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T he following morning, Tiffany sat at her writing desk, surrounded by neatly organized ledgers and stacks of financial documents. The warm glow of sunlight bathed the room as she meticulously calculated expenses and projected earnings for the coming month. Lost in her calculations, she was startled by the soft rap on the door.

“Come in,” she called, looking up surprised to see Lauren standing in the doorway, her expression worn with worry.

“Tiffany, so sorry to call so early, but may I speak with you?” Lauren’s voice trembled with uncertainty as she entered the room, her elegant gown swishing softly against the polished wooden floor.

“Of course. Is something the matter?” Tiffany replied, rising from her seat and motioning for her friend to take a chair opposite her. “What troubles you?”

Lauren hesitated for a moment before speaking, her gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s my father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “He gambled again last night and I had to give some of this month’s dividend income to this man who came to our door and threatened me.”

Tiffany’s heart went out to her friend. To have to live with a degenerate father, trying to stand alone in a man’s world. If only her brother, Lucien had not gone off to fight in the Irish Rebellion. He’d been selfish to leave his sisters so alone.

“I can lend you some of mine until next month.”

Lauren shook her head. “No. I won’t take charity. I just want some help in setting a budget. How do I calculate how much I must set aside to keep us from starving and the house running, versus what I can use to repay my father’s debts?”

She reached and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “You must come to me if you run out of money. I won’t have you and Madeline starving.” Lauren merely nodded. Without hesitation, Tiffany reached for a ledger and began to outline a plan to help Lauren budget her limited resources.

“We’ll start by prioritizing necessities,” Tiffany explained, her voice calm and reassuring. “Food, servants’ wages, and clothing are your main expenses. We’ll need to allocate funds accordingly to ensure we can cover these costs until next month.”

With practiced precision, Tiffany guided Lauren through the budgeting process, offering sage advice and practical solutions to stretch Lauren’s funds as far as possible. Together, they calculated expenses, making adjustments where necessary to account for unforeseen circumstances.

As they worked, the weight of Lauren’s burden seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of hope and determination. “I shall indeed hide these funds to ensure we can live each month.”

“Even if a debtor comes calling. Say they will have to speak to your father. That you cannot help them, and send for Wolf if they become threatening. I’m expecting a really good return next month and you should be able to pay some of the debtors then. But each month ensure you keep at a minimum, this amount back.” With Tiffany’s guidance, Lauren became empowered to take control of her financial future, no longer shackled by the whims of her father’s reckless gambling.

Once they had finished, Tiffany sat back. “You really do need to think about marrying. You can’t go on like this forever,” Tiffany said softly.

“I am not opposed to that solution, but the ton is beginning to notice my father’s ways and I have no idea if he has touched my dowry. If that’s gone—what chance do I have to make a good match? I need to ensure Madeline will be provided for.”

“You are beautiful, kind and intelligent. Some man will see that.”

“Thank you, Tiffany, but I don’t have a lot of time,” Lauren said, her voice tinged with gratitude as they finished their calculations.

“You have the Sisterhood. We will look after you.”

“I don’t know what I would do without you.” Lauren wiped a tear from her eye.

“That’s what friends are for.” Tiffany smiled warmly, her heart swelling with pride at the opportunity to help her friend in her time of need. “You need not thank me, dear friend,” she replied. “We are in this together, and together, we will overcome any obstacle that comes our way.”

As Tiffany watched Lauren depart, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction, knowing that she had made a difference in the life of someone she held dear. This was why she risked such scandal. She had to help these women. They couldn’t rely on the men in their lives, but they could rely on each other.

*

Later that morning, Mr. Sprat stood in Wolf’s study. His demeanor was polite but firm. However, the evidence he laid on Wolf’s desk was hardly damning. They were purchase orders with a signature purportedly belonging to Lord Melville, but Wolf couldn’t make out the name. It certainly held no seal. But then Melville might not use a seal.

Wolf gestured to the purchase orders. “Of course, I will need to discuss these with my uncle.”

“That is his signature,” Sprat said.

“The sum is quite considerable, and I wish to discuss with my uncle how the money should be paid.”

