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“I beg your pardon?” Christopher turned around, stepping away from the light spilling from the windows.

“You’ve been standing out here for a few minutes. I was wondering if you were going in,” the gentleman said. In the dark of the night, he was almost difficult to see. He had a darker complexion and was dressed all in black. Only his bright white teeth, shirt, and neckcloth were clearly visible.

“Oh, er, no,” Christopher said, making up his mind in a split second. “No,” he said more firmly.

“Can’t say that I’m eager to do so myself. Something about the air this evening. Usually I love a party. All the gossip, the company, the ladies.” He gave a little chuckle. “Somehow tonight, I’d rather… not.”

“As you can see, I’m not exactly eager either,” Christopher admitted.

“I’m Wickford, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out a hand.

“Pennyston. No, I’ve been in the army.”

“The Peninsula?” Wickford asked.

“Yes.” Something tickled at the back of Christopher’s mind. “Wickford. I’ve heard that name recently.”

“Really? Who was talking about me?”

“Colburne. Yes, that’s right, he was saying something about a new gentleman’s club?” Christopher asked. “One that you own? Am I getting things mixed up—if so, I apologize.”

“No, no, that’s exactly right. I own Powell’s. It’s a relatively new club. What do you say we pop over there instead of…” He waved a hand at the house in front of them.

“I’d like that… only…” Christopher started.

Wickford looked at him expectantly.

“I’d hate to scare away your clientele,” he said softly.

“What?”

Christopher stepped back into the light and braced himself for the expected response.

“Oh! I see. War wound?” the fellow asked.

“Yes.”

“I rather doubt you’d scare anyone, but if you’d be more comfortable, I think we could find a dark corner for you,” Wickford offered. “As well as some of the finest rum you will taste anywhere.”

Christopher couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d like that very much.”

~*~

“Lady Moreton, please correct me if I am mistaken, but is there a reason why you are hovering near the door?” Lady Ayres asked. She and her husband had abandoned their duties as host and hostess greeting all newcomers, but Ellen hadn’t given up, not just yet.

“I’m terribly sorry. I suppose I’m not being as social as I should be,” Ellen said, wringing her hands together.

“Well, you did say at our last meeting that you were going to try your best to be more social, and yet I find you here not speaking with anyone,” she said with a kind, motherly expression.

“Yes, and I am, it’s just… well, I was waiting for someone but…”

“Good evening, Lady Moreton,” Lord Colburne said, coming up and joining them. “Lady Ayres, the evening seems to be a great success.”

Their hostess gave him a warm smile. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It’s so lovely to have all of our friends here this evening.”

He nodded and turned to Ellen. “How is our friend Sergeant Jones?”

“So much better, thank you for asking. His leg is healing quite well. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that he didn’t lose it,” Ellen said.

“I believe on that note, I’m going to see how others are doing,” Lady Ayres said, looking a little pale.

“Oh dear,” Ellen said, watching her go. “I didn’t mean to disturb her.”

Lord Colburne gave a little chuckle. “I’m sure she will forgive you once she forgets you just said that.”

Ellen laughed. “I’ll give her a couple days.”

“Well, I am very happy to hear the news about the sergeant.”

“Yes. I had been expecting Lord Pennyston to join us this evening, but… it looks like he decided not to come,” Ellen said, taking another peek out the window.

“Had he said he would come?” Lord Colburne asked, sounding slightly surprised.

“Well, he said he would try.”

“You spoke with him and asked him to come,” his lordship clarified.

“Yes. I was very hopeful. Perhaps too hopeful,” Ellen said.

“It’s hard for him. I’m sure you realize that.”

“Yes, of course.” She turned from the window. She wasn’t happy about it, but there really wasn’t anything she could do.

“He used to be the most handsome man. You know the sort—all the girls would fawn over him, and all the boys were horribly jealous,” he explained with only the slightest touch of jealousy in his smile.

“I can imagine. He still is very handsome,” she commented.

“But to have half his face distorted by that scar—it’s got to be very difficult.”

“There is more to the man than his face. He is handsome inside as well—kind and thoughtful and, well, I have never seen an officer come so often to visit a subordinate as he has.”

