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“Good,” he said with a quick nod, then pushed himself to stand. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to join me for lunch at my club.”

The apparent shift in subject and mood was so abrupt that it left Toby reeling.

“With all due respect,” Robbie said, standing when Heath stepped around his desk, “and as much as I’m flattered by the invitation, time really is of the essence. I don’t know if we can afford to take a break to have lunch.”

Heath sent them a mischievous smile. “Trust me, Mr. Hawthorne, Mr. Tillman. You can’t afford not to take this lunch meeting with me.”

Hearing the proposed lunch described at a meeting immediately switched Toby’s thinking about everything. It was business, he was certain of it. Heath Manfred had a business proposition for them, and he wanted to discuss it the right setting.

“You lead the way and we’ll follow,” he said as he, too, stood.

Robbie sent a questioning look to him, but walked with him as Toby caught up to Heath in the hallway.

The whirlwind morning stepped up a notch as Heath ordered a car brought around for them. Within minutes, Toby andRobbie found themselves seated in a limousine, heading into the heart of the city.

“I don’t know much about Willoughby Entertainment Group or Charles Duckworth,” Heath said, “but I know all about shady business dealings and people who think a great deal of themselves trying to pull strings behind the scenes. If they try to play dirty, then you just have to play your trump card.”

Toby didn’t really have the first clue what the man was talking about, but he liked him. It was hard not to like Heath Manfred’s confidence and his good nature. More than that, as they spent the trip telling Heath about Hawthorne House, the Hawthorne Community Arts Center, and everything that the family was doing, both in their artistic fields and for their local community, Heath listened. He actually listened, absorbing it all like he was hatching multiple plans to make things right as they rolled along.

Toby was surprised when they stopped outside what he thought at first was a hotel bordering the western side of Hyde Park. Without missing a beat, Heath led them from the limo, through a discreet door and a foyer where they had to go through security, then into something that was out of a Victorian gentleman’s dream.

“This is The Chameleon Club,” he explained, nodding to a pair of men having a conversation off to one side of the hall. “It’s the primary home of a group called The Brotherhood, which was formed in the eighteen-thirties.”

“I’ve heard of The Brotherhood,” Robbie said, glancing around at everything in astonishment. “In fact, I think Rafe is a member.”

“Is he?” Heath asked with a smile. “Well, that’s highly convenient.”

Toby didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about, but judging by how posh everything was, it was most likely an aristocrat thing.

They climbed a small set of marble stairs, then headed along another hallway to a large, echoey room filled with tables. There was a buffet on one side and wait staff rushing about refilling glasses and helping some of the decidedly crusty older gentlemen at the tables. Even with that, after the time he’d spent at Hawthorne House for the past two weeks, Toby took one look at the pseudo-restaurant and thought, “Ballroom.”

“The Brotherhood was originally created as a safe haven for gay men in the nineteenth century,” Heath continued his explanation as he waved to a small group of decidedly stuffy-looking gentlemen at another table, then headed in that direction. “Of course, lesbian, bi, and trans people were admitted beginning in the seventies, but for nearly two centuries, The Brotherhood’s main purpose has been to come to each other’s aid in times of trouble. No man left behind and all,” he added as they reached the table.

Toby suddenly understood what the lunch was all about and why Heath had brought them there. If Duckie was going to play hardball by calling in favors behind the scenes with the intent of bringing about the Hawthorne family’s ruin, then Heath Manfred was going to give the Hawthornes and Toby the means to counter that with favors of their own.

“Gentlemen,” Heath spoke to the table. “This is Mr. Toby Tillman and Mr. Robbie Hawthorne of Hawthorne House.”

“Good heavens,” one of the older gentlemen said, like something straight out of a BBC broadcast from decades ago. “You don’t mean the Earl of Felcourt, do you?”

Toby wanted to laugh. As much as he hated it, it looked like nobs had a use after all.

“That’s my father,” Robbie said, looking like he’d been hit over the head with something and dragged into the club instead of coming of his own free will.

One of the other men narrowed his eyes and said, “Not Robert Hawthorne.”

“Yes, that’s my father,” Robbie said.

That man sent a sly look to a third man at the table and said, “I knew him when he was young. Quite the adventurous young buck, if I recall.”

Toby couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the embarrassed flush that instantly painted Robbie’s face. He’d heard from Mr. Hawthorne himself at various points in the last two weeks that he was flexible and that he’d gotten around in his youth, before meeting Janice and having seven children with her. But meeting someone who knew all about that first-hand was a treat.

“Er, I’ll tell him you said hello?” Robbie said, bristling with awkwardness.

“Does he still have that racy little MG Midget?” the older gentleman asked.

Robbie floundered, turning redder by the moment, and was only saved by Heath interrupting with, “You can catch up on old times later, Benny.” He turned to Toby and Robbie and said, “This is Benjamin Hollis, Michael Everdale, George Plimpton, Freddy Noble, and Giovanni Brancusi.”

The older gentlemen nodded and waved, smiling with interest, especially when Heath pulled out chairs and gestured for them all to sit down.

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