“You can’t kill me,” Freddy said, dropping into an armchair before the fire as his friend sat down before a tray of tea and toast his valet had left for him. “At least not before I figure out who is responsible for Jonathan’s death.”
The mention of Jonathan brought them both back down to earth. “What news on that front?” the earl asked as he bit into a piece of toast. “I see from the page Hoskins has helpfully marked for me in the post that you’ve made your betrothal to Leonora official. Again.”
Freddy sat up and unceremoniously plucked the paper from Mainwaring’s hand. “Is it in there already? That’s fast work. I gave them a bribe to put it in this morning’s edition, but one never knows.” He scanned the page, and saw that sure enough, there was the announcement that Lord Frederick Lisle and Miss Leonora Craven were planning to marry. It was rather startling to see it in black-and-white and Freddy found that he rather liked seeing it spelled out. He wondered if Leonora had seen it, then cursed himself for being a sentimental idiot.
Turning his attention to the matter at hand, he looked up to see that Mainwaring was watching him.
“What?” he asked, not liking the knowing glint in his friend’s eye.
“Nothing,” Mainwaring responded, chewing his toast. “It just seems that you’re rather pleased with yourself over the announcement.”
“Need I remind you, Mainwaring,” Freddy said in his most glacial tones, “that this is a pretend betrothal? I am pleased to see that my bribe worked. That is all.”
The other man’s brow quirked. “If you say so, old fellow.”
“I do.”
“I know. I heard you.”
“Then there is nothing more to discuss.”
Mainwaring looked as if he’d like to discuss the matter further, but after a long look he shook his head as if to clear it.
“Well, then, I suppose you had a reason for rousing me from my bed this early,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to figure that out. So, what is it?”
Quickly Freddy told him about almost everything that had transpired at his cousin’s home the night before.
The earl whistled. “I wondered about that induction ceremony. It’s rather disappointing to learn it was so unspectacular. I suppose Gerard uses his imagination for something other than the club. Dashed if I know what that could be though.”
“My point,” Freddy said, “was not to discuss the ceremony, but to make it clear that my cousin is being blackmailed by someone.”
“Well, yes,” Mainwaring responded with a shrug. “But, as my nanny used to say, ‘lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas.’”
“Too right. However, the reason I’ve roused you from your bed at this ungodly hour is so that you can accompany me to Jackson’s. My cousin invited me to pay a visit to Jackson’s this morning to spar with one of the other members. It’s part of the initiation apparently.”
“That should be easy enough.” Mainwaring nodded. “You’re already there once a week or so. I’m pleased to hear it’s another club member you’ll spar with. I’ve got to maintain my gorgeous exterior if I’m going to woo the delicious Mrs. Creighton into my bed. She said she likes my pretty face. And it would be a shame to disappoint her. Especially given how you always ignore my admonition to keep any bruising away from mon visage.”
Freddy rolled his eyes. “You and your pretty visage. Fortunately for you and your face, I have need of you only as a distraction so that I may speak to the other club members in attendance without being caught out by my cousin. Someone among their number knows the truth of what killed Jonathan and I want to hear it.”
At the mention of their friend, Mainwaring sighed. “All right. Give me ten minutes to dress and we’ll be off.
“However,” he said as he rang for his valet, “I must remark that for a driving club, the Lords of Anarchy devote a great deal of time to doing anything but.”
Nine
One hour later—Mainwaring had taken longer to dress than promised, claiming that a gentleman could not make his toilette in haste lest he disappoint his public—they stepped into the bastion of masculine fisticuffs, Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon.
The man himself was watching a pair of young gentlemen Freddy recognized as the scions of two of the ton’s most influential families. And leaning against the wall, deep in discussion, he recognized the Anarchists Sir Horace Meade and Lord Payne.
Indicating to Mainwaring that he was going to speak to them, he strode across the room, which was already crowded with men wagering or watching the matches already under way.
