by Burke, Darcy
Invitation
Darcy Burke
Zealous Quill Press
Contents
Invitation
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Improper
Also by Darcy Burke
About the Author
Invitation
Copyright © 2021 Darcy Burke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781637260067
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book design: © Darcy Burke.
Book Cover Design: © Erin Dameron Hill.
Cover image: © Period Images.
Editing: Lindsey Faber.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Created with Vellum
For everyone who didn’t get an invitation and wanted one.
Invitation
A Phoenix Club Short Story
Society’s most exclusive invitation...
Welcome to the Phoenix Club, where London’s most audacious, disreputable, and intriguing ladies and gentlemen find scandal, redemption, and second chances.
When Tobias Powell, the Viscount Deane, loses the young lady who’s stolen his heart to a pompous heir to a dukedom, all of Society is abuzz with his failure. When a scandal further blackens his reputation, he decides to become the rogue everyone believes him to be.
When courtesan Mirabelle Renault’s older sister marries her protector and is given the cut direct by the very Society who demands respectability, Mirabelle loses hope for her own future. Knowing she can no longer serve as a man’s paramour, she is determined to forge a new path—until she realizes that most doors are closed to her.
Carefree bachelor Lord Lucien Westbrook has lost his mistress and gained his autocratic father’s scrutiny now that his older brother is about to wed. Challenged to do something worthwhile, he launches an exclusive club, where Lucien helps those in need, no matter who they are or where they come from. One never knows who they will meet at the Phoenix Club…
Don’t miss your next Regency obsession, THE PHOENIX CLUB!
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Chapter 1
April 1813, London
At the height of the London Season, nowhere was more rife with opportunity, scandal, and machination than Hyde Park. From the highest members of the ton to the lowliest footpad, there was something for everyone in this gathering place. Today, on this most glorious of afternoons, the colors of spring seemed more vibrant, the birdsong more melodious, and the smells of flowers, grass, and sunshine filled the air.
Tobias Powell, the Viscount Deane, grinned broadly at everyone he saw as he made his way into the park through the Grosvenor Gate. He didn’t stop to speak with anyone as he was singularly focused on finding one particular person: his wife.
Rather, his soon-to-be wife.
People inclined their heads as Tobias walked past. Finding the dainty form of his beloved often proved difficult given her diminutive stature, but her face and figure were stamped indelibly in Tobias’s mind. As were her sparkling laugh and keen interest in subjects ranging from art to birds to horses. She was the first and only young woman he’d met in Society who enjoyed discussing things beyond fashion, flowers, or food. She’d also demonstrated a fervent interest in something else—him. He had to admit that being with her was a heady drug, for she made him feel like the most important person in the world.
In front of him, people moved off the path and turned their backs. Tobias stopped short, frowning, wondering what the devil was going on. A couple walked toward him, the man’s face tight and the woman… Well, the woman looked as if she were a breath away from bursting into tears. Her face was pale and her lower lip was drawn inward, as if she were biting the interior to keep her emotions in check.
Tobias suddenly realized what was happening. Everyone on the path was giving them the cut direct. Why? He had no idea who they were. No, wait, the gentleman looked vaguely familiar. In his early thirties, with thinning brown hair and sharp, sherry-colored eyes, he was a member at Brooks’s. Despite that, he currently found himself on the nastier side of Society’s capriciousness.
“Good afternoon,” Tobias said warmly. He was in far too pleasant a mood to engage in such rude behavior, not that he would in any case.
“Afternoon, my lord,” the gentleman said as a flicker of relief passed over his features. He patted the woman’s hand where it rested on his sleeve, and they went along their way.
As Tobias continued along the path, two ladies who’d stepped to the side stared at him, their gazes holding a shadow of condescension. Oh, now they would disdain him—the heir to an earldom—for not being as judgmental as they were? He supposed that just went to show that no one was immune to the ton’s whims.
He flashed them a wide grin. “Good afternoon, ladies. It’s a rather lovely day, isn’t it?”
One of them had the grace to look surprised before dipping her gaze to the ground. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
Satisfied that he’d hopefully made at least one person rethink her behavior, he turned left onto another path toward the Serpentine. Lady Priscilla loved the water. She particularly enjoyed watching the waterfowl, for she enjoyed drawing them. He’d likely find her there.
Tobias quickened his pace, rehearsing what he planned to say in his head. He would declare his intent to call tomorrow morning in order to speak with her father. But first, he would obtain her answer—that was the most important thing. She would, of course, say yes. It was the clear culmination to their weeks-long courtship.
His father was going to be so pleased that Tobias would marry the daughter of a duke. He, of course, knew of Tobias’s intent and wholeheartedly endorsed his choice.
