party. Tony was likely right. It might be deadly dull, and he didn't relish the idea of being tied for life at the end of it. But it was the next step and must be taken.

He stilled in the garden, noting a grunting, growling sound. Coming around the overgrown bushes, he saw the source.

"You again?"

The dog barely stopped its frantic digging under the only rosebush that remained alive. It only yipped and went back to its work, making annoying little noises. It was an ugly mutt and looked more like a dingy mop than a dog. In the two weeks he'd been here, Byrne had more than once nearly fallen into a hole that he suspected was its doing.

The gardener was so busy filling in holes, he could barely get to the rest of it. He'd told the servants to chase it off whenever they saw it, but he was positive one of them must be feeding it — a suspicion that was confirmed when it pulled from its hole a fairly fresh looking ham bone.

He picked up a stick, poking at his shaggy mane. "Go on, get out of here, you dirty mop."

But the dog only turned to him, looking suddenly delighted under the hair falling in its eyes, as he dropped his bone, exchanging it for the the end of the stick, gripping it hard in his teeth and trying to pull it away, its tail waving madly.

Byrne pulled away and held the stick higher. "I'm not playing with you. I'm telling you to go."

The stupid thing looked even more enthused, yipping and bouncing and running in circles, as if in anticipation of Byrne throwing the stick.

"Damned English dogs. In Ireland, you'd have too much work to do for such mischief. Have you seen what ye've done?" 

The mop had nothing to say to that, save for another enthusiastic bark.

Byrne put the stick at his side, refusing to humor him. "I don't care. It's not my garden."

He started away, but the mop tried to follow him. 

Byrne rolled his eyes and turned back. "No. This is not a game. Go away."

The dog gave another bark, this one more plaintive, tilting his head.

Byrne supposed he didn't have a choice if he didn't want the thing following him in and tracking dirt all through the house. He sighed heavily and threw the stick as far as he could. The dog bounded away, letting out several more excited barks all the way into the woods.

Byrne smiled... in relief, of course, as he made his escape.

He didn't have time for lazy mops masquerading as dogs or silly games. He had a large party to throw and, if all went well, an even larger one to plan soon after. It would be his own wedding breakfast, afterall.

TBC