Sprat shifted on his feet. “I do not wish to appear ungrateful, my lord, but when will you confirm payment? I have creditors of my own to pay and I am conscious that if word about this gets out, I could lose my customers. Or worse, others will try to withhold payment if I’m seen to be an easy mark.” He looked Wolf in the eye. “Plus, if word gets out that Lord Melville has not paid, he may find no one will take his purchase orders.”

Good. Wolf hoped that would happen, but not publicly of course. Melville’s name was attached to his. “You have my permission to quietly let it be known I will no longer be honoring my uncle’s share trades.”

“And this debt?” Sprat asked. “It could sully the Wolfarth name too if a scandal erupted.”

“Are you threatening me?” Wolf rose from behind his desk. Something about this man did not sit right with Wolf. Why use Tiffany to get an audience with him? If he’d contacted Wolf directly about Melville’s debts, he’d have met with Sprat. He didn’t need Tiffany to be a conduit.

“I was merely pointing out that my situation may not be the only situation regarding Lord Melville, and word could get out.”

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I shall discuss the situation with my uncle and send word when the purchase orders will be honored.”

Sprat’s expression was almost a sneer. “Once paid, I will have no further need to bother you, for I shall not be acting on Lord Melville’s behalf again. I shall also make it known that he is a bad risk.”

Wolf nodded. With that, Sprat took his leave. Wolf knew it would be the last time he would see the man, but who else could, or would, come walking through the door asking him to cover Melville’s debts? He’d asked Melville to call but the bastard hadn’t even had the decency to show his face.

He had to find Melville and soon.

He swiped up the brandy bottle sitting on his desk. He needed a drink. He stopped himself from pouring though. He needed to call on Fane before word of his pursuit of Tiffany reached his friend’s ears and he drew the wrong conclusion. Plus, he was supposed to be drawing this afternoon. He still had not decided what he would paint for the Academy. He needed some inspiration and soon.

Before he painted, he’d visit Fane. He would of course honor Tiffany’s agreement and not disclose her investing. He could also take the opportunity to ask Fane to discreetly make it known within the investment community that Melville had no money to pay for any purchases. That should slow Melville’s debt collection down somewhat.

Tonight he’d call off any social engagements and spend his night hunting down his uncle. Melville would be in some gambling den somewhere. He could not hide from Wolf forever.

*

By the time Tiffany arrived in the drawing room, all the other ladies were present—Courtney, Ashleigh, Farah, Ivy, Valora, Lauren, Serena, Claire and herself.

A servant placed her breakfast in front of her. She had the same thing every morning—eggs, ham and toast. She found a good breakfast kept her hunger at bay. She had other, more important things to do during the day than eat—analyzing the financial pages for one.

Courtney clapped her hands. “Ladies, please. Ivy needs us to have a successful fundraising event. We need some ideas. Something different so we can stand out from Lady Ashby’s group of ladies.”

Tiffany knew she was going to hell for what she was about to propose, but it would aid them and help Valora to slip into Mrs. Buchanan’s soiree. “I was thinking about having a clothing stall. We could sell gowns we no longer wear, shoes, reticules, gloves etcetera. Women who could perhaps not afford such gowns and items could buy them at near giveaway prices.”

Courtney frowned. “Where would we sell them? No lady who lives in Mayfair would stoop to purchasing used items.”

She flashed a look at Valora. “I rather thought we could ask the Reverend Smith if we could use the hall next to his church near Russell Square. The women in that area would probably like to buy such items to wear, and if we also position it as fundraising to help the orphans, well I suspect we could raise a lot.”

Valora’s mouth dropped open, as if she was about to laugh, but Tiffany shook her head. The church was very close to Mrs. Buchanan’s house and they could slip away for half an hour while the fete was being held. Russell Square was just at the edge of Mayfair. An area where the up and coming, or ladies on the fringe of society like Mrs. Buchanan, lived. She was sure the stall would make a lot of money if they could collect enough clothes to sell.

Ivy stood up. “Bravo, Tiffany. A splendid idea.”

“At least it’s not selling lemon drinks,” Valora whispered under her breath, and Ivy chose to ignore her.

