“Is there any information you’d like to impart that might help me win a wager?” Aldington smiled—a rarity in Tobias’s experience. “I jest, of course. I do not make wagers.”
“Of course. And no, there is nothing to share.” Tobias picked up his glass as Aldington inclined his head and bade him good evening.
Alone at the table, Tobias swallowed the rest of his port, eager to follow Aldington out. He’d done his duty for the evening. Now he needed a proper drink with proper company.
A short while later, Tobias entered the library on the first floor of the Phoenix Club and poured himself a glass of smuggled Scotch whisky. As he’d walked from White’s, his mind had turned to Miss Wingate. His earlier annoyance with her had faded, but he was still troubled by the events of the musicale.
He hadn’t asked to be her guardian, nor had he promised anyone that he’d see her wed. Perhaps he’d really been annoyed with his father. No, not annoyed, livid. He’d completely tossed Tobias’s life into shambles.
“Dipping into the whisky, eh Deane?” Lucien strode into the library. “Damn, I mean Overton. I was doing so well too.”
“I’d insist you call me Deane, but I know you won’t. Do you want a drink?”
“Yes, thank you. And I would call you Deane if you really want me to.”
Tobias finished pouring and handed Lucien the tumbler. “Tempting. My loathing for my father is particularly sharp this evening.”
“Has he visited some new horror upon you?”
“No, just the same manipulation from his grave. I should have postponed bringing Miss Wingate to London until after I was wed. Then she could be my wife’s problem.”
“Your poor wife,” Lucien said, smirking.
“Why? Managing young ladies is far more suited to a wife than to someone like me.”
“You just referred to Miss Wingate as a problem. That sounds like a…problem.”
Snorting, Tobias went to the collection of chairs near the hearth and dropped into a wingback chair. “She’s out of her element completely.”
Lucien sat opposite him. “Isn’t Lady Pickering schooling her?”
“Yes, but in hindsight, I should have delayed Miss Wingate’s introduction to Society and given her more time to learn what’s expected of her.”
Lucien shrugged. “You still can. Have her focus on her studies for a fortnight or however long. Then, when she’s more comfortable, she can reenter.”
Stretching his legs out and clutching his whisky on the arm of the chair, Tobias pondered his friend’s suggestion. “Perhaps I should. I was so hellbent on seeing her wed so that I could focus on finding a countess that I failed to see she wasn’t ready.”
“Did something happen this evening?” Lucien asked.
“We went to the Billingsworth musicale.” Tobias glowered at his friend. “She went off with your sister, and I found them wagering at loo. Since Miss Wingate had no money, Lady Cassandra supplied her with the necessary funds.”
Lucien exhaled. “My apologies. But really, there’s no harm in what they were doing. Unless Cass was throwing in with the high stakes ladies? Lady Billingsworth is known for her deep play.”
“No, they were playing for pennies, but I still don’t like it. Miss Wingate’s father is not a duke. She doesn’t even have a father. She’s a nobody from the country.” Tobias realized he hadn’t paused to censor himself as he had with Lucien’s brother.
“Whose guardian is an earl and whose sponsor is the inestimable Lady Pickering. She is also, apparently, a close friend of that daughter of a duke. I think you underestimate Miss Wingate’s standing.”
“Perhaps.” Tobias took a long, satisfying drink of whisky.
Wexford tossed himself into a nearby chair. “What’s worrying Deane?” he asked no one in particular.
Lucien chuckled. “I called him Deane too.”
“Oh hell,” Wexford said, laughing. “Was bound to happen.”
“He’d rather we call him that.”
“Done.” Wexford eyed Tobias’s glass. “You’re almost out, and I forgot to pour myself something.” The Irishman stood. “What about you, Lucien? Need a refill?”
“Not yet.”
As Wexford stood, Tobias threw the rest of his drink down his throat and held out his empty glass. “It’s the Scotch whisky.”
Wexford made a face and a gagging sound. “Disgusting bilge water. Doesn’t come close to Irish.”
“Then why is there still so much of yours in the cellar?” Lucien teased.
Wexford snatched the glass from Tobias’s fingertips. “Because I hide it so you lot don’t drink it all.” Chuckling, he went to the cabinet where the Phoenix Club’s butler restocked the supply every day.
“Deane is frustrated by his ward,” Lucien said. “And my sister, who has befriended his ward.”
“Is Lady Cassandra causing trouble?” Wexford called from the sideboard.
Lucien’s brows pitched into a deep V. “Why would you say that?”
Wexford returned with two glasses and handed one to Tobias, then the other to Lucien. “Because she’s your sister.”
Tobias snickered. “He has a point. And she did take my ward into Lady Billingsworth’s card room.”
Turning when he’d reached the liquor cabinet again, Wexford swept up his glass of presumably Irish whisky and started back toward them. “Lady Billingsworth? I hope you didn’t give your ward much pin money, Deane.”
“I didn’t give her any. She was only able to play because Lady Cassandra supported her.”
Casting himself into a chair and sipping his drink, Wexford looked to Lucien. “Sounds as though your sister is causing trouble.” His vivid blue gaze darkened. “I know all about troublesome sisters.” Because he had four of them.
“She’s not, but I’ll talk to her nevertheless.”
“No need. Aldington said he would do it.”
“You spoke to him about this?” Lucien asked. “Ah, he was at the musicale. I’m so glad I’m not the heir,” he murmured before taking a drink with a thoroughly smug expression on his face.
“He was, but we discussed the matter at White’s. I stopped in there before coming here.”
Wexford goggled at him. “Why?”
“To improve his reputation,” Lucien said with a snort. “As if a few visits to White’s to drink with my brother will erase the past two years of his debauchery.”
Tobias tossed a
