Chapter 6
“It’s working,” the Duke of Rivers exclaimed, both amazed and triumphant.
“Of course it’s working,” Fennyman replied, rather indignant. “Why didn’t you think it would work?”
“I don’t know,” the Duke of Rivers returned. “The endeavor is a complex one and people often refuse to behave as one hopes.”
Fennyman snorted. “I know people,” Fennyman said quite factually, with an arch of his dark eyebrow. “I don’t make money relying on sheer chance. Any gambling house would collapse in a week if they did. No, human nature is quite easy to predict as long as one has enough information.”
Rivers nodded, the fact of it seemingly undeniable as the event had unfolded almost exactly as they had planned.
They were peering through a rather small hole which allowed them to overlook the ballroom.
Much to his credit, but also slightly to his discomfort, Rivers had put such spy holes all over his London house.
After all, if one was going to oversee a large operation, one had to know what was going on in said operation and be in control of it.
And the only way to do that was…well, to spy. Nay. Not spy.
Observe.
Fennyman had been clear on that point. They were but scientific observers studying their subjects in their natural state and then affecting them through subtle and sometimes not so subtle measures.
Now, Rivers wasn’t going to observe anything that he shouldn’t, but he needed to know that things were going as they should. Of course, some might cry foul, but one needed a little foul if one was going to win. That’s what Rivers had to say.
Some might say play fair. Those people were likely going to lose.
For what he’d seen over the years was that people who played purely by fairness often got trampled and he, well, he was not going to worry about honor and fair play if it meant making a better life for a few people he knew, which would eventually make life better for many people he did not.
“Apparently, you do know people,” Rivers affirmed.
Fennyman laughed and turned. “Well, we’ve been spending a lot of time figuring it out, haven’t we? It would be a bloody shame if I couldn’t do my job.”
There was a hard satisfaction in Fennyman’s eyes, as if he took great delight in moving people about like pawns on a board for his intended outcomes.
At present, Rivers was pleased to bits and pieces, as pleased as anyone like himself could be, someone who struggled to find enjoyment or pleasure in anything.
It was something that he didn’t particularly like about himself, but something that he knew the Duke of Westfort had in common with him. Just about everyone he’d picked had certain things in common with him.
An ability to get work done, an ability to do what was needed, but an inability to feel a lot of joy. Those were the people who needed help the most, because if they ended up in bad marriages, they would just burn everything down with their efficiency and drive.
One might argue that men like him drove women into bad decisions if they weren’t careful. And bad decisions ended marriages.
But Agatha Allen wasn’t like most ladies of the ton. She had qualities that meant she could handle someone like Westfort. Yes, Agatha Allen wouldn’t give two damns about a duke’s approval…because she did that rare thing that so few could manage.
She liked herself.
And just as Fennyman and he had planned, the Duke of Westfort was dancing with her.
It was perfection.
It was everything that he and Fennyman and their army of people who had maneuvered all these situations could possibly want.
And it was causing a near riot in his packed ballroom!
Everyone was watching. For the game had changed.
The Duke of Westfort was dancing with a lady far beneath him. A lady who looked like she knew how to have a good time.
He turned slowly and looked at the board covered in miniature portraits and information and sketches.
There were maids’ names, there were butlers’ names.
There were hat makers’ names. There were modistes’ names.
There were the names of nannies. There were the names of politicians.
There were the names of governesses and tutors, universities and, well, just about every sort of person that one could think of, from barmaids, to actors, to vicars.
There were likes and dislikes. Stories of distempers. Stories of family heartbreak. Secrets.
There were so many secrets.
They had gone over every possible scenario of every possible match, and Fennyman had gone over the vast collection of information like one of the greatest scientists in the world and begun to match people together.
It’s why Rivers had picked Fennyman, because his place was unlike any other gambling club in London. For Fennyman dealt in wagers. And his wagers always predicted the outcome.
Yes, when Fennyman put a wager on something, a prediction, so to speak, it always came true.
He could read the situation in such a way that guaranteed he would be right.
It was a remarkable skill, and Rivers was rather glad that Fennyman didn’t have the ability to control the monetary markets because if he did, well, he’d make more money than God.
Then again, maybe he should wish that the man did. Maybe Fennyman should have been in charge of it all.
“Right. Now, we watch, wait, and adjust,” Fennyman breathed, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Shall we have a brandy, Your Grace?”
“Bloody hell. Yes. Let’s do it,” Rivers said, feeling not exactly happiness but the first real wave of relief he’d experienced in a long time.
They crossed to the mahogany sideboard, assessed the grog tray, and Rivers selected a particularly fine decanter of cognac. He poured out two in crystal snifters that had been made in Italy. Those cut crystal glasses winked and shone with rainbows in the candlelight.
He handed one over to Fennyman.
The amber liquid sloshed about in the beautiful cut crystal glass and he felt a wave of satisfaction, which replaced the relief, unlike anything that he’d ever known before.
He was, of course, used to doing a good job at things, but this was somehow different.
That satisfaction suddenly deflated, a thing that happened to him whenever he experienced anything akin to joy, as if his body simply would not allow him to have it for long.
He ground his teeth and stared into his drink, as if the answers to the world might be there. They weren’t, of course. “It’ll work out, won’t it?”
Fennyman gave a strange sound. “Work out?” he echoed.
“Well, we’ve put it into motion. Now we have to rely on the vagaries of humanity, but I think these two are our best bet at present.
She has a glorious heart. He longs for love and, well, it’s a good start.
But we will have to keep them in line. They can’t be left to their own devices.
Especially him, or he will go back to what he’s always known. ”
There were several other pictures of other lords who needed wives and who were, in Rivers’ opinion, at risk of having terrible lives stretch out before them.
Yes, they were going to need to take care of all of that. They were going to need to ensure that certain meetings took place.