Ashleigh laughed. “Finally a place where I might even be able to help out on the stall.”

“Courtney and Farah can be responsible for collecting donated items,” Tiffany said. “Nothing like a duke’s daughter to open closets. Claire and I will approach Reverend Smith.”

They discussed the operation of such a charity event. Afterwards, Claire sidled up to her. “Very clever. The church is near Mrs. Buchanan’s townhouse.”

“Shh.”

“If any of us get caught there…”

“What can they do? We could pretend ignorance as to why we shouldn’t be there. It would be an embarrassment to try and explain it to us. If anything, Fane will be blamed for his lack of forethought since your mother died.”

Before Claire could answer, Ashleigh called out from near the window. “Wolf’s just pulled up outside. It’s a bit early for him, isn’t it?”

Tiffany slumped into her seat, her nerves fizzing. Surely he hadn’t come to…

“Oh, Lady Vale spent several minutes chastising Wolf for not having spoken to my brother about his intentions regarding Tiffany,” Claire said, as if it was nothing of note.

“Well, I never. He was at Lady Skye’s ball? And he’s come to call?”

“Hardly a call,” Ivy muttered. “I don’t believe he asked for your hand last night, did he? What is going on, Tiffany?”

“I have no idea what your brother is up to, but I swear I have done nothing to encourage him. I have no idea what has brought on this sudden interest in me.” Just a little white lie. Wolf thought to form a marriage of convenience, but he could ask any woman for that. Why her?

“Men. They really are quite arrogant. Are you saying he hasn’t formally asked for your hand? Then why speak to Fane?” Ivy asked.

Tiffany nodded. “It’s as if I’m supposed to be grateful for his attention. As if there is no doubt I’ll say yes.”

“Is Lord Wolfarth wife hunting?” Lauren asked.

Ashleigh scoffed. “Not that I was aware of. I think he is still with his mistress, Lady Delia. She sent a note to the house this morning. I recognized her handwriting on the card.”

Tiffany looked across at Valora, suddenly understanding why her friend wanted to attend Mrs. Buchanan’s afternoon fete. “I was informed she is no longer his mistress.” Tiffany wished she could take back the words as soon as she’d spoken. Mouths hung open. But really, she did have some pride.

“You’ve discussed his mistress with him?” Ashleigh sunk into a chair. “I say, it sounds to me like Wolf is serious. Tiffany, how are you feeling about all of this? It would be lovely to have you as our sister.”

Courtney sat next to her and patted her arm. “This is rather sudden. But Wolf is a clever man, and he’s proved it by selecting an absolute treasure of a woman to be his wife.” She paused. “But we will all stand by you should you not wish to accept his offer. No matter what scandal ensues.”

“Yes. We will,” Claire said. “We all know you want a love match or to remain a spinster. You have the financial means to do so, but it could be lonely. Maybe Wolf has developed feelings for you. He seems most set on his pursuit and I’ve never seen him work so hard to impress. Not since Margo…”

The girls were being so kind but she could see their looks of concern and pity. None of them believed a man like Wolf would suddenly develop a tendre for her.

“I can highly recommend married life but only if it’s to the right man. I am so lucky Julian loves me.” Serena’s quiet words made Tiffany think. If Wolf was the right man for her, if he could love her, she’d marry him in a flash.

Just then they heard male voices in the hall. A knock on the door, and the butler was there summoning her to Fane’s study. “Would you like me to come with you?” Claire offered.

She shook her head. “This shouldn’t take long.” She would not be rushed into anything, and until she understood why Wolf wanted this marriage, she would never agree. Her plan was still the same—marry for love or not at all. She hadn’t spent the past four years investing and risking scandal so that this choice was not hers to make. No man, or men as the case may be, were going to corner her into giving up her dream.

Yet, as she drew closer to Fane’s study and heard the two men laughing, her bravery felt as strong as a piece of parchment trying to hold water. At the door she took a deep breath. Be polite. Don’t lose your temper and don’t give in!

Shoulders squared, she entered the room without knocking. She needed her defiant manner to send a message, but the two men didn’t even seem perturbed. Both rose swiftly to their feet.

