Page 30 of Intolerable
With a genuine laugh, Ruark inclined his head toward Lucien’s glass. “You’re drinking Irish, you know.”
“Am I?” His gaze seemed harried as he took a long drink before throwing himself in the last open chair in their seating area.
“Did you find success?” MacNair asked, undoubtedly referring to what had occupied Lucien all day—and last night.
“I did, thank God. The invitation was delivered to Glastonbury an hour ago.”
They all served on the secret membership committee of the club, which Lucien had convened late last night to discuss extending an invitation to the Viscount Glastonbury. When Evie Renshaw, one of the patronesses of the ladies’ side and Lucien’s de facto assistant in managing the club, had asked for the reason, Lucien had hesitated. They typically invited people who possessed a kind or generous nature or who were often excluded from Society or other clubs but who had much to offer in terms of amiability and camaraderie. In this instance, however, Lucien had bluntly stated that he was inviting Glastonbury as a matchmaking scheme for his sister. He’d added that Glastonbury was an affable sort.
Evie had frowned, saying that wasn’t a strong enough recommendation. The other woman present, Ada Treadway who handled the club’s accounts, had agreed.
The standing rule to extend an invitation was that membership votes had to be unanimously in favor. That included votes from two members who did not attend the meetings and whose identity was secret even from the others on the committee. Except to Lucien.
In the past, the committee met, they voted, and if those present all voted for the potential member to be invited, Lucien took the proposal to the two secret members. Thus far, they’d voted with the rest of the committee on nearly every occasion.
After Evie and Ada expressed their doubt, Lucien had worked to extol Glastonbury’s virtues, which had only exposed that he didn’t know the man well enough. He’d agreed to find out more about the viscount, and they’d planned to reconvene this morning. Then, Lucien had asked his three friends, who were seated here now, to help him build the case for admitting Glastonbury as a member.
Ruark and MacNair had gone to the Black Boar, where Glastonbury was also a member, and spoken to as many people as possible. To a person, they’d said he was charming and witty—and an excellent pugilist—but no one could provide anything deeper, such as what his family thought of him or how he treated others beyond being, well, charming and witty.
Deane had used his new position in the House of Lords to see what he could learn. Unfortunately, Glastonbury was almost as new as Deane, having inherited his seat the previous summer. He didn’t attend meetings as regularly as some, but he was better than others. He didn’t chair any committees, nor did he seem to have any particular passions as far as what he cared about with regard to governance.
Overall, they couldn’t find anything bad about him, nor had they discovered anything exceptional. It was enough, however, for Evie and Ada to vote in favor of his membership that morning. Then Lucien had needed to find the other two members and convince them. One had agreed immediately and the other had held out until, apparently, an hour ago.
“I bloody well hope he accepted after all that,” MacNair said with a smirk.
Ruark couldn’t help hoping he hadn’t. But that was completely selfish and horrible of him. It was as if he wanted Cassandra for himself. He was simply going to have to get over his jealousy.
“He did, thankfully,” Lucien responded. “And he plans to come later, so my sister can appease our father and dance with him.”
“All that effort for a dance.” Deane shook his head. “Do you think they will suit?”
“I can’t say. It’s entirely up to Cassandra, and so far she is undecided. She wishes to know him better, but after the last day of trying to learn about him, I wonder ifanyoneknows him.”
Ruark frowned. “That doesn’t recommend him.”
“Or he’s simply the kind of person who doesn’t let people get very close,” Lucien said. “My brother is a bit like that.”
“More than a bit,” Deane muttered.
“You’re right,” Lucien admitted. “However, underneath that façade of imperiousness, Con possesses a depth of feeling and concern that sets him apart.”
“Then we shall hope Glastonbury is of a similar nature. As you said, it’s up to your sister, anyhow. We are merely providing her with an opportunity.”
“Yes, and to that end, if you could all do what you can to help steer the two of them together, I would be grateful. You may not have a chance, but if you do, please seize it.”
Everyone nodded in assent. Everyone except Ruark who busied himself drinking his whisky.
“Wex?” Lucien prodded. “Aren’t you going to help?”
“Certainly.” Ruark would hope there wouldn’t be an opportunity. While he wouldn’t pursue her himself, he also couldn’t bring himself to push her toward another man.
“I appreciate your support.” Lucien held up his glass. “To the best friends a man could have.” His gaze landed on Deane’s empty hands. “Deane, where’s your drink?”
“He was too busy mooning over his wife to pour one,” MacNair noted.
“Hang on.” Deane jumped up and went to pour himself a brandy. When he was settled back in his chair, he lifted his glass and they all toasted to friendship.
The conversation continued around Ruark as his mind went back to their discussion before Lucien had arrived. About marriage—and love. He was no stranger to the latter but would continue to avoid the former for at least three more years.
