“Ah.” St Albans stared off into the distance for a second. “For some reason, I hadn’t thought of our friends’ spouses holding entertainments. Silly of me, really. Of course they would. They are part of the ton, and this is the Season, after all.” They had ridden to the Serpentine before he said, “I hope not to become a peer for a number of years yet. As much as m’father irritates me at times, I do not wish him dead.”

“There is that.” John had not wanted his father to die either. “I hope you get your wish.”

They rode through the gate and saw the same three ladies they’d seen yesterday turning their horses in his direction. They were obviously leaving. It was a shame they had not yet been introduced. Although where that would have occurred he had no idea. But today he got a better look at them. Two were blond and one had dark hair. The one he’d especially noticed before was one of the blond-haired ladies. He liked fair hair, and hers was particularly lovely. It was as if it had been gilded. She smiled as she chatted with her companions. That must denote a pleasant demeanor. One of the qualities he wanted in a wife. “I wonder who they are.”

“We’re bound to find out at some point,” St. Albans replied. “But it occurred to me late yesterday that if you want a lady who is a bit dim, you might want to appear the same yourself. Otherwise she could be wary of you.”

John had not even considered that. It would be natural for a lady of just average intelligence to be cowed by a gentleman who possessed a great deal more intellect than she did. Still, now that he thought about it, the idea made sense. He would not want to scare off a lady by appearing to be knowledgeable. All he had to do was look at his friend Fitz Littleton and his lady. They were very much in accord in their wish to lead a quiet life. Like begat like. “That is exactly what I will do. Thank you for the hint.”

“Anything to help a friend.” St. Albans spurred his horse forward into a gallop and John did the same.

With any luck, they could help each other. John guided his friend to his house, where St. Albans was taken to a room to wash his face and hands before breakfast. Soon they were partaking of ham from Littleton’s pigs, eggs, fresh toast, and tea.

“Littleton was right. This ham is excellent.” John cut another piece.

“Did he tell you what he feeds them?” St. Albans asked.

John swallowed. “Chestnuts.”

“I’ll have to suggest it to m’father.” His friend bit into his fourth piece of toast. If this was to continue, he’d have to tell his cook to increase the portions at breakfast. “Have you visited Weston yet?”