Chapter Nineteen
Bancroft did not begrudge his friend for falling in love. Every man was liable to make mistakes.
He did, however, vow to be the one to bring his friend to reality once again. It was in Brightwater’s best interests to join the Tories, to make a respectable name for himself. The man was a viscount, for God’s sake.
In the meantime, Bancroft would ensure that some woman did not allow that name to become muddled with the affairs of the heart. He simply did not know how to accomplish it. Somewhere along the way, Brightwater had failed to see his wife for what she was - a means to an end.
No, he now saw her with the vignette of a man in love, wherein the object of his affection was the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.
He no longer laughed at the name ‘Piglet’ or noticed Miss Browning’s (no, Lady Brightwater’s) downcast expressions.
The man was not seeing the world as it was.
As Bancroft’s carriage strode down a side alley, attempting to thwart traffic, the most curious bit of good fortune fell upon him.
He looked out his window in contemplation, and there, exiting the home of Lord Wallingford, was the Lady Brightwater herself.
She walked next to a man, well-dressed but certainly common.
My wife is visiting Miss Greene today.
And it was odd. Was it not? That she would not be where she’d said she was. That she was with someone whom Bancroft did not recognize - and he recognized everyone in the ton.
He sat back in his seat, feeling the beginning of a lot of questions with answers that might, if he was smart, accomplish his goals quite nicely.