Page 22 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

M iles and Philip came in from the mews and entered Philip’s study. He stretched out his legs in front of him once he’d settled into the chair. How was he to look Grace in the eye after the new incident? Lud, how many was he on now? Four or five? He ran his hand down his face. He could barely look on her since their outing to the garden, the memory of her in his arms so fresh.

“You need not look so despondent, my friend. It was an accident.” Philip sat in the chair across from him.

“Yes, I know. But it does not change the fact that I have ruined anoth—her gown.” He eyed Philip. Had he noticed Miles’ slip? He wanted to confess, but after the most recent accident, it felt dangerous—perhaps ill-advised— to make his part known in the previous ones. “I was in earnest when I said I would pay to replace it.”

Philip shrugged. “That is not necessary, but I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you, Jenkins.” Miles nodded.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Miles sank deeper into the chair. “Lud, I could use one.”

Philip grinned as he stood and moved over to the sideboard. He poured out the claret into two glasses and handed one over to Miles.

Mrs. Jenkins knocked on the doorframe, and the men turned to look at her. Jenkins smiled when he saw his wife, and Miles’ stomach twisted. Would he ever find someone who felt that way about him? He sighed. Lud, would he ever find someone else that he felt that way about?

Did Jenkins know how lucky he was to have found the person he loved, who also loved him in return? It seemed a most miraculous turn of events. He doubted Philip ever thought on it. Most people didn’t realize what they had in front of them.

Mrs. Jenkins’ gaze flicked to Miles. “Philip, may I speak to you in the corridor?”

Philip frowned but nodded. “Will you excuse me for a moment, Yardley?”

Miles dipped his head. What could be so private that they had to discuss it in the corridor? He watched them from beneath his lashes. Philip’s brows rose high on his head. But then he frowned and shook his head. He glanced at Miles, then back to his wife.

She picked at her fingernails.

Philip came into the room and cleared his throat. “Yardley, I wondered if you might have a proficient yet discreet barber here in Town?” Philip shrugged. “My father cut my hair before I left Somerset, and Barker, my valet, trims it when needed. So I’ve had no call to find one since my arrival.”

Miles’ brows slowly rose. If Philip did not need the barber, who was it—. It hit him like a punch in the gut. There was only one person who might need a haircut.

“It’s for Miss Jenkins, is it not?” He held Philip’s gaze.

Philip’s cheek twitched, and he flicked a glance at his wife.

She lifted a shoulder.

Miles ran a hand over his face. “You need not answer. Your silence says everything.”

Blast it all! What had he done? Incidents one through three paled in comparison to this. His carelessness resulted in Grace having to cut her hair. It would surely be better for her if he left her completely alone. He had done nothing but hurt her and ruin her gowns.

“May I use your ink?” He winced at the irony.

Philip nodded to his desk. “A little remained inside the well.”

Miles sat and wrote a missive to his valet, asking if he would come to Jenkins’ townhouse as soon as possible and to please be discreet. He handed the folded paper to Mrs. Jenkins. “Farmer, my valet, will reply forthwith. He is better than any barber, and I know he’ll be discreet.”

She took the letter and dipped her head. “Thank you, Mr. Yardley. We are in your debt.”

Debt, indeed! Miles frowned. If they only knew what he’d done, they’d cast him from their house and never speak of him again.

* * *

Miles pushed open the door to his Red Lion Square residence and headed straight to his study. He hoped his causes could occupy his mind and keep him diverted from Grace. He had difficulty seeing anything but her face so close to his. Why had he not kissed her when he had the chance? Why had he waited to ensure it was what she wanted? Had he only done it sooner—before she’d murmured those damning words about him being her rescuer—he might at least have a kiss to remember when she cast him off.

His first appearance before the bar was tomorrow. He’d felt confident until his visit to Philip’s. Now he was less certain. There was plenty of evidence in Miss Barrington’s favor. However, it could do nothing but benefit him if he reviewed his notes again. He could not let Miss Barrington down as he had Grace.

“Sir, this letter arrived for you while you were gone.” Franklin held the silver tray out to him. Miles plucked up the pink letter and examined it. He did not recognize the seal nor the handwriting. And no one he knew would use such ridiculous paper. Not even Fin.

“Thank you, Franklin. I’ll be in my study. Please do not disturb me unless it is necessary.” Miles ducked inside his study and closed the door behind him. Settling in his favorite chair, he pulled his portfolio off his side table and opened the front cover. His gaze flicked over to the pink missive resting on the low table where he’d tossed it. Reaching forward, he picked it up and cracked the seal. His curiosity over the sender was greater than his desire to review his notes. He glanced down at the name, but it did not seem familiar.

