An opera singer was performing at someone’s house. Fiona did not recall the specifics. She rose, as did Prudence, and remained that way until after the dowager departed.
“Well, she was an odd bird,” Mrs. Tucket said with a cluck of her tongue in the way she described a pudding that didn’t turn out properly.
“She’s a dowager countess.” Prudence made the statement as if it explained everything.
Fiona thought about not just the woman’s title but her family. “She’s also Tobias’s father’s mother.” And given everything she knew about the former earl, it seemed logical that his mother would be an intimidating, exacting force of nature.
Mrs. Tucket pushed herself to her feet. “Time to climb more stairs so I may have my nap.”
Fiona hated that she was another floor higher. She needed to be in a cottage with one level of living. “Why don’t you nap in my room?” she suggested.
“Nonsense, you need to start preparing for the ball.” Mrs. Tucket waved her hand toward Prudence before she could offer her chamber. “As do you. I’ll get a footman to help me up. I like that Baines fellow. He’s a strapping lad.” She sent them a wink and chuckled on her way out of the drawing room.
Fiona turned to Prudence. “It seems the dowager has come to manage me. Why?”
“I can’t imagine.” She looked at Fiona intently. “But the more pressing question in my mind is why you referred to his lordship as Tobias.”
Had she said that? Fiona hoped she appeared nonchalant. “I misspoke. How bizarre.”
“Quite,” Prudence murmured. “Shall we prepare for the assembly?”
“Yes, let’s.” Fiona was looking forward to donning her favorite and as yet unworn purple gown. No, she was looking forward to focusing her attention on something that did not involve her guardian, the ways he’d withheld information from her, or the manner in which just the thought of him made her quiver.
She needed to look forward to the life she would lead without him.
The line of carriages outside the Phoenix Club was quite long. Both entrances were open and thronged with people. Had it been like this all evening? Tobias was an hour late due to his business at Westminster. He’d rushed home but had missed escorting the ladies. Now he was quite anxious to get inside.
To see Fiona.
Since realizing he was in love with her, the anticipation of seeing her was almost painful. He kept smiling at odd times, provoking questions and puzzled stares.
At last, he was here. He only hoped he could find her easily with so many people about.
Avoiding the crowds at the entrance, Tobias slipped down to the lower floor, where the employees of the club bustled here and there. He had to sidestep someone more than once and apologized profusely. He’d thought this would be an easier entry and was clearly wrong.
When he finally reached the stairs, he hurried up to the ground floor only to find that he couldn’t really get into the house. So he went up one more and emerged on the first floor of the gentleman’s side.
Low voices and the sound of glass hitting glass emerged from the Star Chamber—what he and the others on the membership committee now called the room after hearing the nickname—where the membership committee met to discuss invitations and other issues. Tobias veered from his course of finding Fiona and poked his head into the room. Just Lucien and Wexford sat inside drinking.
“Why are you hiding up here?” Tobias asked with a smile.
“We aren’t hiding. We’re fortifying.” Wexford set down his glass and leapt up from the chair. “What can I pour you?”
Tobias stepped inside. “Nothing. I’m eager to get downstairs.”
Lucien arched a brow. “Eager? Miss Goodfellow will be there this evening. Dare I assume she’s the source of your anticipation?”
“She must be the reason,” Wexford said after downing a gulp of his Irish whisky. “Deane is nearly out of time. Less than ten days, is it?”
Tobias dropped his chin in a single nod. “Yes, but it’s not going to happen—the marriage, I mean. Not before then anyway.”
Both men stared at Tobias.
Wexford’s brows drove down as he narrowed his eyes. “You’re giving up?”
“Not at all. I still plan to wed.” He inhaled and corrected himself. “I hope to wed.” He could not assume Fiona would accept him. She’d already said no once.
“What about Horethorne?” Lucien asked the question softly, almost reverently. He knew how much the place meant to Tobias.
“It will be well taken care of by its new owner.” He felt such joy when he thought of her having a place she could permanently call home for the first time.
Lucien didn’t look convinced. “How do you know?”
“Because in the event that I fail to wed by the dictated date, which I will, my father has given it to Fiona, rather, Miss Wingate.”
Nostrils flaring slightly, Lucien pinned him with a knowing stare. “Who is it you hope to marry? I do not think it is Miss Goodfellow.”
Lucien had always been too bloody astute, not that Tobias felt a need to keep his plan secret, at least not from them. “It is not. I hope that Miss Wingate will become my countess.”
Wexford let out a chortle. “Oh, well played!”
Tobias turned his attention to the laughing Wexford, as did Lucien. “This is not a game.”
“Deane’s not hoping to marry her to gain his mother’s house. He’s in love with his ward,” Lucien clarified.
Wexford’s laughter died immediately. He gaped at Tobias a moment and then leaned forward, his elbow on the table. “So you did have a tendre for her?” He grinned. “Spectacular.”
Setting his empty glass down, Lucien stood. “Come, let us go find your countess-to-be.”
“You assume she’ll say yes,” Tobias said, suddenly more nervous than he’d been all day. No, more nervous than he’d been in two years. The memory of learning that Priscilla had chosen someone other than him rose sharp
