Page 22 of When the Viscount Seduces
CHAPTER 5
Every Friday during the Season, the Phoenix Club, London’s premier gentlemen’sandladies’ club, hosted an assembly. The balls on the first Friday of the month were themed, but tonight’s mid-month ball was as well—a medieval festival.
Fridays were the one night of the week where the sexes mingled within the club, save Tuesdays, when the ladies were invited to the men’s side of the club. The closest the men ever got to the ladies’ side was their half of the ballroom, the width of which spanned both sides on the ground floor.
This was the club’s third Season, and it had only gained in popularity. The club’s owner, Lord Lucien Westbrook, was one of London’s most charming gentlemen. Everyone wanted to be his friend or find their way into his bed. To the latter’s chagrin, alas, as Lord Lucien was recently married and utterly devoted to his new wife.
Lazarus arrived at the club and entered through the men’s side. Instead of going straight to the ballroom, he went up to the members’ den, where he was sure he’d run into at least some of the gentlemen he sought. He was not disappointed. Shefford sat with a friend of theirs who’d only recently returned to LondonSociety after losing his wife two years ago. Roman Garrick, Marquess of Keele, had long been focused on rebuilding his family’s tattered reputation and squandered fortune, but since his wife’s death, he’d seemed to double his efforts.
“Evening, Somerton,” Shefford said. “Join us for a drink?”
Keele looked up at Lazarus from his chair, his steel-gray eyes sharp as they fixed on him. “The whisky is excellent.”
“The Phoenix Club always has the best liquor.” Shefford swirled his glass and studied the amber liquid. “I’d ask Lord Lucien how he does it, but I understand Lady Evangeline is responsible.” He referred to the manager of the club.
“I must find out where she gets it,” Keele murmured before taking another sip. “Shouldn’t you two go down to the ball?”
Lazarus noted that Keele was not dressed in medieval garb to match the theme. Shefford had donned a costume, however. He wore a black doublet shot with silver thread.
Predictably, Shefford wrinkled his nose. “I’ll get there. Eventually. Or not.” He looked up at Lazarus. “Sit with us.”
“I cannot. I’ve things to do.” He gestured to his own costume of a dark green gipon edged in gold. “Besides, I would never let this attire go to waste.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Only you could make this ancient clothing look fashionable.” Shefford frowned. “Rumor is you’ve been practically courting Evan’s sister. What the devil are you about?”
Lazarus sat down at the table with them and spoke in a low tone. “I’m helping her gain admirers. I thought if I paid her attention, others might too. My goal tonight is to ensure she has three dances.” And two promenades. He wasn’t sure he could manage all that, though he would try.
“That’s very kind of you,” Keele said.
“You should tell her brother. Last night, he was going on about you promenading with his sister at the Oxley ball and wondering if you are going to offer for her.”
Inwardly grimacing, Lazarus wondered if Miss Price had spoken to her mother yet. If not, she probably should. Lazarus didn’t wish to cause unrealistic expectations or disharmony.
“Is there any chance you may decide to court her?” Keele asked.
“He’s not ready to marry,” Shefford said, flicking a glance toward Lazarus as if to make sure.
“I am not,” Lazarus confirmed. And yet, he was thinking of Miss Price a great deal. He enjoyed her company, and she’d seen a side of him he’d only fully bared to his father. She hadn’t only seen it, she’d embraced that part of him, giving her unconditional support.
Then, last night at the ball, those two young ladies had interrupted their promenade and he’d been irritated. He hadn’t wanted to pick up the fan the chit had purposely dropped—he’d watched her do it as he and Miss Price had approached—but he’d politely done so. He’d smiled at them and even flirted in return because that was what he did. Except afterward, he’d felt uneasy about it. Especially when Miss Price had said she wasn’t worth flirting with. She was far more worthy than insipid title hunters who dropped their fans to get attention.
Keele’s mouth ticked up in a wry smile. “Are you certain, Somerton?”
“So help me, if you decide to wed, I am going to have to write you off,” Shefford threatened. “I can’t lose another friend to the parson’s trap.”
“You haven’t lost any friends,” Somerton said with a fair amount of exasperation. “Except Bane, perhaps, but then who knows what he is about.”
“He’s expecting a child,” Keele said, swirling his whisky. “Any time, in fact. Or perhaps the birth has already come to pass.”
“I didn’t know that,” Shefford said. “How doyouknow?”
“My mother-in-law is cousin to his mother-in-law,” Keele replied. “She knows that I have been acquainted with Bane for some time.”
“Well, that is excellent news,” Somerton said, though he honestly had trouble imaging Bane as a father. He glanced toward the clock. “I need to get down to the ball.” He stood. “You sure I can’t persuade either of you to join me?”
“Absolutely not,” Keele said firmly. “I may be back in Society, but my time attending balls is finished. Good luck to you, my friend.”
“I’ll be down when I finish my whisky,” Shefford responded, though he did not sound enthused. “If only to ensure you don’t do anything foolish such as get caught in a compromising position with Evan’s sister and be forced to wed.”