“It’s finished,” he heard Payne saying in a low voice as he approached. “And Sir Gerard would like very much for you to keep the matter to yourself. If the authorities find out, it will be a loss for the entire club.”
From the expression on Meade’s face, Freddy knew that the topic was not a happy one. Unfortunately, the other man noticed Freddy’s approach and bit back his reply before it could be overheard.
“Lord Frederick,” Sir Horace said pointedly, and sure enough Lord Payne turned and glared at the approaching man. Clearly their discussion had been of some import.
Interesting.
“I thought you might put in an appearance this morning,” Sir Horace continued. “Would you care for a bout?”
Before he could respond, Lord Payne turned and scanned him with a cold eye. “I think you’d better let me fight him, old man,” the large man drawled. “I think he’s more up to my weight than yours.”
It was true that Sir Horace was half a head shorter than the other two men, but Freddy had a feeling that Lord Payne’s desire to spar with him had little to do with the suitability of their weights. Even so, Freddy inclined his head. “I’d like nothing better,” he said. “In fact, Jackson owes me a favor, so I’ll see to it we don’t have to wait.”
Sir Horace, evidently acceding to Lord Payne’s authority, shrugged. “It’s all the same to me. I’m not overly fond of fisticuffs anyway. I came because Sir Gerard encouraged it and you’ll soon learn, Lord Frederick, that one would do well to do whatever Sir Gerard asks. He expects obedience from club members in all things.”
Something about the other man’s nasty grin set Freddy’s teeth on edge. Sir Gerard might expect obedience, but he was damned if he’d take orders from the man he’d known since he was a schoolboy tearing the wings off flies.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he told the other man blandly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the advice. Turning to Lord Payne, he gestured that they should proceed to the empty ring, where Gentleman Jackson himself was standing just outside, talking with one of the men whose fights had just finished.
When Jackson’s conversation was finished, it was only a matter of a few words’ conversation to secure the center ring for Freddy and Lord Payne.
While Payne stayed behind to talk with Jackson, Freddy headed for the dressing room, where other men were dressing and undressing for their own matches.
“I thought you were here to speak with Sir Horace,” Mainwaring protested while Freddy removed his cravat. “Payne is not overly fond of rules. Especially the ones that involve fighting fair. I learned that the hard way at school.”
Mainwaring, as a mathematical genius, had not had a pleasant time at school before he fell in with Freddy and Trent and Jonathan Craven. Freddy hadn’t forgotten, but his focus now was not on Lord Payne’s trustworthiness. He already knew it was nonexistent.
“Perhaps,” he said, flexing his shoulders, “it’s time he fought someone his own size.”
“Definitely,” the earl responded, “but you must know the man has blood in his eyes. He wants to bash your head in for some reason, and given half a chance he’s going to do it.”
“Dear Mainwaring,” Freddy said with a grin. “I didn’t know you cared…”
“Don’t be an arse,” the other man responded with disgust. “I’m serious, Fred. He’s not known for pulling his punc
hes. And I do not want to be the one to explain to Leonora that you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed.”
At the mention of Leonora, Freddy sobered. “I’m doing this for her,” he said in a low voice. “Payne knows something about what happened to Jonny. As does Sir Horace. Fighting Lord Payne will encourage them to see me as a member of the club. And hopefully will loosen their tongues.”
“If you say so,” the earl said, looking skeptical. “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.”
“My lords,” Gentleman Jackson said in a loud voice. “Are you ready for the match to begin?”
“I’m off,” Freddy said in a low voice. “Wish me luck.”
“You’ll need it,” Mainwaring muttered as they approached the ring, where a bare-chested Lord Payne stood bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Before Freddy could move into the ring, however, Sir Gerard Fincher stepped up beside him. “I am pleased to see you followed my advice to come this morning, Lord Frederick. I am always happy to welcome new members to the club who are able to follow instructions.”
