Page 8 of King of Clubs (The Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society #9)

“W elcome to Powell’s, my lord. I’ll take care of your paperwork tomorrow. For now, however, may I give you a brief tour, or has Welles already done so?” Joshua asked, standing.

“No! He hasn’t.” Lord Keppel said as he and Lord Welles also rose.

“Well, then, allow me.” He indicated the two men precede him out the door. He gave them a quick tour of the dining room and the gaming room, then finished with the reading room where he ordered them a bottle of rum.

He was just looking about for two or three free chairs when he felt a slap on his back. “Wickford, I was hoping to see you here tonight.”

Mr. Sherman, the cloth manufacturer, came around to face Joshua. In any other club, Mr. Sherman would never had been admitted, but Joshua had a bit of a checkered background himself, so didn’t discriminate based on a gentleman’s lineage, so long as he moved in the right circles.

Mr. Sherman’s daughter was friends with members of the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society, and Lord Sorrell had put his name forward for membership. If Mr. Sherman was a touch raw, Joshua found him to be an intelligent and good man. Sadly, his daughter’s carriage was also involved in the same accident that had nearly killed Joshua.

“Mr. Sherman,” Joshua said, reaching out to shake his hand. “May I introduce Lord Keppel, and I’m sure you know Lord Welles?”

“I don’t believe we’ve met, but you must be Lady Welles’s husband,” Mr. Sherman said, shaking Lord Welles’s hand and then Keppel’s.

Welles laughed. “Yes.”

Sherman nodded. “Been hearing all about the younger set at the Wagering Whist Society. Apparently, they are all planning on riding together in the park one of these days.”

“Knowing my wife, she is probably the one organizing it,” Welles said.

“And Lord Keppel has just returned to London after a time and is our newest member here,” Joshua explained.

“Ah, you won’t be disappointed. A fine establishment Wickford runs here. Fine establishment,” Mr. Sherman said. “Are you in Town for the Season?”

“Yes,” Keppel replied. “I haven’t been back for some time, but I’m beginning to look forward to it.”

“Ah, at your estate?” Sherman asked with an understanding nod.

“Yes, not too far from York,” the gentleman said.

“Really? I’m from Lancashire, myself.”

“Excellent. I have to say, I’m doing my best not to worry about my estate. I know I left it in good hands, but, well…” Lord Keppel spread open his hands, as if trying to let go of his worries.

“I’m sure Thetford will do an excellent job…” Welles began.

“Oh, I know he will. It’s just sometimes hard to let go.”

Mr. Sherman nodded and turned to Joshua. “I have a bit of a bone to pick with you, young man. My Gwendolyn said that she wrote and requested you pay her a visit, so she could apologize properly, and you have yet to show.”

“Sir, I’ve told you, there is no need—” Joshua started.

“I know you think that, but she’s a good girl and would feel ever so much better were you to just stop by one afternoon. I promise, she won’t keep you long. Just let her do this one little thing, please? You wouldn’t accept any recompense—”

“There is absolutely no need. The accident was not her or her driver’s fault. It was just—” Joshua started.

“Yes, yes, I know, you’ve said, still.” The gentleman looked expectantly at him, really leaving Joshua no other choice but to smile and acquiesce.

“Of course. Very well. I will go as soon as I can.”

“There’s a good chap.” He smiled and gave Joshua a pat on his shoulder. “Lovely meeting you, gentlemen. Enjoy your time in Town, Lord Keppel.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Keppel said, giving a little laugh.

“Of course. I’m sure we will.” Mr. Sherman gave them all a nod and strode off satisfied.

~April 16~

“Lord Sommets is here to see you, Miss Sherman. Are you at home to visitors?” the footman asked after a brief knock on the drawing-room door.

Gwendolyn sighed. She’s just been about to call for her carriage. She had an appointment for a fitting at the modiste’s, and then she’d planned on stopping in to visit with her friend Bee. She was not used to having so much free time on her hands but was doing the best she could to fill it. She knew if she turned away a gentleman caller, her father would hear about it and not be happy. Since the very reason she was in town was to make her father happy, she supposed she should do so. “Very well. Ask him to come up,” she told the waiting man.

He gave a nod and a few minutes later returned with the gentleman in tow.

“Miss Sherman, thank you so much for seeing me,” Lord Sommets said after giving her a brief nod in return to her curtsey.

“Of course. May I offer you some tea, my lord?” she asked.

“No, no. Thank you. No need. I have come with, er…” He gave a little laugh and then said, “Well, I suppose with a sort of business proposition.”

She gestured for him to take a seat. He did so, sitting in the chair across from her, much to her relief. “This sounds intriguing, my lord.”

“I was hoping you would think so. I would like for us to marry,” he stated in the most matter-of-fact manner as if his question were indeed a business proposition.

Gwendolyn just blinked at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, did you say marry?”

“Yes. Your father owns a very profitable business—cloth manufacturing, I understand.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Gwendolyn frowned.

“Right, well, I’d like to become a part of that business. The easiest way for me to do so would be to become a part of the family, ergo my request,” he explained succinctly.

Gwendolyn tilted her head, considering his reasoning. “That sounds eminently reasonable my lord, except for one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Well, perhaps two things,” she amended. “One is that the reason my father insisted I make my debut into society is to marry a nobleman—someone with an estate who has taken his seat in parliament. Someone active in society. And secondly, I’m certain my father is not looking for a business partner. If he were, I’m sure there are men of his acquaintance with knowledge of the industry who would be much more suited than you. Unless of course, you have a good deal of capital you would be interested in investing in the company, in which case you could simply go to him with that proposal rather than to me.”

