Page 143 of Doxy for the Ton
But Eleanor only wanted Mimi to be happy, and Mimi loved her for that. She kissed her friend on the cheek, then the duchess bade her farewell, calling for Betsy to fetch her cloak. Moments later, Mimi heard the crunch of wheels on gravel as Mr. Wade summoned the Whitcombe carriage to take Eleanor home to the husband who loved her to the exclusion of all else.
“He may have loved me,” Mimi whispered, placing her palm on the cold pane of the window while she watched the carriage drive away. “But not enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
London
“Cheer up, oldchap. It might never happen.”
Alexander glanced at Thorpe as they approached the entrance to White’s.
It already has.
The footman at the door arched an eyebrow at Alexander, then bowed.
“Welcome back, Lord Thorpe, and…Your Grace.”
“The Duke of Sawbridge is my guest, Grantchester,” Thorpe said. “I’m sponsoring the renewal of his membership application.”
“Of course, sir, very good.” The footman gave an obsequious little bow. “Welcome back to White’s, Your Grace.”
“There’s no guarantee that the secretary will approve my application, Grantchester,” Alexander said. “It would therefore be wise to restrain yourself from an excess of civility toward me until you’re in a better position to determine where your loyalty lies.”
The footman’s smile slipped and Thorpe ushered Alexander inside.
“There’s no benefit in abusing the staff here,” he said, “or they’ll spit in your brandy.”
“Might improve the taste,” Alexander said. “The stuff they serve here is barely fit to polish the silver.”
“If you’re going to be churlish, I’ll take you elsewhere,” Thorpe said. “My wife would never forgive me if I lost my membership on your account.”
“Lady Thorpe doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s concerned whether White’s admits you or not,” Alexander said.
“No, but she’s concerned about my association withyou,” Thorpe said. “Perhaps she fears your debauchery is contagious.”
Alexander eyed the clubroom where the occupants were visible through a haze of blue smoke, and footmen paraded about holding trays laden with brandy glasses.
Perhaps if he imbibed a bottle of the stuff he might be able to forget…her.
But no—he’d tried that the night before, and all it had earned him was a dry throat, the expulsion of his supper, and a megrim the next morning reminiscent of a stampede of racehorses in his head.
Thorpe steered Alexander toward a group of empty button-backed leather chairs and waved over a footman.
“My usual, please,” he said. “And the same for my guest.”
The footman bowed and scuttled off.
“I say, Ithoughtit was you!” a familiar voice said. “May we join you?”
The Duke of Westbury appeared, brandy glass in hand, with his eldest son.
“Of course,” Alexander said, rising and offering his hand. “And Mr. Drayton. A pleasure.”
“So,” Westbury said, settling into a seat, “you’ve been readmitted to White’s.”
“Only as a guest,” Alexander said. “Thorpe’s sponsoring my reapplication.”
“Are you in need of a second?” Westbury asked. “I’m happy to oblige.”