“Deane!” a young buck called from just off the path where he stood with three other gentlemen.
Lifting his hand, Tobias waved. “Afternoon!”
Another of the gentlemen stepped to the edge of the path. “Too slow, then, or did she refuse you?”
A terrible chill raced through Tobias. He veered toward them, his pace slowing as his legs suddenly felt as though they were made of wood. “I beg your pardon?”
The last man who’d spoken, an old friend from school named Edwin Cleveland, moved away from the path, and the group widened to include Tobias.
“Lady Priscilla,” Cleveland said. “Thought for sure you were going to bag her, but Bentley is the winner, it seems.”
Bentley? Tobias felt as if he couldn’t move or think. He knew Bentley was one of many who’d courted Lady Priscilla, but she’d been clear that her preference was for Tobias. Hadn’t she? Doubt stole over him, and he didn’t like the sensation one bit.
“You make it sound like a contest,” Tobias said through an ever-deepening disappointment. Except that word didn’t begin to describe what
he felt. He’d loved her. He’d expected to marry her in a month’s time. A year from now, they likely would have been parents. He couldn’t breathe.
Another of the gentleman snorted. “It is a contest. One winner, many losers. You’re a loser this time, Deane.”
Cleveland sniffed. “At least he outranks you. Would have been deuced awful to lose to someone lesser.”
In Tobias’s mind, Bentley was someone lesser. The man was a cheat at cards and took every opportunity to inflate his own importance. That Lady Priscilla would choose him over Tobias… It was unconscionable.
He wanted to know why. Was it really because of rank? Bentley barely outranked him. Furthermore, Tobias’s father’s earldom was older, and, as far as Tobias knew, their estate was larger.
Hell, none of that should matter. It was only important that they suit, and Tobias believed that he and Lady Priscilla were perfectly suited.
“You didn’t know,” the first gentleman who’d called out to Tobias said in wonder, his dark gaze fixed on Tobias. “You didn’t know she’d chosen Bentley.”
Tobias clenched his jaw and said nothing.
Cleveland winced, then laughed. “Oh, bad luck that.”
“At least you heard it from us,” the fourth man said with a chuckle. “Imagine if you’d proposed and she had to refuse you.”
“Yes, imagine,” another of them said—Tobias stopped paying attention to who. He could only see red. He was angry, humiliated, hurt…
“Excuse me,” he murmured before taking himself off, turning back the way he’d come.
He walked twice as fast as when he’d been eager to find the woman he’d expected would be his wife. When he turned toward the Grosvenor Gate, he was painfully aware of the sudden attention directed at him, and the talk that was just loud enough so that he could hear his name and that of Lady Priscilla. News of her engagement was spreading like a plague.
No one turned their back on him, for this wasn’t the cut direct such as he’d witnessed earlier. It was, however, another cruelty Society inflicted as it took one person’s heartache or scandal and devoured it like a cheesecake.
He left the park as quickly as possible and immediately caught a hack to St. James Street, specifically Brooks’s Club, where he could drown himself in a large glass of brandy. As he entered the subscription room, he wondered if any of the gentlemen there had already heard the news. Not that it mattered. In this gentlemen’s haven, no one would trouble him about losing out to Bentley.
Oh hell, now he was thinking of it like a contest.
Wasn’t it, though? Bentley had won, and Tobias had definitively lost. Lady Priscilla would not be his wife. He couldn’t even fight for her, not without causing a scandal.
But what if Lady Priscilla really did prefer him? What if she wanted him to rescue her from a marriage she didn’t desire? He could whisk her away to Gretna Green…
He walked past the tables where men were playing cards and went into a smaller antechamber where his favorite table was located. He nearly choked when he saw his father seated there.
The earl met Tobias’s gaze. His expression reflected nothing but the placid indifference he typically wore.
Tobias wasn’t sure what to expect. On one hand, he hoped his father already knew about Lady Priscilla, for then Tobias wouldn’t have to tell him. On the other, he didn’t want his father to know he’d lost. He would know, however. There would be no hiding it from him.
“Sit,” the earl said.
Taking the chair to his father’s left, Tobias lowered himself between the dark wood arms. He did not relax. “I’m surprised to see you here at this time of day.”
“As you should be. I don’t dawdle about when there is important work to be done.” The earl referred to his position in the House of Lords where he chaired a few important committees. “Hadleigh informed me his daughter is to marry Bentley. Imagine my surprise at hearing that news.”
Tobias gritted his teeth and clutched the arms of the chair. “I only just heard it myself. At the park.”
The earl’s smoke-colored eyes, nearly the same hue as his mostly gray hair, narrowed. “I suppose you must move on to the next chit on your list.”