My dear Mr. Yardley,

It recently came to my attention that you were blackballed from Brooks’s and are likely to have similar results at the other clubs. It is for that reason I am writing. I would like to meet with you and discuss the potential of extending an invitation to join Blackstone’s. It is a club of gentlemen in similar situations. I have reserved tomorrow next to meet with you at one o’clock in the afternoon. Please send word if you are agreeable. We will meet at the club.

Kindest regards,

Blackstone

Miles reread the letter and squirmed. How many people knew of his blackballing? He knew it had likely circulated far and wide, even if he did not wish it to be so. Lud, could he sink to any greater depths?

He closed his portfolio and placed it back on his side table. This letter required an answer, but he was quite at a loss as to what his answer should be. Perhaps Freddie and Fin would have more insight into the matter.

He left his study and headed to the mews to collect Rhadamanthus. He could not take the time to hitch the carriage.

His horse saddled, Miles swung up and set out for Eaton House. His mind was a buzz as he rode through the streets of London. Between Grace and the pink letter, he hardly had room in his brainbox for his causes.

He shook his head. Did he want to join an unknown club? He had not wanted to join Brooks’s. Although now that he couldn’t join any of the clubs, he regretted he was not a part of one. It was as if he wanted what he could not have.

Finally, he arrived at his father’s townhouse with his mind no clearer. Leading his horse to the mews, he handed Rhadamanthus off to a stable boy and made his way to the front door. It opened just as he stepped up, nearly knocking him off his feet when Freddie stormed out.

He looked up just moments before colliding with Miles. “Woah, there.” He pulled up. “Miles? What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you. I wish Fin were here, too, but I’ll make do with your help.”

Freddie raised a single brow. “How kind of you to allow me the privilege of being your second choice.”

Miles smirked. “You know what I mean. Fin is not here, and I did not take the time to summon him. I set out immediately to get your opinion on this matter.” He held the letter between his fingers up next to his ear.

Freddie’s brows perked up.

The carriage pulled around the corner and stopped in front of the house. Freddie opened the door before the footman could even dismount. “I’m on my way to the club. If I were a betting man?—”

“You are a betting man,” Miles interrupted.

Freddie smirked. “Then I suppose it’s in your best interest to listen to me.”

Miles grinned—which felt deuced good to do for a change. He did not think he had smiled all day.

They settled onto the squabs, and the carriage set into motion.

“As I was saying,” Freddie paused, waiting for Miles to interrupt again, but when he didn’t, Freddie continued. “I would wager Fin is already at the club. I’m meeting Stanhope there.”

Miles nodded. Stanhope was an intelligent man and knew his way around society. He would surely have insight on this Blackstone’s club. “May I join you?”

Freddie scowled. “If you come along, we’ll have to meet in a public room, thanks to Wetherby and Dunsmore.”

Miles shrugged, trying to hide how much the notion bothered him. “My apologies.”

Freddie gave him a bland look. “What is the letter about?”

“Can you not wait until we are with Stanhope and Fin? I should not like to explain it twice.”

Freddie sighed in irritation. “You know I hate to wait.”

“Yes, but you also hate to have things repeated.” Miles’ lips pressed thin. “Pick your poison.”

Freddie conceded. “You’re right. I do hate repetition.” He folded his arms in petulance. “Very well. I’ll wait.”

They sat in stony silence until the carriage stopped in front of Brooks’s. The footman opened the door, and Freddie bounded out onto the pavement.

Miles followed after him. A sour taste filled his mouth as he stepped into the dimly lit entryway. Brooks’s . He felt nothing but resentment for the establishment, regardless of its role in his blackballing. After all, if they allowed the likes of Dunsmore and Wetherby as members, did it not bear some of the burden?

Freddie moved through the rooms, pointing to a grouping in a quieter corner of one of the public areas. He nodded to it. “Go save the seats while I find Stanhope and Fin.”

Miles nodded. “Consider it done, o’ great and mighty one.”

Freddie did not look amused.

Miles headed to the chairs and settled into the one most hidden by the dark corner. He was not in the mood to speak with people. And he especially did not wish to see—or be seen—by Dunsmore or Wetherby.

Thankfully, he did not have to wait long before Freddie and Stanhope joined him. They took up their seats and settled in. Stanhope waved to a servant. The man came over and Stan ordered a drink.

“Fin isn’t here?” Miles asked.

“He is. But he was in the middle of a hand of hazard. He’ll join us as soon as he is done.”

Miles tapped his thumb nervously on the arm of the chair. How long did it take to play a hand of hazard, anyway?

“How are your plans with Miss Jenkins coming along?” Freddie asked.

Miles scowled.

“Shall I assume it’s not been a resounding success?” Freddie smirked.

Miles released a defeated breath. “It could not be going worse.”

“How so?” Freddie’s brow furrowed. “I can’t imagine it could get worse than the monkey incident.”

