Perhaps Thomlinson was working up his nerve to approach Eddie for a loan. He had the look—anxious, hearty, drunk at midday. The poor lad was newly down from university and likely playing too deeply. All the lordlings and cits-in-waiting did, and Eddie the Elegant was ever so willing to help.

“One doesn’t like to impose,” Bartleby said, keeping his voice down, “but two thousand on the usual terms would be much appreciated.”

The usual terms—never reduced to writing—were fifteen percent interest for ninety days. Five percent found its way into Eddie’s pocket as broker at the time the balance was lent, ten percent went to the lender, who was happy to earn in ninety days twice what the usury laws permitted for a year’s interest.

While Bartleby was happy to have his little problem solved for a mere fifteen percent. All quite civilized, and only outside the bounds of decency in the opinion of high sticklers and solicitors, who were denied any revenue from such arrangements.

“I’m delighted to be of service,” Eddie said. “Is the need urgent?”

“Not yet. By this time next week it will be.”

“Never let it be said that I allowed such a vexation to trouble you for an entire week, my lord. Let’s meet for lunch again on Friday, and I’m sure I’ll be able to alleviate your present inconvenience.”

Bartleby finished his wine and rose, extending a soft, manicured hand. “You are a proper brick of a fellow, Eddie Dorset. Much obliged.”

Eddie got to his feet and shook hands, mentally sorting through his list of potential lenders. A half dozen titled ladies came to mind. God knew the lot of them had the blunt, but then so did Madam Bisset. He considered the advantages of connecting his current fancy piece with the lucrative business of informal lending. Madam understood money as only a working woman could, and she would one day need more than wit, charm, and loose morals to keep her in coal and candles.

“You are contemplating a scheme,” James said, sliding into the chair Bartleby had vacated. “Based on your smile, the scheme has the potential to be profitable.”

Eddie kept his expression genial, because one did when in public. “I fear young Mr. Thomlinson is only now realizing that a quarterly allowance is supposed to last three long, dreary months. I’m sitting here looking helpful and harmless.”

“He gambles.” James set Lord Bartleby’s plate aside. “I thought we avoided the gamblers if at all possible.”

“Everybody gambles. You yourself took an enormous risk by dodging work on Saturday. If I hadn’t collected your ledgers from beneath Ballentyre’s nose, Howell might have found a deal of irregularities in your accounts.” Howell had, in fact, reviewed one of James’s ledgers, apparently one of the tidier ones.