Rank and Respectability

- Chapter 2 -

Candlelight flickered over velvet game tables and deep mahogany floors of a gentlemen's' club in St James Street, London. Billiard balls cracked against each other, and men's voices rose in unison. 

Four men sat at a circular card table near the center of the room. They were focused intently on the game and nervously eyeing the pile of chips and bills in the midst of them. One man played his hand, causing mutterings from two; then the next played and the group groaned and cursed, one man slamming the table with a fist in anger as the victor raked in his winnings. The more finely dressed of the four scraped back his chair, crystal-blue eyes flashing in irritation. Grumbling his congrats to the winner, he stood and left the establishment.

Setting a felt hat over ash-blond hair, Brandon Routley stepped smartly down the narrow stairs to the main floor, and out onto the busy, dusty St James Street. He dodged the groping fingers of a particularly busty woman promising him a blissful hour and hailed a passing coach. Though she wasn't unattractive, the idea of paid services made his stomach roil.  Stepping into the cab of the coach he knocked for the driver to set off, casually giving an address.

Buildings and parks passed by, then the awful eyesore of a palace, grand and gaudy. Routley's lip curled. No doubt filled to its highest tower with damned pretentious snobs. He frowned fiercely as he tugged at his black leather day-gloves irritably. A moan escaped from him, brought forth by aching temples and heavy head, pain spiking with every jolt his mode of transportation provided;. His current condition was testament to the level of inebriation he had subjected himself to the night before. So much for never touching another bottle he smirked at himself. Looking out the window once more, he watched a woman across the road ascending into a carriage loaded with luggage. He recognized her, in that moment, from a recent debutant ball he'd attended.

Miss Bradshaw, one of many; one of the multitude of false ladies who looked down on those they deemed lesser than themselves - who clawed their way into the hearts of wealthy men, wielding flowery words and sultry stares. He loathed them – with a passion – and was surrounded by them.

If he, as a wealthy and eligible bachelor, must be subject to their scheming manipulation then he would scheme and manipulate in return. He would ruin them before they could ruin others with their prejudice and greed. He hated the wealth that made him eligible. If only he had nothing, then he could have everything. 

'Everything', in his mind, took the form of a brilliant carefree smile below dark twinkling eyes, and silken ribbons of mahogany hair floating in a warm summer breeze. He sighed, speeding the memory from his mind, and set his head heavily against the back wall of the carriage. The carriage soon stopped in front of his London townhouse.

Upon entering and handing off his hat, gloves, and cane to his footman, he shuffled through the few calling cards and invitations that had accumulated in his short absence. A dinner party tonight at the Florence's townhouse. That might be a good chance to try his luck with the young Widow Gerrard. Her elderly old husband of seven years had died not six months past, and she had recently come out of mourning. A mite early mind you, and she was already actively seeking her next rich husband; however, being nine-and-twenty, with quickly aging features, suitors weren't exactly falling at her feet this time.

Returning the missives unceremoniously to their tray, he called for his valet to lay out an evening suit.

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Brandon greatly preferred these private events over public ones. Never would he understand the appeal of a 'crush', which was so popular in London these days. Although he supposed in a terrace you can hardly have much else, what with the small rooms and numerous narrow stairs. No matter how fashionable and cost efficient terrace townhouses were, he praised his own good taste in securing a large private townhouse instead.