Love Is In the Air Volume 1

by Susan Stoker

  “That’s bloody disappointing.” Tobias sipped his whisky and stared at the bronze liquid for a moment. “I might miss this the most.”

  Lucien laughed. “I can get some.”

  “Brilliant. Actually, I’ll miss the privacy and the ability to gather with my close friends.” Tobias thought in particular about the day before, after the news of Lady Priscilla’s betrothal had circulated. He’d come here and found a haven and solace.

  “I feel the same, which has got me thinking. Perhaps it’s time for a new place to gather.”

  “You have somewhere in mind?”

  “I do, but it doesn’t exist yet. I’m considering founding a club, one that is different from what we see along St. James. It wouldn’t be just for men, to begin with.”

  Tobias sat up in his chair a bit and fixed his gaze on Lucien. “That is more than different. That’s revolutionary.” He wondered how it would work. Would women even join? Would men join knowing that women might be there? “What else?”

  “This club will be incredibly exclusive.” Lucien’s eyes narrowed with purpose and perhaps a touch of dark mischief. “If people think White’s is hard to access, they will be particularly frustrated by the entrance requirements for the Phoenix Club.”

  “The Phoenix Club?”

  Lucien’s lips spread in a sly grin. “A place to begin anew.”

  That sounded positively wonderful to Tobias, particularly in this moment. “This all sounds too good to be true. How will you manage it?”

  “I’ve a location in mind, but it will take time to bring the physical location to fruition. In the meantime, I’m assembling our membership committee. As I said, it will be a most exclusive club.”

  Tobias let out a husky laugh. “How I would love to be on that committee.”

  “As it happens, I would be delighted if you would do so.”

  Having just sipped his whisky, Tobias nearly choked. After swallowing and coughing to clear his windpipe, he managed to say, “Hell, yes.” He coughed again. “Who else are you asking?”

  “I haven’t entirely decided, but I do know there will be two secret members, and the identity of all members will be withheld from the public.”

  “I’ll know the other members except for two?”

  Lucien nodded. “Please don’t ask me for their identity or why they will remain secret. Just know that the success of the club relies upon their participation and their anonymity.”

  “You sound as if you’ve plotted this quite thoroughly.”

  Lucien lifted his glass in a silent acknowledgment and took a drink.

  “I look forward to hearing more when you are ready to share. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  “For now, recover from your broken heart.” Lucien smirked, and Tobias rolled his eyes even as he felt a slight pang in his chest.

  He wasn’t angry or even disappointed in Lady Priscilla, but in himself. How he’d misjudged her feelings for him—rather, her absence of feelings for him—was what disappointed and angered him. The idea of the phoenix rose in his mind, making him eager to learn from this experience and emerge changed.

  Love—and marriage—would be the furthest things from his mind. Which would infuriate his father. Tobias didn’t care. The earl couldn’t demand he wed.

  Raising his glass, Tobias offered a toast. “To the Phoenix Club!”

  Lucien inclined his head before lifting his whisky toward his lips. “To rebirth and a place we can call home.”

  5

  Mirabelle stared at the list she’d made of potential employment opportunities she could pursue. None of them were terribly exciting, but all of them were preferable to what she’d done the past four years. And she’d been luckier than most, starting her profession at a brothel that served the wealthy and well-positioned. From there, she’d transitioned almost immediately into becoming a courtesan, which had led her to a series of wealthy—and mostly kind—protectors, culminating in the best of them, Lord Lucien Westbrook.

  Some would say she was foolish for terminating their arrangement and for refusing his assistance. Perhaps she was. She could not, however, continue the way that she was. In her future, she saw an endless stream of protectors, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to arrange her life around a man. She wanted freedom.

  She did not, however, want poverty, and while she’d saved some funds, she would have to either live very frugally or find a way to provide for herself. Glancing down at the list once more, she tried to find even a breath of excitement for any of the things she’d written down.

  “Miss Renault?” her housekeeper asked from the doorway of her sitting room. “Lord Lucien is here to see you. He said he’s come to arrange your settlement.”

  Mirabelle wasn’t sure what he meant by that. She’d been quite clear about not wanting him to take care of her. Frowning, she pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. “Show him in.”

  As she moved toward the small seating area in the center of the room, she smoothed her hand over the simple coral-colored gown she wore. She’d already decided to sell her more extravagant clothes and accessories since she’d no longer be attending Cyprian balls. The thought of parting with her finery made her throat clench. It was silly, but she loved her fashionable belongings, probably because in her youth, she’d had nothing of the kind. Instead, she’d seen her mother’s maid making expensive gowns for other people. Was it wrong that Mirabelle wanted to look like she mattered?

  As if clothes indicated one’s import. Except in her experience, they absolutely did, along with education, upbringing, and, of course, one’s origin and family. As a destitute French émigré and orphan, she was no one of consequence.

  Lucien prowled into the sitting room, and immediately, the air shifted, as it always did. He was a force of masculine energy that commanded every space he entered, both due to his size and the sheer magnetism he exuded. Everyone who knew him liked him, and if they didn’t know him, they wanted to. Actually, that wasn’t true. There were some people who didn’t care for him—he would list his father among them. Mirabelle categorized them all as idiots. And completely riddled with envy. That could be the only reason not to adore Lucien.