It had been no small thing uncovering that Miss Agatha Allen loved to dance in a way that she should not, especially to Mozart.
And it had been no small thing ensuring that her mother and father were invited over to discuss Oxford’s best breeds of sheep.
Rivers didn’t really care about sheep, but getting her papa over early to discuss such a thing while the orchestra was rehearsing had been vital.
And it had been no small thing to make sure that Westfort went down right at the correct moment, along the right hall, to ensure that he would spot the young lady frolicking about in the salon.
He lifted his glass and chinked it again with Fennyman’s. “You really are a master, sir.”
Fennyman shrugged, his simple but elegant coat stretching over his broad shoulders before he took a drink. “I’ve been watching people all my life. Once you understand a few key factors, they’re really quite predictable, you know.”
Rivers frowned. “I’m terrible at reading people.”
Fennyman laughed. “You’re odd.”
“Yes, I am.” He grimaced, wishing he understood why he was the way he was.
It was bloody isolating. “It’s frustrating,” he admitted.
“I can tell you everything about a book. I can tell you everything about a report. I can make quite good decisions on so many things, but people do the strangest and most irrational things, and they act against their own interests.”
A muscle tightened in Rivers’ jaw, and an ache squeezed his heart. “Fennyman, why do people act against their own interests? I don’t understand it. They do it over and over. All of the time.”
Fennyman winced as if he didn’t really wish to impart his wisdom.
“Well, Your Grace. That answer could take weeks and reams and reams of paper, but I’ll tell you this.
Deep in their hearts, people are controlled by two things, fear and love.
And most people are controlled by fear, and fear becomes shame, and then there’s all sorts of difficulties around all of that.
Then they just start making more decisions which will cause more pain and shame.
They can’t recognize the sham and gilding of things.
They’re easily tricked because they have ultimately betrayed themselves again and again.
But if you can get them in the right circumstances, love is the best motivator.
It’s just that fear and shame are faster and take root with sickening ease.
And I’ve seen my share of that at the gambling table. ”
Rivers hesitated. “Yes, I would imagine you have, and of course there’s your childhood.”
Fennyman narrowed his eyes. “I thought we agreed we weren’t ever going to talk about my childhood.”
Rivers lifted his hand in supplication. “Of course, you’re right. We did. Now, what’s next?” he asked, putting his glass down on the sideboard. “Do you think that we can let these two have their way? Can we turn to the next couple?”
Fennyman started to laugh. “Let them have their way? Only if you wish it to turn into a total disaster. No, Your Grace. You’re going to have to be a puppet master here and make your dolls dance with those strings,” Fennyman declared grandly, pointing to the board covered in notes and commentary.
“Otherwise, everything will fall apart.”
Rivers sucked in a breath. “Damnation, the mother.”
“The mother,” Fennyman agreed. “She loves her son. I’ll give her that, but by God, she’s willing to do some mad things to show that love.”
“Aren’t all mothers?” Rivers queried.
Fennyman’s eyes turned a strange fiery hue. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.
He blew out a breath. “Fair play to you, Fennyman. I’ll be more careful about making comments.”
Fennyman gave a tight nod. “Her mother will be no easy thing either.”
Rivers blinked. “Why not? Her daughter will marry a duke. A coup for any mama.”
Fennyman waggled his brows. He tsked and wagged a finger. “The Allens, which is why we chose them, don’t care about marrying dukes. As a matter of fact, it is their very dislike of people like the Duke of Westfort’s family that makes Agatha perfect.”
He groaned. His hat was off to Fennyman, who only gave him the amount of information he needed to get through a specific phase of their operation. Likely, if he’d known it all, he’d have thrown up his hands and cursed all of society, leaving them to their fate.
“You need to get Westfort closer to you,” Fennyman instructed. “Become his best friend.”
“I don’t do best friends, and I don’t think Westfort does either.”
“Then do whatever it is you lords do to ensure that you’re close and have more influence over him. You’ve got a good start here.” Fennyman pointed to a grouping of portraits. “But I think perhaps a little party is required for you and a few of these gentlemen.”
“Party?” Rivers drawled, for it was his turn to have a bit of knowledge that perhaps Fennyman did not. “I don’t want to host a party.”
“Don’t whine, Rivers. It’s not attractive.”
“That wasn’t whining,” Rivers defended.
“Yes, it was,” Fennyman returned. “And from a big man like yourself, it’s quite laughable. What’s so terrible about a party?”
“People,” Rivers stated. “People are what are terrible about a party. Notice I am here, not in the ballroom.”
Rivers perked up as an idea hit him. “What about a bit of boxing or fencing?”
Fennyman sighed. “Well, if you’d rather bloody each other than talk to each other, I see no issue.” Fennyman shook his head as if the aristocracy was an infuriating child he couldn’t control. “It does seem to be the way of you lot. Why use diplomacy when you can use your fists instead?”
“The world is controlled by fools these days, it does seem to me,” Rivers agreed sadly.
“A well-placed conversation is far more successful than a bit of fisticuffs,” Fennyman said quietly. “But if you emotionally stunted lot can only connect over sweat and blood? Box away.”
Fennyman brushed his hands together. “I know what I’m going to do with the ladies.”
“Fennyman,” Rivers warned.
“No, no,” Fennyman said quickly, even as his eyes danced. “I have no interest in such swans, Your Grace. They are too much trouble, and I, well, I have no desire to give my heart away as swans always do.”
Rivers wasn’t surprised by Fennyman’s sentiment. He rather felt the same.
He turned back and looked out through the small hole that overlooked his grand ballroom.
And he smiled slowly.
Everyone was staring, everyone was talking just as they should, just as he’d hoped. And Westfort? Westfort looked happier than he’d ever seen him.