by Dawn Brower
"A bit hot-headed, aren't you." Torrington raised his eyebrows at him and a quirky smile lifted at the corners of his mouth.
"A product of where I happened to be raised, I suppose." Rand shrugged.
Torrington laughed before saying, "In America? Yeah, I suppose that could be the explanation. From my experience most of you could take a bit of lessons on diplomacy."
"And you all could learn to be more accepting of the differences in all men," Rand retorted.
"Down puppy. I meant no offense. My wife happens to be American. She can be a bit...stubborn at times. Don't do anything rash," Torrington reasoned.
Rand had to admit that little tidbit amused him some. Torrington's wife must be an exceptional woman to put up with his arrogance on a daily basis. It would be interesting to meet her and get a more in depth look at her character. "Your wife's American? What state did she hail from? Maybe I know her family."
"Doubtful as they all died a number of years ago. Her plantation is being run by an overseer at present. It's located in Charleston, South Carolina."
"I never knew that," Devon stated.
"Yes, we're lucky it survived the War Between the States. She left shortly before the war broke out and sailed to France to live with her grandpere," Torrington explained.
"How ever did your plantation manage to survive the war?" Rand had to admit that he found it interesting that they had a plantation in Charleston that survived the war. A lot of the plantations had been burned to the ground by the Union army.
"Luck mostly." Torrington leaned back in his chair. "The union army decided to use it as a hospital. My wife, Pia, told her overseer to remain as neutral as possible and that allowed for a certain amount of leniency from both sides of the conflict."
"Well if we're done discussing business how about a bit of pleasure?" Devon asked.
"What do you have in mind?" Torrington questioned as he leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "I have plans with my wife this evening and can't be drawn into anything too extensive."
"How about a game of whist?" Devon asked.
"I have to be back in a couple hours to take Lily to that ball." Liam looked at his father as he spoke.
Torrington nodded. "Good point. Lily has a temper and she isn't afraid to use it. Best if you're not late. Why don't you take the carriage home and send it back for me."
"I can always give you a lift back, Torrington," Devon offered. "Although I'm supposed to go to that blasted ball tonight too. Gemma is expecting me to escort her."
"As much as I hate to admit it, I think we'll have to attempt more amusing pursuits at a later date. Maybe tomorrow night?" Torrington looked to Devon for confirmation.
"Splendid idea." Devon nodded his affirmation. He turned towards Rand and asked, "Collins, you want to go to the ball?"
"Can't say I've ever been to a ball before. Sounds fun. I have a few days before I sail back home. It could be a nice diversion." Rand had been watching them discuss their options for entertainment. It resembled a pugilist in the ring; they volleyed shots back and forth at each other and danced around any real issues. If he hadn't been so irritated, he'd be a bit more fascinated by their way of speaking to each other. He never had any desire to go to a ball before, but he could add it to his once in a lifetime experiences.
"Good, good. Then just come with me to my townhouse. My valet can help you get ready and you can help me escort my daughter, Gemma."
Rand got up to follow the earl out of his club. He nodded at Torrington and Liam. "Nice meeting you gentlemen. Perhaps we'll see more of each other before I depart."
Pompous jerks. His real wishes didn't even come close to wanting to see them ever again. He knew he'd see them at the ball later that evening, but hoped it would be the last time he ever laid eyes on them. They single-handedly made him restructure his whole plan for expanding his business. He didn't hold them in any high esteem. The meeting did not go as he intended it to. These men and their grand ideas, or lack thereof, had made sure of that. No, what he felt for them bordered on hate. He had to deal with uppity men who believed they were better than him his whole life. A person didn't grow up in an orphanage without having some lasting internal scars. The emotional distress the high class brought out was deep rooted and he couldn't let go of it easily. In his experience they didn't give a damn for anyone, but themselves. These individuals were not different. If he never saw them again he might be able to forget their existence.