  He bowed to her. “Good evening, Belle.”

  She stood in front of her chair, her hands clasped. “I don’t know why you’ve come. I haven’t changed my mind, nor will I.”

  “Then it’s good that I don’t wish for you to do so. I’ve come with a business proposition.” He lowered himself to the settee and draped his arm along the back. “Will you sit?”

  She wasn’t sure if he meant for her to occupy the settee with him. In the past, she would have, snuggling up against his side and allowing her hand to rest on his thigh.

  Tonight, she took the chair, perching on the edge amidst a burst of nervousness. Their relationship had changed, and she couldn’t imagine what he meant to propose.

  “You look incredibly dubious,” Lucien said, sounding carefree. “Don’t be. I promise I’m not going to suggest anything untoward. At least, I don’t think it is.” He took his arm from the back of the settee and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lightly clasping his hands between his legs. “What if you had the opportunity to be in charge of something, from its inception, but it would require you to completely change who you are?”

  Mirabelle carefully considered his rather vague words. “Change how?”

  “You couldn’t be you anymore—a former courtesan named Mirabelle Renault. I’m afraid your name is too recognizable. Hopefully, your face won’t be, but that will be something we’ll address if the need arises.”

  She held up her hand. “Stop. You haven’t fully explained yourself at all. What would I be in charge of?”

  “I am starting a club, an exclusive establishment where members, both men and women, will be specifically selected and invited to join.”

  Mirabelle’s pulse quickened. “What sort of club?”

  “I suppose it’s like the
gentlemen’s clubs of St. James in that they are exclusive and provide a place to congregate with like souls. However, I prefer a club where the souls have more in common and are less…condescending.”

  Laughing, she tried to imagine what he was describing. “An exclusive club without arrogance? I find that hard to countenance. In fact, I imagine anything that comes from you would be hard-pressed to be devoid of conceit.”

  Sucking in a breath, Lucien straightened, touching his chest with one hand. “You wound me, Belle. Alas, I am aware of my shortcomings, most of them, anyway. I endeavor to find humility wherever I may. I trust you will always assist me in that endeavor.”

  “What an honor,” she murmured.

  He grinned as he sat back against the settee and crossed his legs. “I have always considered you a friend—a good one, in fact—and I hope you regard me in the same manner. I am also hopeful you will accept my offer of employment as manager of this new club.”

  Mirabelle was at a complete loss for words. After several moments, she swallowed as she tried to banish the sudden dryness from her mouth. “I haven’t ever managed anything.”

  “Haven’t you? You’ve told me how you helped your maid with her sewing projects and that you were always better at keeping track of things and organizing the funds. I’ve seen how you manage this household—you are far more economical than your peers.”

  She shook her head, her mind reeling. “That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to manage your club.”

  “What you don’t know, you’ll learn. You aren’t really going to say no, are you? Imagine yourself as an English widow who’s come to London to manage this club because Society is not to your liking. You’ll be an enigmatic figure people will crave to know.”

  To go from someone Society would never entertain to a person of import or popularity was nearly inconceivable. Mirabelle didn’t need or want notoriety, just acceptance. “An English widow?”

  “That’s what I was thinking, unless you have a better idea?”

  “No, that sounds as if it could be believable. To whom was I married?”

  Lucien shrugged. “We’ll invent some chap in…where would you like to have lived? You can’t choose anywhere that doesn’t sound like you. No Yorkshire unless you want to learn a new accent.”

  This sounded almost possible. Until someone uncovered her true identity. “What if someone recognizes me?”

  “As I said, this club will be exclusive. No one is going to be admitted whom we don’t personally select—and that includes you. You will serve on the membership committee.”

  “Me?” She could hardly believe any of this. “How would I know whom to choose?”

  “We will start by searching for people who perhaps aren’t accepted anywhere else, individuals who are looking for a new beginning, a second chance.”

  “People like me,” she said softly. “Lucien, when did you think of starting this club?”

  “Does it matter? It’s already in motion. You can be a part of it or not, but I’d prefer you choose the former.”

  It was an excellent solution to what she should do next. Managing the club would be exciting and interesting, and she would be able to support herself. “I admit I do not know as much about Society as you, but how will a club that allows both men and women, and which is run by a woman, be seen as acceptable?”

  “Because there will be two distinct sides: one for ladies and one for gentlemen. They will be kept separate, and the ladies’ side will be overseen by a small but select group of respectable women, one of whom will be you.”

  She stared at him. “You’ve really thought this through. How can you be sure this group of women will accept me, a faux widow?”

  “They won’t know you’re pretending, of course. And in the interest of establishing the truth as we wish it to be from the outset, please don’t use those kinds of words. Just know that I have, indeed, thought this through. I have a very precise plan.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  She shouldn’t. And perhaps she didn’t completely. “I trust you enough.”

  He laughed softly. “That’s better than I expected, actually.”

