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eldest hired him to fight Monteith's champion over whose mistress was prettier. That was nice; but then, it wasn't to the death.'
    'Duels are to the death only when one of two things is at stake: power or money.'
    'What about honour?'
    'What do you think honour buys?' the duchess asked cynically.
    Lady Halliday was a quiet, shy young woman with none of her friend's fashionable talent for clever chatter. Her voice was generally low, her speech soft - just what men always claimed to want in a woman, but were never actually drawn to in the drawing room. However, her marriage to the widowed Basil, Lord Halliday, a popular city aristocrat, was said to have been a love match; so society was prepared to credit her with hidden depths. She was, in fact, by no means stupid, and if she answered the duchess with ponderous slowness it was only that she was, as was her habit, weighing her words against the thoughts behind them. 'I think that honour is used to mean so many different things that no one can be sure of what it really is. Certainly young Monteith claimed his honour to be satisfied when Lynch won the fight, while privately Basil told me he thought the whole thing a pointless exercise in scandal.'
    'That is because young Monteith is an idiot, and your husband is a sensible man,' the duchess said firmly. 'I imagine Lord Halliday is much more pleased with this fight of Karleigh's; at least it accomplished something practical.'
    'More than that,' said Lady Halliday. Her voice had dropped, and she leaned out a little over the furbelows of lace toward her friend. 'He is immensely pleased that Karleigh has left town. You know the Council of Lords elects its head again this spring. Basil wishes to be re-elected.'
    'And quite rightly,' Diane said stoutly. 'He is the best Crescent Chancellor the city has had in decades - the best, some say, since the fall of the monarchy, which is generous praise indeed. Surely he expects no difficulty in being re-elected?'
    'You are kind. Of course the city loves him... but... 'She leaned even closer, her porcelain cup held out of harm's way. ‘I must tell you. In fact there is a great deal of difficulty. My lord - Basil - has held the Crescent for three consecutive terms now. But it seems there's a law that no one may hold it for four straight terms.'
    'Is there?' said the duchess vaguely. 'What a shame. Well, I'm sure that won't matter to anyone.'
    'My lord is hoping to put it to the vote in spring. The entire Council may choose to override the law in the case. But the Duke of Karleigh has been quietly approaching people all winter, reminding them of it, spreading all sorts of nonsense on the danger of too much power in the hands of one nobleman. As though my lord would take that power - as though he could, when he expends all his strength just keeping the state together!' Lady Halliday's cup rattled on its saucer; she steadied it and said, 'You may see why my lord is pleased that Karleigh's gone, if only for a month or two.'
    'Yes,' the duchess said softly; 'I thought he might be.'
    'But Diane - ' Suddenly Lady Halliday seized her hand in an eloquent hissing of lace. 'It may not be enough. I am so concerned. He must keep the Crescent, he is just beginning to accomplish what he set out to do; to lose it now, even for a term', would be a terrible set-back for him and for the city. You hold Tremontaine in your own right, you could vote in Council if you chose-----'
    'Now, Mary..." Smiling, the duchess disengaged her hand. 'You know I never meddle in politics. The late duke would not have wished it.'
    Whatever further entreaty Lady Halliday might have made was forestalled by the announcement of two more guests, the Godwins, who were shown up with the greatest dispatch.
    It was unusual for Lady Godwin to be in town in winter; she was fond of the country and, being past that time of life when social duties required her presence in the city, spent most of her time with her husband overseeing the Godwins'