Forcing his hands to relax, Tobias flexed his fingers. “I don’t have a list.”
“How disappointing. Fortunately, I do.” He withdrew a small piece of paper from his coat and slid it along the tablecloth toward Tobias. “They are in order of my preference. I have already spoken to Lord Billingsworth, and he is amenable to your suit. Lady Agnes is not the daughter of a duke, but she is at least the daughter of an earl.”
She was also simpering and couldn’t be bothered to speak of anything beyond the three Fs: fashion, flowers, and food. Actually, that wasn’t true. She was also eager to discuss the latest on-dit. Tobias couldn’t think of a worse match.
He looked at the paper as if it might burn him if he touched it. “No.”
“No?” The earl exhaled. “There are other names on the list if you can’t muster the appropriate enthusiasm for Lady Agnes. Though you must admit, she fills out a gown quite nicely.”
Tobias cringed. “Father, please refrain from making such comments about anyone you’d like me to take to wife.”
Not a moment too soon, the footman delivered a glass of Tobias’s preferred brandy. Tobias took a long sip and briefly closed his eyes as the delectable heat soothed his irritation.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone who will suit. I expect a proposal within the week.” The earl leaned toward him, the gray of his eyes crystallizing to ice. “Do not disappoint me again.”
As the earl started to rise, Tobias whispered, “I loved her.”
“What’s that?” his father asked a bit crossly.
“I said I loved her. I don’t think I can summon the interest—or emotion—to propose to anyone else within the next week, let alone this Season.”
As he dropped back into his chair, the earl’s mouth tightened. “You listen to me, now. Interest and emotion aren’t required. Duty is all you must consider and the only thing that matters. Take the list.”
Reluctantly, his anger rising to the surface once more, Tobias picked the paper up and tucked it into his coat. “Satisfied?”
“Not until I hear the bells of St. Paul’s chiming on your wedding day.” The earl gave Tobias a sharp stare before standing and leaving the room.
“Brilliant,” Tobias muttered. He noted a pair of gentlemen at the next table staring at him.
One of the men raised his glass. “Condolences, Deane. Better luck next time!” He laughed, and his tablemate joined in the chorus.
Biting back a curse, Tobias swept up his glass and abruptly stood. He’d find a private alcove where no one would bother him.
Except as soon as he went back into the subscription room, he nearly ran into two of his closest friends.
“Drinking already?” Lord Lucien Westbrook asked. “Good.”
“Come.” Ruark Hannigan, Lord Wexford, clapped his hand on Tobias’s shoulder.
They led him upstairs to Lucien’s father’s private chamber. The Duke of Evesham had one of the finest private rooms in the club, not that he ever used it. He preferred the more conservative air of White’s.
“Why does your father still keep this room?” Ruark asked in his lilting Irish accent, closing the door behind him. The dark wood and deep blue hues of the chamber’s décor declared this to be a masculine space, while the paintings by Hogarth and Reynolds and the thick Aubusson carpet demonstrated opulence.
Lucien shrugged as he crossed the chamber. “Because he can. Aldington uses it occasionally.”
The earl was Lucien’s staid older brother.
Ruark flashed a brilliant smile that never failed to make young ladies swoon. He would be the most sought after bachelor in town if not for his Irishness. “He should be more comfortable at White’s too.”
Lucien arrived at the sideboard, where he poured two glasses of brandy. “I don’t think he’s
comfortable anywhere. Awfully hard when you’ve a stick up your arse.”
Ruark laughed, and Tobias found himself smiling despite the afternoon’s revelations.
“Thank you,” Tobias said before taking another sip of brandy and throwing himself in a sturdy, high-backed chair adjacent to the fireplace.
“Don’t mope,” Lucien said as he took another chair—there were several scattered about the room, with four relatively near the hearth, including the one he now inhabited. “Act as if you never cared a whit for her.”
Tobias appreciated his friend’s support and his advice. “You know I did.”
“What is real and what you present to the world do not have to be the same thing.”
Ruark lifted his glass to his lips and murmured, “Said the former spy,” before taking a drink.
Lucien rolled his eyes. He’d returned from Spain just a few months prior after serving under Wellington. “I was not a spy. If I was, don’t you think I’d still be there?”
“Just jesting with you.” Ruark was ever the wit.
“Everyone is talking about my rejection,” Tobias said evenly, despite the anger and disappointment welling inside him once more. “I made no secret of the seriousness of my courtship.”
“This will pass,” Ruark said encouragingly. “Soon, you won’t even remember her name, nor what she looks like.”
“That’s what my father would prefer. He’s instructed me to propose to someone else with due haste. Even gave me a list.”