“From what I understand, Sergeant Jones might very well have saved Lord Pennyston’s life. He was the one who sewed him up,” Lord Colburne explained.

“Oh! I didn’t know that. Of course, neither man said a word about that to me,” she said, slightly annoyed not to have known.

“I’m sure it’s not something they discuss often. I know of it because I was rude enough to have asked who stitched Lord Pennyston after he’d gotten cut.”

“Really? That’s very bold of you,” she said, feeling somewhat better.

“Yes, well, doctors are allowed to be. Honestly, considering how deep the wound must have been, I’m surprised there wasn’t further injury. Sergeant Jones did well, and Pennyston is lucky enough to have healed as well as he did.”

“But he clearly hasn’t healed internally as well as he has externally,” Ellen pointed out.

“If by that you mean mentally, well, no, but that takes a great deal more time.” He paused and added, “But he seems to be a very lucky man in that he has someone like you to perhaps aide in that further healing.”

“I would like to. I wish he would allow me to help,” she admitted.

“As do I.” He gave her a warm smile. “Now that we’re pretty certain he’s not going to show, I do hope you will not continue to stand here pining for him but come and join the rest of the party?”

Ellen could feel her face heat. “I was most certainly not pining!” Yes she was, but she would never, ever admit it aloud.

“I do beg your pardon, of course not. Waiting is perhaps a better word. Or worrying?”

He truly was teasing her now.

“Come, allow me to escort you.” He offered her his arm which she took gracefully if reluctantly.

She accepted the arm he offered and moved farther into the room to mingle with her friends. It really was a lovely party. Aunt Amelia burst out in her typical overly loud laughter.

Lord Colburne looked over at her and then turned back to smile at Ellen. “It looks as if your aunt is enjoying herself.”

Ellen noticed the young girl standing near her aunt, watching her with unrestrained admiration. She was a lovely thing with reddish-blonde hair and a delicately pretty round face. “Yes. I just worry for that young lady standing next to her. Have you met her?”

“No. Who is she?”

“A neighbor of Lady Conway’s. She apparently befriended the girl when she stayed at Conway last autumn. She’s very sweet, but very innocent.”

“Ah. Do you worry she’ll take Mrs. Rutledge as a model?” he asked.

“I do. My poor aunt seems to have happily forgotten all the strict rules of how a lady should behave. Miss Lemaire should not, however,” Ellen said with a little smile.

“I can’t help but admire a woman whose behavior is true to herself. Perhaps the young lady will understand that but not try to be too outrageous.”

“One can only hope. I’m also beginning to notice that Aunt Amelia is spending a good amount of time with Mr. Sherman,” Ellen commented. Indeed, the gentleman in question was right by Amelia’s side and had probably been there much of the evening.

“I’ve noticed that too,” Miss Sherman said, coming up to join them where they’d paused.

“I do hope this doesn’t disturb you,” Ellen said to the pretty young woman. Her very large blue eyes widened as her father joined Aunt Amelia in her laughter.

“No! In fact, just the opposite. I don’t think I’ve seen him laugh like that in years,” Miss Sherman said. “I almost want to go over and see what it is they’ve found so amusing, but I dare not disturb them. Just look at that!” She nodded at them as they stood much too close with their heads even closer, as if they were sharing some sort of secret.

“It’s lovely to see older people find companionship,” Lord Colburne commented.

“I almost wonder if that’s not building toward something more than companionship, my lord,” Miss Sherman said.

“Would you be in favor…” Ellen started to ask, not quite certain how to finish her question.

“Absolutely! I’ve been encouraging my father to get out and be social for the longest time. It was one of the reasons why I insisted on making my debut into society. I certainly could have found a gentleman willing to marry me back in Manchester, but I thought a season in London might be so much more interesting for both of us,” Miss Sherman said, not taking her eyes off her father.

“How very thoughtful of you,” Ellen said. The young woman turned to look at Ellen, perhaps wondering if she was being sincere or not. “I do hope you didn’t leave someone special behind in Manchester simply so your father could have this opportunity.”