Biting back a retort what would likely get him ejected from the Anarchists, Freddy instead nodded and said, “How could I resist, cousin? I have always enjoyed a fight. And Lord Payne was happy enough to oblige me.”
Payne flushed, clearly disliking the notion of obliging anyone about anything. “I was ready for a fight,” he said in a clipped tone. “And I knew that as a new member, he needed testing.” Unsaid but implied was his suspicion that Freddy would not be passing Professor Payne’s pugilistic exam.
“I am grateful for your enthusiasm, Payne,” Gerard said to the other man. “But I’m afraid I must ask the two of you to accompany me to my house for an emergency meeting.”
Turning to Gentleman Jackson, Gerard added, “I will be sure to compensate you for the time lost while we held this ring, Mr. Jackson.”
The big man shrugged, as if it were all the same to him whether they stayed or left. Turning, he walked away to call for someone else to use the now empty ring.
Mainwaring, who had been watching the exchange with a frown, spoke up. “Might I come along as well, Sir Gerard? I’m quite curious about your club, despite being an indifferent driver.”
Freddy had to give his friend credit. He was bold. But it was clear from Gerard’s expression that he’d rather invite an asp to sup at his dinner table than have Mainwaring accompany them. He wasn’t sure if it was because the other man outranked him or if it was simply a desire to keep prying eyes away. Whatever the case, his response was negative. “Unfortunately, Lord Mainwaring,” Gerard said coolly, “this will be a meeting for club members only. I should very much like it if you would attend the ball my wife and I will be hosting later in the season, however.”
Rather than look offended, Mainwaring shrugged. “That’s disappointing, but not unexpected. Though I suppose club business is club business, and not being a member…”
To Freddy, he said, “I’ll see you later, old chap. I hope you have a very interesting meeting.”
Then, before Freddy could protest, he continued, “Oh, and I’ll just drive your curricle to Brooks’s for a trice. I’ve gotten much better at handling the reins, so have no fear.”
“How the devil am I supposed to get to Half Moon Street?” he called after his friend. Archer was going to kill him if Mainwaring so much as scratched his curricle, he thought with a sigh. Never mind he hadn’t precisely given his permission for his ham-fisted friend to drive the thing in the first place.
Deciding to catch a ride with one of the other club members, he hurried into the dressing room and quickly put his clothes and boots back on.
Just what, he wondered as he tied his cravat, was so important that Gerard had felt it necessary to call a meeting of the entire club? Especially when they’d all been together only the night before.
It was damned strange.
When he stepped back out into the main room of the saloon, he found his cousin in deep conversation with Payne, who closed his mouth as soon as Freddy approached.
“Ah, cousin,” Gerard said into the pregnant silence. “I will see you and Lord Payne in Half Moon Street in a quarter of an hour.”
With that, he bowed and strode toward the door leading out to St. James Street.
“You’d best not tell your friend Mainwaring anything about club business,” Lord Payne said as soon as Gerard was out of earshot. “Otherwise Sir Gerard will get it into his head that you’re not loyal. And he has a particular disgust for disloyalty. As do I.”
Unruffled by the other man’s threat, Freddy grunted something that could have been an assent or a suggestion that Payne go jump in the Thames.
Turning his back on the other man, he went in search of a more palatable member of the club to give him a lift to his cousin’s house.
He’d spent quite enough time with Lord Payne that morning to last a lifetime.
* * *
“What a lovely ode to motherhood, Mrs. Jeffries,” Leonora said, grateful that the lady’s fifty-stanza-long epic was finally complete. “I especially liked your metaphor comparing the stars to God’s daisy chain.”
After her meeting with Freddy’s mother and sister-in-law that morning, she’d been forced to hurry her preparations for the literary salon. Though she opened her father’s drawing room to artists and philosophers of all sorts each week, she usually had some new writing of her own to read. That had proved impossible since Freddy had come back into her life, however.
