Chapter Fourteen
Bancroft was three sheets to the wind, but Sebastian needed him anyhow. Which was why he accosted Bancroft after leaving Augusta at the tree, dragging him to his carriage and telling his driver to take them to Bancroft’s townhouse.
Now, they sat in his study. Bancroft nursed a glass of water, attempting to undo the whisky he’d evidently been imbibing all night. His chin rested in his palm, as though holding his head up was far too much effort.
“A special license?” he asked Sebastian, disbelieving.
Sebastian nodded from his chair on the other side of Bancroft’s desk. “Yes. Do not try to convince me that you do not know someone who can make it happen. I already know that you do.”
Bancroft attempted a derisive look. Sebastian had never heard someone slur a scoff before, but that was exactly what his friend did right then.
“Fine,” Bancroft conceded. “Perhaps I do know someone.”
Of course he did. The man had studied Theology at Oxford - a degree which, it appeared, was more philosophical than practical.
Nearly half of his old classmates had gone on to join the clergy, rising quickly in the ranks.
At this point, it would surprise Sebastian if his friend did not know the archbishop himself.
“But…” Bancroft continued, sobering up slightly. “I would like something in exchange.”
Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Never one to help a friend for free, I see.”
Bancroft gave a rueful smile. “You have known me long enough. Why you expected anything less is beyond me.”
Yes. He knew his friends better than he knew anyone in his life. He ought to have known that Bancroft would demand his pound of flesh, drunk or sober.
“Fine. What do you want?”
Bancroft spoke so quickly that Sebastian wondered how long his friend had been waiting to give this particular request. “I am currently working for Lord Greeling, and he is gunning for a position in the Commons. If he had a viscount backing him, his popularity would see a nice enough surge for him to win.”
Sebastian grimaced. “You hate Lord Greeling.”
“Yes,” Bancroft nodded. “But I love winning. And I have decided that Lord Greeling is going to win. Whether that win also secures you a special license right now is up to you.”
It was an obvious choice. “Fine. I will back whomever you choose, just get me the bloody license by tomorrow morning.”
Bancroft scoffed again, this time with less of a slur. “I could have you one within the hour if I did not plan on vomiting instead. But since I do plan on that, I will have it for you in the morning. And thereafter, you will have an opening for a career in politics.”
God, this again. “Why are you so eager to see me work?”
“Because no dowry lasts forever, and if you end up penniless, then you will have to live with me. And frankly, Brightwater, I would rather die than see your ugly mug every day.”
Sebastian huffed out a small laugh. In an instant, his friend’s annoying idiosyncrasies faded away, and he recalled why he kept Bancroft around in the first place.
He was the only man in the world who could make him laugh at such a tense, uncertain time as this, wherein every tiny decision mattered.
And yet, Bancroft could look at it all and wave it away as though it were nothing.
It reminded Sebastian that soon, it would be nothing. His life would be back in order. Improved, even, with a good woman at his side, and children on the horizon, and a family legacy that he had restored.
“I shall let you get go about the business of vomiting, then,” he said, standing up and taking his leave. “Good night, my friend.”
He was about halfway through the study door when Bancroft called out, “Oy, Brightwater.”
Sebastian turned back, surprised to find Bancroft looking almost contrite before putting on another pursed-lip, haughty expression. With a roll of his eyes, he said, “I will stop calling her Piglet. Not just to you, but…you know, to everyone.”
It was as close to approval as he was ever going to get from Bancroft. Therefore, he had no choice but to accept it.
“Thank you,” he said. “You still won’t be the best man, though.”
Bancroft’s head shot up. “What do you mean I will not be the best man? I am…the best man.”
“Yes, but it is Browning’s sister that I am marrying, therefore he gets the slot.”
Bancroft made a face, crossing his arms. “I did not know that you sleeping with one of my sisters was a prerequisite for the position.”
Sebastian’s grin grew. “Yes, well, apparently it is.”
“Fine. See if you get invited to my wedding at all, then.”
Now it was Sebastian’s turn to scoff. “Your wedding? You have to ask the bloody girl, first.”
Before Bancroft could try to bluster some sort of defense, Sebastian sauntered off, leaving his friend to fend off the inevitable hangover that would bite him tomorrow.