“Hmm, I see.” The excitement that had been lighting up his face seemed to fade away.

“I have to say, I do appreciate your candor. It’s a great deal more refreshing than Mr. Teviot’s false proclamations of love.”

“Was Teviot already here?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. A few days ago.”

“Damn! Oh, excuse me,” he said quickly. “So I am too late.”

“Well, not precisely. I turned him down,” she told him.

“Oh!” The man perked up. “Then we might be able to arrange—”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “While I appreciate your straightforward proposal and honesty, I’m afraid I am not interested.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those silly chits who are looking for love? I thought you much more practical than that,” he exclaimed.

Gwendolyn sighed. “No, I… well, love would be nice, but no, I am not holding out for it. Some affection, however, would be lovely. By the end of the Season, I might even be willing to settle for simply liking the gentleman to whom I am promised. But it is still the beginning of the Season, my lord. I am not yet desperate, and as I already said, my father is not looking for a business partner.”

“Ah, I see. Of course, I understand. Well, then…” He stood. “I shall return, in that case. I do hope to see you at Lady Kershaw’s soirée?”

“I’m sure I will be there,” she agreed. Actually, she had no idea if she had been invited or not, but it was a safe thing to say and would definitely speed him on his way.

“Excellent. Thank you for your time.” He gave her a brief nod and left.

Gwendolyn could only sink back down onto the sofa, allowing her head to rest back. That was two. Two completely unwelcome proposals. Two men who had no actual interest in her . She didn’t want this sort of attention. She wanted… well, what she wanted and what she was going to get were probably two very different things. She was here in London because it made her father happy. She would marry some titled idiot because it would make her father happy. But she would not, not, marry someone who she didn’t even like—and her feelings for Lord Sommets were quickly escalating from indifference to active dislike. So, no, she would not be marrying him, ever.

~April 17~

Gwendolyn was attempting to read again but found her mind wandering. She looked over at her maid, who seemed so content sitting with her stitching. She wondered if she should take up embroidery. She’d learned how to do some stitching in school but hadn’t been very good at it—it was the colors. She always got her blues and greens mixed up. She supposed she could make a shirt or add some ribbon to one of her dresses. Practical stitching she knew how to do; it was just so incredibly boring—although not nearly as much as this history of ancient Greece she was attempting to read.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Sherman, there is a gentleman caller,” the footman said.

She suppressed a groan. Not another! She was sick of these insincere proposals of marriage. Didn’t these gentlemen have any honor, any intelligence, any sense of—

“It is Lord Wickford, Miss.” The footman handed her the gentleman’s card.

“Lord Wickford? Oh! Send him up.” That was an entirely different sort of gentleman caller. Now Gwendolyn was definitely interested. This was the man who had been in the accident. The gentleman who she’d been trying to see for nearly two weeks.

Gwendolyn stood in preparation to greet the gentleman, smoothing down her skirts and possibly wiping the sweat from her palms as she did so. And then he walked in.

“You!” The word flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. She covered her mouth wishing she had done that before embarrassing herself.

He stopped and stared. At first his eyes widened in shock, but now he seemed to find the situation amusing. “Well, well. I have to say, I was wondering who it was who had the nerve to dismiss me so thoroughly at Lady Bradmore’s dinner. You must be Miss Sherman. I am Lord Wickford.”

“But how could that be? I don’t understand. I asked the Duchess of Bolton who you were after that dinner, and she said you were owner of Powell’s Club for Gentlemen.” Gwendolyn hated how stupid she sounded, but right now she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the floor until he’d left. What was worse, he was just as handsome in the daylight as he had been in candlelight. And now she could see how wonderfully tall and broad-shouldered he was as well. Those narrow hips, strong legs.

Gwendolyn swallowed and forced herself to keep her eyes on his face—his much too handsome face. The one she’d wanted to slap the last time they’d met if she remembered correctly.

“That’s right. I am.” His smile was almost irritating; it was so perfect and pleasant. How dare he be handsome and nice when she’d been so rude?

And she was doing it again, she suddenly realized. “I beg your pardon, please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?” she asked automatically.

“Thank you.” He sat in the same chair Lord Sommets had sat in the day before, but this interview would be nothing like that one had been—absolutely nothing.

Gwendolyn rang for tea and then took her seat on the sofa. “I beg your pardon, but I’m feeling incredibly stupid today. You are Viscount Wickford, the same gentleman who was injured in the unfortunate accident involving my coachman.”

“Your coachman was involved, but as I explained to your father, I feel that he was in no way at fault,” His Lordship interrupted.

“Yes, my father did tell me you said as much,” Gwendolyn nodded. “But you are also the owner of a club for gentlemen?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, that explains how a club owner was invited to Lady Bradmore’s. I was wondering at that. I mean, I’ve been graciously, if reluctantly, accepted by society, but I believed that was because I am being sponsored by a duchess. I didn’t think a businessman could be a member of the ton and invited to society dinners without some sort of connection to the nobility, but seeing that you yourself are a nobleman…”

The gentleman smiled politely. “Yes, I see your point. And no, I can’t imagine that society would have welcomed me into their midst if it weren’t for my title. They are rather… particular that way.”

“Indeed.” Gwendolyn said the word with more sincerity than she’d intended. She had a feeling she’d annoyed him with her brutal truth, but he seemed determined not to let it affect him—another reason why she should dislike him immensely.

Lord Wickford laughed harshly. “I am not surprised you feel put out by this. On the other hand, you seem to have some excellent connections—being sponsored by the Duchess of Bolton? How did you manage that if you don’t mind my asking?”