Lucien shrugged. “There are those who look down at the club.” He also kept his voice low.
Wexford snorted. “Because they’re jealous. That can’t apply to Lady Pickering, however. Why would she be jealous of anyone or anything?”
“While you’re probably right, I suspect she doesn’t want to align herself with the club because it may alienate some people with whom she would prefer to remain connected. And she won’t decline because I suspect she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.” Because she’d been a close friend of his mother’s. That made sense to Tobias.
A brief smile passed over Lucien’s lips. “Furthermore, I believe she very much supports the fact that the club includes women, even if we keep the sexes mostly separate. Indeed, that division is what keeps us respectable.”
“I would think she’d join eventually,” MacNair said quietly. “The ladies’ club has four exceptionally admirable patronesses. Lady Pickering would fit right in.”
Lucien snorted softly. “Don’t think I haven’t presented that argument. Mrs. Holland-Ward is a good friend of hers.” She was one of the patronesses along with Lady Dungannon, Lady Hargrove, and Mrs. Renshaw.
“You still haven’t told us about Miss Wingate,” Wexford said, raising his voice back to a normal volume. “Are she and Lucien’s sister going to be rivals to be named the Season’s diamond?”
Lucien snorted. “Cassandra will gleefully cede the attention. She’s not terribly enthused about having her Season, but our father will not allow her to push it off any longer.”
“Especially since you’ve completely rejected his efforts to see you wed,” MacNair said. “He has to manage someone.”
“I suppose it’s possible Miss Wingate could be the Season’s diamond.” Tobias had been surprised and perhaps a bit unnerved by her beauty. With a heart-shaped face graced with a slender nose and pink lips that formed a perfect bow and a gently curved figure, she possessed the form and features of an ideal English miss. But her dark red hair contrasted against the fair cream of her countenance made her stand out and demanded one ponder whether her temperament matched the serenity of her countenance. Or perhaps it was the spark in her brown eyes. With unmatched curiosity, her gaze assessed everything she encountered as if she were committing each item to memory.
“She’s pretty?” Wexford asked.
“Yes, but she has dark red hair.” Which Tobias found arresting. “Some will find it off-putting, I imagine.”
“Then they aren’t worth her time,” MacNair said. He was well-used to people judging him based on the almond color of his skin, or at least regarding him as if he were out of place in Society.
Wexford raised his glass. “Hear, hear.”
They all shared in the toast.
“Enough about my ward,” Tobias said. “I’ve far more pressing matters than dealing with her. Thankfully, Lady Pickering will have things well in hand so that I may focus on my own predicament.”
“Ah, yes, the need for a wife,” Wexford said. He leaned back in his chair and, smirking, looked toward Lucien. “What about Lucien’s sister?”
Lucien glowered at him in response.
Tobias shook his head at Lucien. “You do realize she’s going to wed, and you won’t get a say.”
“I know that.” He scowled. “But none of you can marry her, do you understand?”
“I don’t even want to get married,” MacNair said defensively.
“Nor do I,” Wexford put in. “At least not yet. Your sister is safe from us, and I won’t joke about her anymore.” He rolled his eyes to punctuate the statement—which told Tobias he just wouldn’t joke about her marriage prospects in front of Lucien.
“You didn’t say anything.” Lucien speared Tobias with an expectant stare.
“I’ve no plans to marry my friend’s sister. Besides, she’s far too young for my taste.” She brought to mind the woman Tobias had planned to marry two years ago. Until she’d accepted someone else’s proposal first. The entire affair had been humiliating. He’d believed they were perfectly suited only to discover her father preferred another suitor, the heir to a dukedom. And when Tobias had suggested that they elope to Gretna Green, she’d revealed herself to be a woman lacking maturity and demonstrating a hunger for notoriety. “I would prefer to court a lady who is not in her first Season. I might even prefer a widow.”
“I suppose that removes your ward from consideration,” Wexford noted.
“You can’t jest about that either,” Tobias said. “She’s my ward. That would be…improper.” He picked up his brandy glass and looked around the table. “Now, give me some names. I don’t have much time.”
“Six weeks?” MacNair asked over the rim of his glass.
“Five.” Tobias winced. He couldn’t lose his mother’s house, the location of every single one of his happy memories. He’d been sixteen, away at school, when she’d fallen from her horse. Her death had been utterly shocking, and the loss had left a hole in his heart that had never fully healed. Losing the childhood home that he’d shared with her would be a devastation he didn’t want to contemplate. That his father had put him in this predicament—using the place Tobias loved most to bend him to his will—had turned Tobias’s mild dislike of the man into seething contempt.
Wexford grunted. “Not much bloody time.”
“Precisely.” Tobias looked to MacNair beside him. “I need names.”
“You’re looking at me? A man with no interest in the parson’s trap?” MacNair laughed, then sobered when Tobias only narrowed his eyes. “Fine. What about Mrs. Drummond? She’s a widow.”
“She’s also at least fifteen years older than me. I need an heir.”
“Older women are quite lovely though.” Lucien grinned, and the other two chuckled.
“You lot are no help.” Tobias moved on to Wexford. “A name. And don’t be flippant.”
Wexford touched his chest. “Me? As it happens, I’ve an excellent suggestion—Miss Jessamine Goodfellow.”
Tobias tried to recall her and couldn’t. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing that I know of. She’s just a wallflower. She has two younger sisters who are already married.”
“How do you know her?” Tobias found it odd that he wasn’t aware of her while Wexford,