Fortunately, there were plenty of other attendees who were more than willing to share their own work. When she’d first started, she’d needed to request things personally before the salon, but now so many vied for the center of attention at her weekly meetings that there were usually more than enough pieces for other writers to present.
It was just bad luck that Mrs. Jeffries, whose work was generally cheerful, would be about the ghost of a small child returning to warn his mother of her own impending death.
Today, it seemed, she was unable to escape reminders of her own sorrowful secret.
She’d hoped that Freddy would put in an appearance, but thus far he’d not shown up. Which was just as well, because she wanted some time alone with her thoughts before she saw him again. The meeting with his mother and Perdita that morning had left her feeling exposed, and she needed to consider just what the impact of their charade would have on the people closest to them.
So far, she’d been focused so keenly on proving the truth about Sir Gerard that it hadn’t fully sunk in that when she and Freddy ended their betrothal this time, it would affect their friends and families, as well. But the visit that morning had left her with a heavy heart. And she was no longer positive that the ends would justify the means.
Turning her attention back to the salon, she glanced around the room of attendees. “We have a quarter of an hour left,” she announced to the gathering in a cheerful voice that belied her mood. “Does anyone else have a contribution? Perhaps you, Miss Arnot? I believe you were working on a sonnet sequence when last we spoke.”
“It’s not quite finished, Miss Craven,” said the timid lady, her customary powder and patch harkening back to the days of her youth. “But I believe it will be ready next week.”
“Then, if no one else has a contribution, let us have some refreshment,” Leonora said with a smile of relief. Miss Arnot was a nice lady but her poetry tended to be rather tedious and after Mrs. Jeffries’s performance she was in no mood for it.
As the tea tray was brought out and glasses of cordial and sherry were handed round, Leonora allowed herself to relax a little as she stood near the front window, surveying the group at large.
She’d started the weekly meetings of writers and intellectuals not long before she and Freddy parted ways the first time. It had proved a godsend in the aftermath, when she’d desperately needed a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
Now the gathering boasted some thirty or so members, though the number was
often in flux, with people joining and dropping out from week to week. Month to month. With creative people, there was often a tendency toward following the dictates of the muse, so Leonora wasn’t very rigid in her rules for the membership. She considered the changing numbers to be a boon rather than a detriment. After all, the unexpected was often the very thing that made poetry and parties entertaining.
Her reverie was interrupted then by a familiar voice. “I hope you don’t mind that we stopped in, Miss Craven,” said Corinne, Lady Darleigh, whom she had met at Sir Gerard’s home the evening before. “We were so intrigued by the idea of an artistic salon, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to attend.”
“Indeed,” said the mousy woman at her side. Mrs. Brown, Leonora remembered. She’d met her last night but they’d exchanged nothing beyond greetings.
“I’m pleased you decided to come,” Leonora said with the enthusiasm she reserved for new members. “I hope you enjoyed the offerings this afternoon. They vary from meeting to meeting, of course, but are always entertaining.”
A blatant lie, but she could hardly cast aspersions on the other writers in her group. It wasn’t their fault their verse wasn’t quite what she enjoyed.
“Millie,” Lady Darleigh said to Mrs. Brown, “why don’t you go get a cup of tea while I speak with Miss Craven. Didn’t you say that you were famished earlier?”
With a nod, Mrs. Brown moved over to the other side of the room and the tea tray.
Left alone with Lady Darleigh, Leonora raised her brows. “Is there something you wished to speak with me about, Lady Darleigh?” she asked, curious what the other woman could want from her on so brief an acquaintance.
Sometimes near strangers attempted to trade on her popularity by asking her to send their writings to her editor. Or worse, to read their work. For the most part, she eschewed such involvement. Mostly because she knew how fragile a writer’s spirit could be. The world was hard enough on a writer’s spirit, she reasoned, and she would not be the one to tear down someone else’s work. Whether they asked for it or not.
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