Miles stared at him for three beats of his heart. “I caused a servant to spill two bottles of ink on her. I think it highly possible the action will require a Titus cut.”

Freddie’s eyes widened. “You are in jest.”

“I wish I were.” Miles slowly shook his head.

Freddie’s shoulders shook. And to his credit, he tried to hold back the laughter.

Stanhope only looked confused.

“I stand corrected,” Freddie said. “I hadn’t imagined anything could surpass the monkey debacle—yet you have outdone yourself.”

“Yes, I do nothing by halves.” Miles leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He dropped his face into his hands and moaned.

“Does she know this one is your fault?” Freddie asked.

Miles looked up from his hands and nodded with a glum sigh. “Yes. I was standing right there. It was rather difficult to blame anyone else—not that I wanted to. I’ve not intentionally, at least at first, allowed others to take the blame in the other incidents .”

Freddie’s head shook. “I scarce know what to make of the fact that you require the plural of that word.”

“It’s not my choice, of that you can be certain.” Miles glared at him.

Fin sauntered up. “What is not your choice?”

“Nothing that bears repeating, I assure you.” Miles folded his arms.

Freddie smiled. “Miles has had another accident with Miss Jenkins.”

“Oh? Pray tell?” Fin sat down and crossed one knee over the other.

“I’m certain Freddie will enlighten you on the matter once I’ve taken my leave.”

Stanhope let out a breath. “Lud, I was wondering when someone would explain what you are prattling on about.”

Miles raised a brow and stared at Stanhope. Normally, the man was rather quiet and reserved. Where was that reserve? “ Now,” Miles looked pointedly at the men. “I need your opinions on something.” Miles withdrew the pink letter and unfolded it.

“Does it concern Miss Jenkins?” Fin asked. “If so, I feel I must hear of the accident before we move on.”

Miles closed his eyes, his head shaking. “No. It has nothing to do with Miss Jenkins.” At least not directly. And besides, they already knew of incidents one through three. He did not need to repeat them. “I received this letter today. It’s curious, to say the least, as I don’t even know the man.” He dropped the letter on the table between them.

Fin swooped in and picked it up before Freddie could secure it. He read over it and laughed. “Lud, Miles. You really are in a muddle.”

“Let me see it.” Freddie grabbed it from Fin’s hands and quickly read over it. “Fin’s right. This isn’t good.”

Stanhope made to stand. “As you seem intent on excluding me from all the conversations, I see no reason to stay.”

Freddie waved him back down and passed the letter to him. “Miles has received a letter from Lord Blackstone.” He raised his brows.

Stanhope nodded, his face a mask of curiosity. “Blackstone? I should have realized it upon seeing the pink paper.” He turned his gaze on Miles. “What have you done to garner that gentleman’s attention?”

Miles twisted his clasped hands together. “I should send my regrets, then?”

Fin shrugged. “He isn’t dangerous—unless you are an animal.”

Stanhope chuckled. “Indeed. But as you are not, I’m certain you’ll be quite safe.”

“But joining his club?” Fin wrapped his hands around his knees. “I advise you to proceed with caution.”

“But it seems unlikely any other club will grant me membership. Is not his club preferable to none?” He could not say why he was feeling defensive. It made little sense and yet, he could not seem to help himself. “What is so wrong with him? Is he disreputable?”

Stanhope shook his head. “No. He is respectable enough. The man is…” He looked to Freddie and Fin. “He’s a singular sort of fellow?”

Freddie scoffed. “He’s as mad as a March hare.”

“He’s not as bad as that,” Fin said in a placating tone. “The gentleman simply marches to his own drum, if indeed he hears one at all.”

Miles raised his brows. “A veritable chorus of approval.”

The three men shrugged.

“I think you should meet with him,” Stanhope said as the servant brought his drink. “You’re likely right. His club is surely better than nothing.”

“I cannot concur,” Freddie motioned to Stanhope’s drink when the servant looked askance at the rest of them.

Fin also motioned for one. “I believe if Miles meets with Blackstone, he’ll make the correct decision.”

Miles wasn’t certain what he should make of that. “It’s not as if I’m guaranteed. He is only inviting me to discuss the prospect. He may find me just as lacking as the others.” He released a breath.

Freddie rolled his eyes but did not offer a rebuttal. Or perhaps he concurred. It was hard to know with Freddie.

“When do you meet with him?” Fin asked as his gaze flicked to the letter in Stan’s hands.

Miles tipped his head to the side. “Tomorrow next.”

“We will meet here for tea after your meeting. I wish to hear every detail.” Fin grinned, tapping his fingertips together. “I find the prospect of you becoming a member rather delightful. It will give us an opportunity to see inside the place.”

Miles regarded them with no small amount of suspicion. They had misled him thoroughly this Season—so why, in heaven’s name, was he considering heeding their advice?