As they met with representatives of the Great Western railway, the dockmaster, and various councilmen and administrators, Marcus was impressed by the way Swift acquitted himself. Until now he had only seen Swift interact with the well-to-do guests at Stony Cross, but it immediately became apparent that he could relate easily to a variety of people, from elderly aristocrats to burly young dock laborers. When it came to bargaining, Swift was aggressive without being ungentlemanly. He was calm, steady, and sensible, but he also possessed a dry sense of humor that he used to good effect.

Marcus could see the influence of Thomas Bowman in Swift’s tenacity and his willingness to stand by his opinions. But unlike Bowman, Swift had a natural presence and confidence that people intuitively responded to. Swift would do well in Bristol, Marcus thought. It was a good place for an ambitious young man, offering as many, if not more, opportunities than London.

As for how Matthew Swift would suit Daisy…well, that was more ambiguous. Marcus was loath to make judgments in such matters, having learned from experience that he was not infallible. His initial opposition to Annabelle and Simon Hunt’s marriage was a case in point. But a judgment would have to be made. Daisy deserved a husband who would be kind to her.

After a meeting with the railway representatives, Marcus and Swift walked along Corn Street through a covered market filled with fruit and vegetable stalls. Recently the pavement had been raised to protect pedestrians from mud splashes and street refuse. The street was lined with shops featuring goods such as books, toiletries, and glass objects made from local sandstone.

Stopping at a tavern, the two went inside for a simple meal. The tavern was filled with all manner of men from wealthy merchants to common shipyard laborers.

Relaxing in the raucous atmosphere, Marcus lifted a tankard of dark Bristol ale to his lips. It was cold and bitter, sliding down his throat in a pungent rush and leaving a mellow aftertaste.

As Marcus considered various ways to open the subject of Daisy, Swift surprised him with a blunt statement. “My lord, there is something I would like to discuss with you.”

Marcus adopted a pleasantly encouraging expression. “Very well.”

“It turns out that Miss Bowman and I have reached an…understanding. After considering the logical advantages on both sides, I have made a sensible and pragmatic decision that we should—”

“How long have you been in love with her?” Marcus interrupted, inwardly amused.

Swift let out a tense sigh. “Years,” he admitted. He dragged his hand through his short, thick hair, leaving it in ruffled disarray. “But I didn’t know what it was until recently.”

“Does my sister-in-law reciprocate?”

“I think—” Breaking off, Swift took a deep draw of his ale. He looked young and troubled as he admitted, “I don’t know. I hope in time…oh, hell.”

“In my opinion, it would not be difficult for you to win Daisy’s affections,” Marcus said in a kinder tone than he had planned. “From what I have observed, it is a good match on both sides.”

Swift looked up with a self-derisive smile. “You don’t think she would be better off with a poetry-spouting country gentleman?”

“I think that would be disastrous. Daisy doesn’t need a husband as unworldly as she.” Reaching for the wooden platter of food between them, Marcus cut a portion of pale Wensleydale cheese and sandwiched it between two thick slices of bread. He regarded Swift speculatively, wondering why the young man seemed to take so little pleasure in the situation. Most men displayed considerably more enthusiasm at the prospect of marrying the women they loved.

“Bowman will be pleased,” Marcus remarked, watching closely for Swift’s reaction.

“Pleasing him has never been any part of this. Any implication to the contrary is a serious underestimation of all Miss Bowman has to offer.”

“There’s no need to leap to her defense,” Marcus replied. “Daisy is a charming little scamp, not to mention lovely. Had she a bit more confidence, and far less sensitivity, she would have learned by now to attract the opposite sex with ease. But to her credit, she doesn’t have the temperament to treat love as a game. And few men have the wits to appreciate sincerity in a woman.”

“I do,” Swift said curtly.

“So it would seem.” Marcus felt a stab of sympathy as he considered the younger man’s dilemma. As a sensible man with a laudable aversion to melodrama, it was more than a little embarrassing for Swift to find himself wounded by one of Cupid’s arrows. “Although you haven’t asked for my support of the match,” Marcus continued, “you may rely on it.”

“Even if Lady Westcliff takes exception?”

The mention of Lillian caused a little ache of longing in Marcus’s chest. He missed her even more than he had expected. “Lady Westcliff,” he replied dryly, “will reconcile herself to the fact that every once in a great while something may not happen as she wishes. And if you prove to be a good husband to Daisy over time, my wife will change her opinion. She is a fair-minded woman.”

But Swift still looked troubled. “My lord—” His hand clenched around the handle of his tankard, and he stared at it fixedly.

Seeing the shadow that passed across the young man’s face, Marcus stopped chewing. His instincts told him something was very wrong. Damn it all, he thought, can nothing involving the Bowmans ever be simple?

“What would you say about a man who builds his life on a lie…and yet that life has become more worthwhile than his original one ever could have been?”