Page 85 of Impeccable
Ada shook her head rather vehemently. “No, this isn’t going to be how it plays out. The anonymous pair on the membership committee will protect you and the club. There may be a scandal, but it will be minimized, and it will be brief.”
A kernel of hope nestled in Evie’s chest. It was hard not to be persuaded by Ada’s optimism. And now Evie was thinking of Gregory. Perhaps he’d rubbed off on her more than she wanted to admit. In fact, she wondered what he was doing now. Was he working to protect Evie? She had to think he might be, but she was better off not thinking about it—or him—at all.
Evie smiled faintly at Ada. “You speak as if you know who those anonymous members are.”
“I don’t.” Ada blinked. “Do you?”
“I do not.” Though Evie had long suspected the esteemed Lady Pickering was one of them. She was always very friendly with Lucien, and the fact that she’d avoided accepting her now-two-year-old invitation to join the club had always struck Evie as odd.
Evie was also fairly certain the other was a man, someone to whom Lucien was incredibly loyal. He’d slipped up a time or two when talking to Evie over the years. She hadn’t drawn attention to it, but had tucked the information away.
She recalled what she’d considered recently, that those two anonymous people might have invited the Hargroves and others like them to join the club. Perhaps they had more control over the club’s membership than she or anyone else realized. “Whoever they are, if they tell Lucien to go along with Millie’s demands, he will have to. Society will insist upon it.”
Ada frowned. “I don’t understand Society, and I hope I never do. I may be a viscountess in name, but I am just a girl from Devon who happened to fall in love far above my station.”
Evie looked at her intently. “You are a brilliant woman who works very hard. That a viscount was smart enough to see how wonderful you are and make you his own is his good fortune.”
“What about your good fortune?” Ada asked. “You shouldn’t have to leave the club.”
Evie didn’t want to discuss it anymore. “I think I’m going home.” She stood, suddenly eager to be on her way from the club.
Ada jumped up, her face creasing with worry. “Am I driving you away?”
“Of course not.” Evie gave her a brief, reassuring smile. “I just don’t wish to see anyone else.”
“I understand. I’ll walk out with you.”
Nodding, Evie left the office with her and went downstairs. One of the footwomen quickly fetched Evie’s things from the cloakroom—they were not busy since it was Tuesday and most of the ladies who might have been here were instead next door.
Ada bid her good evening, and Evie stepped out into the cold February night. Sparse snowflakes drifted in the air as Evie made her way toward St. James’s Square. She made this walk nearly every day and night, though at night, she was often in the company of a footman from the club, whose duty it was to see her home.
Tonight, however, she preferred to be alone to contemplate the storm that was coming. She only wished she knew if it would decimate everything or if she’d find a way to survive.
“Lord Gregory, what a pleasure to see you.” Lightner, the butler at Witney House, greeted Gregory despite the lateness of the hour. Nearing sixty, Lightner had been at Witney House as long as Gregory could remember. He was one of many people Gregory would miss seeing regularly now that his brother was the marquess.
“I’m surprised you’re still at the door,” Gregory said, handing the man his hat and gloves.
“Lady Witney prefers I am on duty until midnight.” The man didn’t reflect his thoughts about that, but Gregory could imagine he didn’t like it. For heaven’s sake, the man ran a large household and would need to be up early to manage things.
Gregory tried not to frown and failed. “That’s far too late. Or have they let all the footmen go?” Of course they hadn’t. If anything, Susan had probably insisted they hire more.
“No. There is even an underbutler.”
“Then there is really no need for this,” Gregory said, growing angrier than he already was. He’d come here to read his brother the riot act. “I’ll speak to Clifford.”
“That isn’t necessary, my lord, but you are considerate to think of me. You always have been.” His gaze was warm and kind, and Gregory was sorry the man had to work in this household. Perhaps if Gregory ever found himself with a household large enough to support a butler, he’d hire him away.
When would that happen when Gregory couldn’t even launch the career he wanted?
“If you’re here to see Lord Witney, I’m afraid he’s not returned home yet,” Lightner said. “Lady Witney is in the Greek room.” He referred to Gregory’s father’s favorite room on the ground floor, which was decorated with Greek sculpture. A large, fanciful painting of Greek gods and goddesses held a focal point in the center of one wall. “Though, they aren’t calling it that anymore. It’s now the Gold Room.”
Gregory’s stomach knotted. What had she done? He found he had to see for himself. He could also vent some of his spleen at her since she was the primary source behind their ridiculous demands. “I’ll just go and say good evening,” Gregory said, his tone sounding sharp even to his own ears.
If Lightner noticed Gregory’s agitation, he didn’t indicate so. He merely inclined his head.
Walking swiftly as he allowed his anger to flow through him. Gregory made his way to the Greek Room. He wasn’t ever going to call it the Gold Room. As soon as he reached the threshold, his jaw dropped. Gold didn’t begin to describe the amount of…gold on display. Everything was either made of gold or gilded or colored gold. There were brief accents of cream. There wasn’t a Greek sculpture to be seen, and his father’s favorite painting was gone. In its place was some massive gilt-framed Rococo nightmare.
“You’ve made some changes,” Gregory said tightly.
