Free What Isabella Desires by Anne Mallory

Sir Robert Peel piped in from the other side, insinuating himself in the group as well.
    Wellington sent an unimpressed look Peel’s way. The two were often combatants, sometimes friends, occasionally collaborators, frequently allies. This looked like an evening for the former.
    “Still on about the police force, Peel? I thought we had reached the end of that discussion.”
    “We’ll never reach the end of that discussion, Wellington. What about you, Roth, how goes it backstage maneuvering the Corn Laws’?”
    Marcus turned his back to the dance floor to keep focus. “A mess at the moment. Can’t get Rogers and Cartwright to stop fighting in chambers. They actually took to boxing the other day.”
    “Boxing? Each other? Oh ho! I bet that is a right treat to see.”
    Marcus smiled. “Yes. And if you ever have need to brush up on your cant, all you need do is lurk in the vicinity—Rogers must be hanging around the docks these days.”
    “Tell me it at least makes them more productive?”
    “Yes. I expect them to settle themselves into a full partnership soon.”
    Peel nodded, satisfied, as Marcus knew he would be. He’d gotten the implicit message that they had formed some solid outer party ties that would help them repeal the Corn Laws in the years to come.
    “I don’t understand why you deign to be involved, Roth,” Wellington muttered, nudging a fallen ribbon with his dark boot.
    “You never know when finding allies in one place will help you with another.”
    And he thought the Corn Laws were wretched, but he didn’t verbally espouse his beliefs often. He much preferred staying behind the scenes to manipulate the players. Much like playing a game of chess.
    However, it could be excruciating to wait for all the players to get in place and for the game to begin. It was fortunate that patience was one of his better qualities. He had enough bad ones as it was.
    On the flip side, sometimes things took too long and the players withered, or crumbled where they stood. It was all part of the risk of the overall game.
    “That is true,” Wellington said. “Allies are sometimes hard to find. And are sometimes blinded by their pet projects.” He gazed pointedly at Peel.
    “All it takes is a vote for my police force,” Peel replied. “We can compromise. London for now, the country later. We’ll have you in the prime minister’s chair in no time, Welly.”
    “Peel, do we need to meet at dawn?”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it. Have a new mistress now, didn’t I tell you? Still going strong in the dawn hours. Much better use of my time.” Peel waggled his brows.
    Wellington pointedly ignored him, turning to Marcus instead. It actually took a lot to impress the man these days. But he was still a fair man. And more importantly, he still listened to Marcus.
    “Roth, I will see you in the morning. Angelford.”
    Marcus inclined his head and James did the same, while Peel just smirked.
    James excused himself to dance with his wife, and Marcus gave Peel a look as they were left to themselves, on the edges of the crowd. “Amusing yourself?” Marcus asked.
    “Wellington can be as starchy as a twelve inch cravat.”
    Marcus tried not to be amused. Peel could be just as starchy. They were both good men. Friends of his, after a fashion, but too involved in politics and the like to dig more deeply into a real friendship. They both made excellent tools. And he knew they used him as well. While they played the public faces, he was the one with the contacts—with the network that stretched across London, through areas like Mayfair and the east end equally.
    Not every bill or act that became law was to his taste, but that was unfortunately the way things worked. He wasn’t sure when that had ceased to be depressing. He wondered if he was already well past jaded.
    He also wondered if Isabella would be appalled if she knew. She could be pretty rigid on what she deemed right and wrong. Politics didn’t allow for a lot of