“Tiffany, do come in and sit. Aren’t you a sly one. Why did you not tell me Wolf was courting you?”

Fane looked immensely pleased with himself, as if Wolf was the answer to all his problems. “He may be courting me, but I’ve yet to decide if I am interested in his attentions,” she answered politely but firmly. Honest, at least.

Fane’s smile dimmed. “There is no need to be rude, Tiffany.”

Wolf merely grinned. “She’s not being rude, Fane. Just truthful. I did tell you she was not enamored of my pursuit.”

Fane shook his head. “Women. I’ll never understand them. Most are throwing themselves at Wolf and yet you are not sure?”

“I wonder if he’d want me as his wife if I were like other women who throw themselves at him?” She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until the two men burst out laughing. At least her stupid question broke the tension.

“Let no one say Miss Tiffany Deveraux isn’t one of a kind.” It surprised Tiffany to hear what sounded like pride in Wolf’s voice.

“If that is all, the ladies are waiting for me. We are planning another charity event for Ivy’s orphanage.”

“No, that’s not all. I would like you to know that I have given Wolf permission to court you and that I would welcome the match. I am happy to support his suit.” Fane looked at Wolf and smiled.

Tiffany rose and softly replied, “I thank you for the support, Fane, but the decision to accept his suit, or decline, is mine and mine alone.”

Fane opened his mouth, but Wolf shook his head then stood and addressed her. “Of course, the decision is yours. I would not wish to marry a woman who did not welcome the arrangement. But I felt that to protect your reputation, society should see that I am pursuing you honorably.”

Arrangement.

The unspoken meaning was that a man like him pursuing a woman like her could be construed as dishonorable, because why would Wolf want to marry her? Well, that had clearly put her in her place.

“I’m pleased my wishes are now apparent,” Tiffany answered more firmly. “Who I marry, or if I marry, will be my decision alone. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I have other duties to attend to.”

“Before you go, I wonder if I could impose on you for a favor?” Wolf hesitantly asked. She eyed him warily. “I am contracted to provide a painting to the Royal Academy and I was hoping that you would allow me to paint your portrait. It will be auctioned by the Academy to raise funds for a scholarship.”

Tiffany couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. She loved art. “I don’t know how you find the time to paint now that you are the Marquess. You must be busy. But to be commissioned to paint for the Academy… It would be an honor, Lord Wolfarth. However, I’m not sure my portrait will raise much money.”

“I assure you the painting will be in much demand.”

It probably would, considering Wolf was the artist. “If you are sure, I’d be flattered and delighted.”

“I was thinking of painting you as you sit reading under the large oak tree in my garden. I’ll call it ‘Lady Tranquility’. I do admit there is a time constraint, so I’d need to get started almost straight away, and it will unfortunately take up a large amount of your time. Three to four mornings per week.”

Was this simply another ploy to spend time with her? To make it difficult for her to face the ton should she decline his proposal? “I’m assuming your mother would be chaperone and Ivy and Ashleigh will be there too?”

“We shall adhere to all proprieties.”

“I have your word?”

“Indeed.”

As she closed the door behind her, she resisted the temptation to press her ear against the wood to hear what the men were now discussing. Instead, spotting Booth hovering nearby, she walked away, her fists clenched and hidden in the folds of her gown. Wolf was taking this agreement much further than she’d thought he would. She must contact Mr. Sprat and see how strongly her Armley Mill shares were performing. She needed to win. To give her choices.

Shivers of anticipation and fear settled over her skin. A part of her wished she could simply relax and see where his courtship might take them, but the voice screaming loudest in her head was self-doubt. Why on earth did he want her? Until she had the answer, she couldn’t let herself fall in love with him.

Unfortunately, her heart was falling faster than her brain could cope with.

But as she walked determinedly back to the drawing room, real pleasure at the idea of being painted by Wolf engulfed her. Fancy being immortalized in a painting. Never had she imagined a man would wish to paint her portrait.

Plus, sitting for Wolf would give her an excuse to be in his company without society’s eyes upon them. She could begin her investigation of his motives. With Wolf’s sisters there too, maybe they could gain an insight into his sudden interest.

