Page 45 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“A philanthropic bent, perhaps,” Damon replied.

“You? Philanthropy?” Asher stated incredulously.

“I know. It beggars belief. We can toss aside the new prospective members if they do not want to participate. It means that you both, and Gideon, could rejoin. Brandon Knight as well, when he returns to London. Even our absentee friend, Huxley. I will need assistance in one particular area.”

Damon told his friends of Chellenhome, what he and Althea had discovered, and his father’s part in it all. Christian and Asher ceased eating and were looking at him with a mixture of shock and empathy.

“I do not know what to say. A mill and farm? A foundling home dealing in illegitimate children for profit?” Christian exclaimed. “My God, your father is worse than any of us believed. Or was—past tense.”

“He was. Past tense, and good riddance. I know Gideon has joined Viscount Hawkestone’s progressive group within Parliament. Do you think Hawkestone would be interested in this endeavor?”

“Actually, Christian and I recently attached ourselves to that Hornsby venture,” Asher interjected. “And you will never believe this; Oliver Wollstonecraft was there sitting alongside his grandfather, the Earl of Carnstone, and has been for months. I know Oliver was recently made a member of The Rakes. He would no doubt be interested in your plan.”

Damon didn’t know Wollstonecraft all that well, never bothered to even carry on a conversation with the man until he had offered Damon condolences at the duke’s funeral.

“He’s a prospect, not a full member,” Damon muttered. “I’ll certainly consider it.” His friends gave him a dubious look. “I mean what I say. If Wollstonecraft is interested, why not, indeed?”

“Gideon invited you to join Tremain Hornsby’s—Hawkestone’s—progressive group, did he not?” Christian asked.

“Yes. I have not given it much thought since.”

Damon was not acquainted with the Hornsbys either. All he knew? They were tedious do-gooders. Didn’t he hear of the Duke of Gransford, the oldest Hornsby brother, laboring underground in an abandoned train tunnel as a doctor to the poor when he was still the marquess? Harrison Hornsby. Yes, that was his name. What a peculiar family. Eccentric was a word often attached to them. Yet, along with the Wollstonecrafts and their many good deeds, grudgingly, they were to be admired. Why not emulate them?

“Well, give it some thought now. You can make a presentation regarding Chellenhome and bring on wealthy donors to improve the conditions,” Christian urged. Then he took a sip of wine, took another bite of food, then swallowed. “Forgive me for blundering in and telling you what to do. You have been dealing with one revelation after another. Take your time and sort it all out. But know that we will all support you no matter what you decide. I believe I can speak for Gideon on this. He asked me to keep an eye on you and offer assistance.”

“Did he?”

“Olivia was reluctant to leave you while dealing with all you have discovered, and Gideon assured her that your friends would offer support when needed. And we will, Damon. All you have to do is ask,” Christian replied.

“Well. Thank you. I truly appreciate it.” Was Olivia concerned? And Gideon? It gave Damon a comforting feeling to know that they were. “I will need assistance to be certain.”

“Good. In fact,” Asher exclaimed, “Allow me to make a fifty-pound donation here and now.” He reached into his pocket and placed a roll of pound notes on the table. “Clothes, food, upkeep on the building. And if you need more, come to me. Once you decide what to do, I can arrange a large monthly stipend.”

Asher was wealthier than all of them together—if the truth were told. A lump formed in Damon’s throat at the gesture, containing emotions he was not used to experiencing.

Gratitude. Admiration. Respect.

Christian reached into his coat, pulling out folded notes in a money clip. He peeled off several. “Thirty pounds. And if you need more, I will give what I can. For as long as you need it.”

“I didn’t mean to turn this luncheon into a donation initiative,” Damon said, his mouth quirking, “But I thank you. You are better friends than I deserve. And we will make a proposal to Hawkestone’s group.”

Christian laughed and took his seat. “That we are. Better friends than you deserve, I mean. Eat up. Our food is getting cold.”

They all were silent for the next several moments while they ate.

“Where does the food go, the portions that are not eaten. I have never thought of it before,” Damon said between bites.

“Well, for my part,” Asher replied, “I carry on with my father’s tradition. The food goes to the servants, and leftovers are taken to nearby charities and churches to distribute to the needy.”

“Much the same in my households,” Christian added. “We try not to waste foodstuffs, especially since I married Eleanora, as she runs things like a tight ship.”

“Perhaps that could be another matter to consider,” Damon murmured. “Redistribution of food.”

“Just who are you, and what have you done with Damon Cranston?” Asher stated incredulously.

The men laughed.

“I have another conundrum. Althea,” Damon said, twirling the stem of his wine glass. “I have no idea what is happening, and it’s out of my control.”