Page 54 of A Dilemma for the Duke

“Mind if I spectate for a while?” Hastings inquired, his tone amiable as he approached the card table where Sir Becket and his companions were engaged in a spirited game.

“Not at all,” Becket replied, glancing up. “Pull up a chair. We’re in need of fresh perspectives, Jackson here claims to have an unbeatable hand.”

“Bold claim.” Hastings settled into an empty seat. He surveyed the faces around the table, Lord Jackson, with his perpetual air of mischief; Mr. Cranwell, whose shrewd eyes missed little; and Sir Becket, ever the diplomat. “But then again, fortune favors the brave.”

Jackson chuckled. “Or the foolish. Care to place a wager on that, Hastings?”

“Perhaps later. I’ve just returned from a rather enlightening trip to London and thought I’d unwind first. Besides, I wouldn’twant to dampen your spirits with a string of victories.” Hastings sipped his brandy.

Jackson raised an eyebrow at the mention of London. “Enlightening, you say? Business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both.” He kept his reply vague as he leaned in slightly to invite curiosity. “Though, I must admit, the talks in the halls of Parliament were far more intriguing than any entertainment the city had to offer.”

“Then, my friend, you do not know where to go for entertainment,” the gentleman to Becket’s right jested, eliciting a chuckle from the table. “Speak to me before you venture there the next time. I can make some very intriguing suggestions.”

“Don’t listen to Jackson,” Becket interjected with a grin. “We all know that Lady Jackson would never put up with that.” The group laughed, as did Jackson, the camaraderie unmistakable.

“Politics can be a labyrinth of intrigue.” It was Cranwell’s turn to raise an eyebrow, “Anything in particular catch your interest?”

Hastings leaned back, swirling his whisky thoughtfully. “Oh, the usual murmurings. Parliament is abuzz with the latest policies, and socialites are entangled in their dramas… Though I did encounter some rather… intriguing discussions about certain financial irregularities.”

Sir Becket exchanged a glance with Cranwell. “That’s a serious matter. Embezzlement?”

Hastings offered a nonchalant shrug. “Hard to say without definite evidence. But it’s fascinating how funds intended for noble causes sometimes find themselves… misdirected. It’s all hearsay at this point, but it does make one wonder about the integrity of some philanthropic endeavors.”

The air around the table grew noticeably thicker. Sir Becket’s gaze sharpened. “If you have concerns about specific parties, Hastings, it’s only right to bring them forward. Whispers can beas damaging as outright accusations.” Becket studied Hastings carefully. “In our circles, such matters are taken seriously. Do you have concerns about any organization in particular?”

Hastings met his gaze evenly. “I wouldn’t dream of casting unfounded aspersions. Merely advising caution. After all, with the gala for the clinic approaching, transparency is of utmost importance.”

Cranwell narrowed his eyes. “The clinic? You refer to Dr. Manning’s expansion endeavor?”

“Indeed,” Hastings acknowledged, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “A commendable initiative. It would be a shame if any shadows were cast upon it due to mismanagement.”

An uncomfortable silence settled. The men shifted subtly, unspoken questions hanging in the space between them.

“Well,” Jackson interjected, attempting to lighten the mood, “perhaps we should focus on the game. Are you certain you won’t join, Hastings?”

He smiled coolly. “Another time, perhaps. I find observing offers its own rewards.”

As the game resumed, Hastings watched the interplay among the men. A bead of sweat formed at Mr. Cranwell’s temple—a telltale sign of discomfort. Good, Hastings thought, let the doubts take root. He reveled in the small victories, the flicker of uncertainty in Sir Becket’s eyes, the way Jackson’s joviality seemed forced.

Influence was a blade, one that cut deeper when wielded with precision. A well-placed pause, a half-truth whispered in confidence, and even the most steadfast men began to doubt their footing. They pride themselves on discernment, yet they’re blind to the currents beneath the surface.

As the evening progressed, Hastings caught sight of a young man lingering at the room’s edge, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, eyesalight with the naive hope of someone eager to belong. Hastings smirked. The young ones were always the easiest to mold. He lifted his glass in a lazy gesture, beckoning the lad forward.

“Mr. Hastings, it’s an honor,” the man began a hint of awe in his voice. “Thomas Greene, at your service.”

“Greene,” Hastings repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard your family name. Traders, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. My father has dealings in textiles. I’ve been hoping to expand our connections within the city.”

Hastings offered a patronizing smile. “Ambition is commendable. What brings you to the club this evening?”

Greene hesitated. “Seeking guidance, to be frank. Navigating these circles can be… daunting.”

“Indeed it can,” Hastings agreed, resting a hand on Greene’s shoulder. “And one must be cautious. Not all alliances are beneficial.”

“I appreciate any advice you could offer,” Greene said earnestly.

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