*

“You are right. She is definitely not thrilled at your interest. Women…” Marlowe shook his head as he poured them both a drink. “You told me you like Tiffany, but what is really behind your plan to marry my cousin? I would have thought Claire was more to your taste. Tiffany’s rather bookish.”

Wolf couldn’t tell Marlowe why, because that would reveal Tiffany’s secret, and if Marlowe learned of her investing, there would be trouble and he’d lose his wager. He’d never get near enough to win Tiffany’s hand if she were at odds with him. In fact, the more he discovered about Tiffany Deveraux, the more he believed the only way to win her approval would be to make her fall in love with him. However, he knew that road led to danger. He would not allow himself to love again. Not after losing Margo. Besides, he didn’t deserve to find love and happiness. He hadn’t been able to save her.

“Tiffany will suit me just fine.” As long as it was only her that fell in love.

“And you’re sure you don’t wish me to offer for Ashleigh in exchange should this marriage go ahead?”

“Quite sure. I must admit that I did think on the idea we discussed. However, upon consideration, Ashleigh probably wouldn’t have you. In fact, most of the ladies presently in this house wouldn’t have you. Your reputation with lovers precedes you. They know about your Mrs. Buchanan. Tiffany even knew I had a mistress. We underestimate how much these ladies overhear. I know I will be more circumspect around Ashleigh and Ivy in future.”

“Speaking of my lovely Mrs. Buchanan, it’s Pip’s soiree in a few days. Will you be escorting Lady Delia?”

“I thought I’d told you I’d put an end to our arrangement. I cannot court Tiffany with a mistress underfoot. I don’t wish to embarrass Tiffany. Besides, if she got wind of a mistress, the answer would be no.”

“Why is it so important that she accept you? You could have any woman you wanted. I must say, although I like Tiffany, she’s always presented herself as a true bluestocking, humorless, remote, and unapproachable. I hardly see the appeal.”

Wolf wondered why the hairs on his arms rose. In the years since Margo, he’d never been provoked to anger over a woman he was interested in. Tiffany, however, was a different story. More than once he’d felt his ire rise in her defense. Anger was a new emotion where a woman he was interested in was concerned. “That is my future wife you are talking about. I suggest you refrain from such comments. I have my reasons for wanting to wed Tiffany. I hope you’ll respect my choice as I will respect yours, when you finally make it.”

Marlowe scoffed. “I’m in no hurry. However, your marriage will certainly put the pressure on me. Mothers will assume I’ll follow suit.”

“Maybe you should. It will stop mothers and daughters chasing you.”

Marlowe slapped the desk with his hand. “By Jove, you’re right. I should marry and then I can continue my life without being hunted.”

“And still keep your mistresses? That doesn’t always make for a happy marriage. Alternatively, you could look for a woman who might make the need for other dalliances obsolete. It makes for a sound marriage and a happy family.”

His friend sat back in his chair with his mouth hanging open. Wolf merely shrugged.

“Are you telling me you won’t keep a mistress once you marry?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Marlowe looked as if he’d rather die than entertain that thought. His eyes narrowed. “Is this because of what happened with Margo? Rockwell told me you had a problem—”

“No.” The sound he made, half human, half wolf, was so loud it almost rattled the windows.

Marlowe looked at him skeptically. “I can perfectly understand how—how what happened to Margo in front of you and her subsequent death would affect you. But you’re over that now. Aren’t you?”

Wolf’s vision narrowed to one black spot. Bloody Rockwell and his big mouth. But he knew his younger brother had been scared by how Wolf had fallen to pieces after Margo’s death. Memories, nightmares actually, still invaded occasionally, especially on still, starry nights—he could still hear her screams. What ate him up inside is that they’d never caught the men who’d attacked them. He’d lived with that every day for years.

He’d tried for months to find some leads on his attackers. Their ambush had been well planned. Wolf had never believed it was arbitrary, as the magistrate and Bow Street Runners had believed. He’d been targeted. Young, arrogant…stupid in the extreme. He’d thought nothing could touch him. They’d preyed on his egotism.

