She turned and left the library without tidying the maps. Because to stay another moment in his presence might have completely broken her spirit.
After a particularly long day at Westminster, Tobias went directly to the gaming room at the Phoenix Club where, over the course of an hour, he lost a considerable sum of money. Most of it went to Mrs. Jennings, a sharp, witty widow around forty years of age.
As he took his leave of the table, she did the same. “You seemed distracted as we played, Overton,” she said as they walked between the tables.
Between his troublesome ward and his lack of marriage prospects, Tobias was more than distracted. One might even describe him as morose. “My mind is cluttered,” he admitted. “It was a busy day at Westminster.”
“I don’t miss that about Mr. Jennings,” she said. “He spent far too much time there, which was probably the cause of the fit that killed him.”
Tobias recalled that he’d died—in his seat in the Commons—two years previously. “Mr. Jennings was a strong voice.”
“He was indeed. Is that what you were doing today?” she asked, peering at him askance with her bright blue-green eyes. “Pontificating?”
“Heavens no.” Tobias made a slight face for comedic effect. “I try never to do that. I did deliver a small speech about voting reform, but there aren’t many who support that.”
She smiled approvingly. “Mr. Jennings would have been proud of you.”
Tobias’s father would have been horrified, which Tobias counted as an added bonus. “Are you going upstairs to the members’ den?” he asked, intending to offer his escort.
“I am.” At her confirmation, he presented his arm and an invitation. “Thank you. Can I attribute anything to your behavior beyond polite kindness?”
He guided her toward the staircase hall. “What do you mean?”
“I understand you are searching for a wife. I am probably too old for you. However, my younger sister is not. She is, however, on the shelf and not currently in London.”
Tobias liked Mrs. Jennings, but this was an odd conversation. Did he appear desperate?
“I heard about your…situation last week here in the garden.” She gave him a sympathetic look as they started up the stairs. “I wondered if you might seek to find a bride who would not be troubled by your…activities.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My sister would not mind. In fact, she’d be happy to engage in an arrangement in which she provides you an heir and beyond that you lead separate lives.”
Tobias caught his foot on the next stair and had to clasp the railing. Mrs. Jennings gripped him more tightly and let out a soft chuckle. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was not, ah, expecting you to say any of that.” His mind scrambled to think of an appropriate response. Was there an appropriate response?
“Such things aren’t typically discussed so brazenly, but I don’t see a need to mince words. You seem in want of a wife and find yourself in a difficult circumstance. I only wanted to offer a solution.”
“Brilliant, thank you.” He summoned a smile. “I shall take your thoughtful offer under advisement.”
They’d reached the top of the stairs. “I’m for the library,” he said, deciding at the last moment that he’d rather not risk the chance of having to sit with her in the members’ den. He didn’t think he could withstand any further attempts at “assistance.”
She took her hand from his arm. “I thank you for your distraction earlier. My modiste will be quite happy to receive my next order.” Smiling widely, she took her leave and sauntered toward the members’ den, which would be quite full of ladies this evening since it was Tuesday.
Tobias hesitated. He should go. What if his bride was there and he had only to go in and find her?
Scowling, he turned on his heel and went to the library. There, he strode directly to the liquor cabinet and promptly swore when he couldn’t find any Scotch whisky.
“Waiting on a shipment, I think,” Wexford said from a table behind him. “There’s Irish though!” Grinning, he raised his glass.
“Irish,” Tobias muttered as he poured some. He joined Wexford at his table and sipped the whisky. “Not bad.”
Wexford narrowed his eyes jauntily. “After you finish that glass, you won’t go back. I’ll put ten pounds on it.”
Tobias shook his head. “No more wagering. I lost enough downstairs already.”
“I heard.” Lucien, a glass of port in his hand, took another chair at the table. “I just came from the members’ den where Mrs. Jennings is crowing about her winnings.”
“I hope that’s all she’s talking about.” Tobias winced inwardly to think of her sharing the proposition she’d offered him with anyone else. Surely she wouldn’t. He didn’t know her to be the kind of person who delighted in salacious information.
Both Lucien and Wexford stared at him, their eyes wide.
“Are you shagging her too?” Wexford asked, incredulous. “I mean, she’s bloody attractive, but aren’t you trying to take the tarnish off?”
Tobias growled low in his throat. “I’m not shagging her. Or anyone else.” He took a long pull on the whisky. Wexford might be right about becoming a convert by the bottom of the glass. But was that because it was good, or because Tobias would have downed the cheapest gin if it was in front of him?
“Never mind,” Tobias grumbled, setting the glass down and leaning back in his chair. “She was trying to be helpful. I’ve twelve days to marry and zero prospects.”
“She offered herself?” Lucien asked.
“Not exactly.” Though she’d hinted at that too. “Can we forget about Mrs. Jennings and focus on the matter at hand?”
Lucien arched his brows. “Which is?”
“Finding a damned wife.
