Page 28 of The Rake and Lady Julia
"A Proposal For Preventing The Children of Poor People From Being a Burden to King and Country Through Educational Attainment," Penrith read aloud, his eyes on the pamphlet that Robert had carelessly thrown on the table, "Sounds a rather radical read for dear Major Charles."
"What's radical about wanting a literate populace?" Rob answered, surprised to feel a jolt of passion, "Education should not be for just the wealthy."
"I concur," Penrith agreed, "In fact, I am of a mind to join forces with those in Parliament who are seeking to implement some sort of nationwide system which might afford children at least one year of learning, before they are sent out to work."
"Are there many in Parliament of such a persuasion?" Rob questioned, earning himself a frown from Penrith.
"Yes," the duke groused, "As you would know if you bothered to turn up more than once monthly. Lord Purdew, Lord Scarborough, Lord Pariseau—"
"I'll do it," Rob said, interrupting Penrith before he had a chance to finish his list.
Penrith raised an eyebrow, a subtle gesture, but one which Rob understood well enough.
He would not respond, he thought determinedly, let Penrith assume what he liked. No, Robert William Montague could not be brow beaten by the brows of a perfidious, pompous duke. Not at all. Not one jot.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Rob growled, having held his resolve for all of three seconds.
"Like what?" Penrith was all innocence.
"As though you think you know what I am about."
"There is not a man in the world who would dare claim to know what motivates the Marquess of Thornbrook," Penrith was dry, "Though, if I were to hazard a guess, I would assume there is a female involved in your sudden interest in political reform."
Rob frowned and Penrith raised his eyebrow as he waited for Penrith to break.
"And if there was?" Rob finally countered, having decided that if he was going to fall, he was taking his old friend with him, "What harm? I hardly think your sudden interest in championing the poor lies only in the desire to have something to show St Peter when you arrive at his pearly gates."
"I couldn't possibly know what you are referring to," Penrith murmured, though a blush—an actual blush!—began to creep across his cheeks.
"Miss Charlotte Drew," Rob replied, delighted as he was afforded the opportunity to raise his own suspicious brow, "Yourbas-bleuis something of a bleeding heart, is she not? Methinks that your new venture into reform is more to impress her, than anything else."
"I couldn't possibly dignify your wild accusations with an answer," Penrith said, his posture rigid and irritated.
"Ah, but you just have," Rob grinned, further irritating his friend.
"I'll have you know that I am on the board of several charities which cater to the needs of London's orphans," Penrith growled, "I am the largest donor to the Foundling Hospital, and I am—"
"—Head over heels for Miss Drew?" Rob finished for him, his eyes dancing with merriment.
It was clear as the nose on Penrith's face—which was decidedly Roman and large—that the duke was smitten by Miss Drew. No man would go to such lengths to deny an untruth. His friend had been hoist with his own petard; he had agreed to woo Miss Drew on false pretences and now he had fallen for the chit.
No wonder Penrith was so irritable; he never did anything without plan.
"Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make the females mad," Rob quoted brightly, "Or rather, males, as this case would have it."
"I merely came for a quiet drink," Penrith said aloud to himself, with the air of one who was suffering outrageously, "And see what I have to put up with."
"I was enjoying my own quiet drink, before you interrupted," Rob protested, but Penrith was not listening.
He had stood to his feet and was donning his gloves—only just removed—still muttering to himself about the outrageous slings and arrows fate chose to shoot at him.
Robert, who himself was not averse to using the same tactics as Penrith when under attack—namely retreat and claim innocence—gave a grin at his friend's carry-on.
"A sincere question," Robert called, before the duke disappeared in a cloud of martyrdom.
Penrith raised an eyebrow but did not deign to speak. Though Robert did not begrudge him his silence, for he had delivered a teasing without mercy—and worse, to deflect from his own love trials.
"Does it work?" Rob allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, "The charity lark? Does it impress the ladies?"