Miss Sherman smiled but shook her head. “Not at all. I’m looking for myself as much as I have been hoping for my father to find someone. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we both found someone to spend the rest of our days with?” she asked, turning back to look at the happy couple.

Ellen didn’t dare say anything about the fact that she knew for certain Aunt Amelia had absolutely no intention of settling here in England. Perhaps she would change her mind if she found someone to marry. Just as her first husband had taken her to America, perhaps her second would keep her in England. She could only hope that no hearts would be broken.

~*~

Lord Wickford was absolutely true to his word, and Christopher soon found himself well-ensconced in a darkened corner of the reading room at Powell’s Club for Refined Gentlemen. Two wall sconces had been doused for him, and he’d been shown in through a back door, so he wouldn’t have to walk through the crowded reading room.

“Wickford, I am very impressed,” Christopher said, as he made himself comfortable in the wing-backed leather chair.

“And you haven’t even tasted the rum yet. Give me a moment,” Wickford said. He took a couple of steps into the light and motioned to a passing footman. The man nodded and immediately turned in the other direction to fetch the required drink.

“This club is entirely yours?” Christopher asked when he took the chair next to him.

“Yes. I began it five years ago. I’m quite pleased with the way it’s grown, I have to say. The hardest thing is when I am forced to turn gentlemen away. It’s either do that or find a bigger place. I refuse to have people on top of one another.”

Christopher chuckled. “What a terrible problem to have.”

Wickford gave him a big grin. “It is, isn’t it?”

The footman approached the darkened corner hesitantly.

“Yes, yes, come. Right here,” Wickford said.

The man carefully placed two glasses and a bottle down on the small table between the two chairs. “Shall I light—”

“Not necessary, thank you. We’re perfectly fine as we are, Frank,” Wickford said, cutting him off.

“Very good, my lord. If you need anything further…”

“Yes, thank you.” Wickford dismissed the man. He then poured out two glasses of rum for them.

Christopher held his up. “Here’s to too much success.”

“May we all be so cursed,” Wickford said, raising his glass as well.

Christopher took a sip. “Oooh, that’s good. Where do you get it, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

Wickford smiled. “From my own plantation in the West Indies.”

“Ah, that explains it. Excellent. Quite brilliant, actually, you have complete control over the manufacture and profit from the entire business from start to finish.”

“It’s not the profit that is so important—although I cannot deny that’s very nice too—but having control over the quality of the rum is of the utmost importance to me. I spent quite a bit of time working with my people in getting the taste just right. My father started the process, and I continue working on it.”

“It won’t ever be perfect, will it?” Christopher said, understanding immediately.

Wickford laughed. “No, but we’ve gotten pretty close.”

“I can’t help but agree. This is excellent.” Christopher took another sip. “So, that is where you are from? The West Indies?”

“It’s where I was born and lived until I was ten.”

“But you’re titled.”

“My father inherited the title and moved the two of us here to England. He put me in school and looked after the estate. Sadly, the weather here was not what he was used to. While he was born and raised on English soil, he’d gotten too used to the beautiful, warm weather we have in Jamaica. He passed after living here for just a little over a year.”

“I am so sorry.”

Wickford nodded.

“And your mother? Is she here or in Jamaica?”

“She had refused to leave the warmth,” Wickford explained.

“A wise woman,” Christopher said with a little laugh.

“For her, it was the right decision. Oddly enough, she recently decided to join me here in London.” He paused as a footman came and whispered in Wickford’s ear. After a nod, Wickford turned back to Christopher. “I must beg your pardon. Duty calls.”

“Of course. Thank you for the company for so long when I’m certain you have many responsibilities here. I will sit and enjoy this fine rum.”

“Yes. Good.” He gave Christopher a nod and then went off with the footman.

Christopher sat back, enjoying the fine drink in his hand and the quiet hum of male voices. He hadn’t been in the same room with so many people since he’d been in the army. It was soothing. He felt very comfortable here. Wickford was a damned fine club-owner and clearly a savvy businessman.

Christopher was just thinking that he probably should be heading home when Colburne strode up.