  “Who are these other respectable women?”

  “No one insufferable, I promise. They are not allowed.”

  “And who else is on the membership committee?” she asked.

  “A few of my friends and a pair of people who will remain anonymous. Don’t ask me who they are or why they will be unknown. Just know that I cannot start this club without them. They are wholly trustworthy, and they understand and support the spirit of the Phoenix Club.”

  “The Phoenix Club? I think it does matter to me when you conceived of this club, but I won’t press you about it.” Her gaze met his, and for the first time, the flutter she felt in her belly when she looked at him was not sexually charged. There was gratitude, respect, and friendship. “Thank you.”

  Lucien leaned forward again, his dark eyes sparkling. “Does that mean you’re accepting the position?”

  “Yes.” They hadn’t discussed wages, but that was one area in which she trusted him implicitly. If anything, he would probably try to pay her too much. “Where is the Phoenix Club to be located?”

  “On Ryder Street, between Bury and Duke.”

  “So near to the St. James’s clubs?”

  “I liked the property.” He lifted a shoulder, and the edge of his mouth ticked up. “And perhaps I appreciate the taunting nature of the proximity.”

  Mirabelle shook her head. “You would cock a snook at the entire ton if you could.”

  “I try every day. They deserve mockery—and that includes me.” He slapped his palms on his thighs, then vaulted to his feet.

  “I suppose you aren’t rid of me, then.” She looked up at him. “We will, however, just be friends.”

  “Yes.” He went to her chair and took her hand. “I shall count myself very lucky to be your friend.”

  “And my boss,” she added with a laugh.

  “I fully expect you to be the boss, not me.” He let go of her hand and straightened. “You must leave London for some months. Mirabelle Renault needs to disappear long before the English widow arrives. Where do you want to go?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’ve always heard Cornwall is fair.”

  “It is quite lovely. Your employment includes a stipend while you are reinventing yourself.” Mirabelle opened her mouth to object, but Lucien held up his hand. “That is nonnegotiable, I’m afraid. I think you must arrive in Bath in the fall, where you will make the necessary friends before they persuade you to come to London.”

  His plan really was precise. Overcome with appreciation, she merely nodded.

  “Excellent. Enjoy your time away, Belle.” He started to turn.

  “Evangeline.” The name tumbled from her lips the moment it entered her head. “Evangeline Renshaw.”

  Lucien pivoted and offered a bow. “Mrs. Renshaw, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” His eyes sparkled with mischief before he turned and quit the room.

  “You may call me Evie,” Mirabelle murmured as she pressed her hands to her cheeks. Fortune had smiled upon her at last.

  6

  March 1814

  The Phoenix Club

  Ryder Street, London

  * * *

  “I don’t think rake is a strong enough word. Wastrel is perhaps more fitting.”

  Lucien wiped his hand over his face, unable to dispute Evie’s assessment of poor Tobias. His reputation had taken a hit the previous spring, and not because Lady Bentley, the former Lady Priscilla, had overlooked him in favor of her husband. It was because she’d told everyone that he’d wanted to kidnap her to Gretna Green. Her story concluded with her talking him out of it, but Lucien and their friends knew the truth.

  Nevertheless, he’d become a pariah, and since Society thought him a rogue, he’d embraced their assumptions wholeheartedly. He’d spent the last several months drinking, gambling, and womanizing h
is way to the top of the list of London’s Most Scandalous.

  He lounged in his usual spot this evening, an oversized chair in the corner of the gaming room, a glass of some spirit dangling from his fingertips. Yes, wastrel was a more apt description. His father was horrified by his behavior, and the more he pressed upon Tobias to tidy himself up, the more deeply Tobias plunged into ignominy.

  “He’s fine,” Ada Treadway, the club’s bookkeeper, said quietly. She stood beside Evie, a delicate daisy next to Evie’s brilliant, lush rose. They didn’t spend a great deal of time on the gentlemen’s side of the club, but on Tuesdays, this side welcomed women into their members’ den.

  Evie snapped her head toward Ada. “You don’t have a tendre for our resident profligate, do you?”

  A light tremor passed over Ada’s shoulders. “No. I simply like him. I like everyone.”

  Lucien smiled warmly. “Indeed you do, which is a lovely trait.” Evie had brought Ada back to London with her. Lucien did not know the entire story of what had brought her here, other than she’d been a governess and decided that work didn’t suit her. She’d needed to begin anew, and there was no better place for that than the Phoenix Club.

  “I’ll go and speak with him,” Ada said. “He really just needs a friend.” She took herself off toward Tobias.

  Lucien looked about the gaming room, where several members played cards and others billiards. He turned to Evie. “Is everything ready for our first ball next week?”

  When they’d designed the renovations that had split this one house into the two distinct parts of the Phoenix Club, he’d come up with the idea to have a removable partition on the ground floor that would allow them to open up a large ballroom between the two sides. On Fridays, they would host a ball, which would be the only time young, unwed ladies on the Marriage Mart could enter the club. They were still not members, of course, but they could attend a ball with a sponsor who was a member.