He’d just become engaged to the most sought after debutante of the season; he was a Marquess and had the world at his feet. He hadn’t thought twice about driving unescorted, alone with Margo. He’d planned a romantic picnic in Richmond Park, where his staff had awaited his arrival. They’d had a lovely afternoon, and as the sun dimmed, he’d left the staff to pack up and had turned for home.

The carriage had barely made it out of the park before the attack and…

He swallowed back the bile that always rose from his stomach as the memories rushed in.

“Wolf, you are…that is. Hell, have a brandy.” Marlowe shoved a glass at him.

How he hated how he needed it. The heat and taste of the alcohol drowned his bile. He drank the glass dry.

Wolf ignored his friend’s inquiring eyes and got to his feet. “Let’s be on our way. You know how Blackstone hates to be kept waiting.”

Marlowe stood and put the brandy decanter back on the sideboard. “Blackstone is on the rampage. He’s livid that someone has the audacity to challenge him, or us, anonymously. He’s ranting about the coward and he’s already called for the Bow Street Runners to find him.”

“That’s a bit heavy handed. It’s probably some new buck who wants to prove himself. What I can’t understand is how this silly investment challenge made the betting book at White’s.” Wolf thought the challenger had to be a member. “It’s not even an interesting challenge. The result is twelve months off.”

Marlowe sniffed. “I think it was Julian Montague. He was there when his father received the missive. He thought it was a great lark. The elder Lord Lorne challenged along with the young bucks of the ton .”

“Lord Lorne is a shrewd investor so I’m glad his name is on the challenge too. He might also keep hothead Blackstone in check.” Wolf needed to marry Tiffany quickly. She could help him win this wager. He’d have to wait a month to tell the men about her skills, though, and then only if she said yes to his proposal. “Do you really think it could be Montague?”

Marlowe considered. “Perhaps not. He hasn’t got a head for numbers. It might be Viscount Timmings. The young buck is renowned for his way with numbers. He’s always thought to best me.”

Wolf nodded. “You could be right. But if he wants to take your crown as the investment king, then why challenge all of us?”

“Arrogance, perhaps. I’m not worried about losing. I have a couple of investments underway that will earn me a fortune. It’s a nice day. Let’s walk to Blackstone’s townhouse. I’m off to the club afterwards.”

They walked down the steps to the street and it was pleasant in the sun. “Nothing of note for me this evening,” Wolf said. “Rockwell and I are spending tonight on a hunting trip. Bloody Melville’s creditors are coming knocking and I mean to put a stop to his spending.”

“I had heard a rumor. I saw him being thrown out of the Gloucester Club the other night for an unpaid debt. He’s not allowed back until it’s paid.”

Wolf was glad to hear that. If more clubs stopped men gambling, they wouldn’t lose everything they owned. “At least I know I don’t have to look there.”

A few minutes later they were ushered into the Duke of Blackstone’s library. All the other men were already present. “Tardy as usual, Marlowe. I expected more of you, Wolfarth. I thought you’d ensure he was here on time.”

“Nice to see you too, Blackstone,” Wolf responded dryly while he nodded greetings to the other men. Lord Lorne had brought his eldest son, Tarquin Montague, Earl of Milburn, with him.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Lorne said. “I’m not sure why anyone would issue such a challenge, but I for one suggest we ignore it. The wager is not worth bothering with. I say we do not accept the challenge.”

“Of course we will accept the challenge. I’ve already done so.” Blackstone wore his ducal glare, daring anyone to disagree. Lord Lorne merely sighed.

“I think that is a mistake. It will make the result public too, and I for one do not wish society to know what we earn from our investments. And what if we lose?”

Wolf could sympathize with Lord Lorne’s privacy concerns. As to losing…

“Then we don’t lose,” replied Blackstone as he thumped his desk. Lord Lorne hmphed.

“The first point of business,” Marlowe said, “would be to hold a meeting with our investment advisers to ascertain how to pool our money, and ensure we make the biggest return from this small investment.” There was one thing Marlowe took seriously in life and that was money. It was his father’s legacy; for the previous Lord Marlowe, money had been all that mattered. Maybe that was why Marlowe took his pleasures a little too far at times. Being responsible for a huge family, lands and tenants did weigh on a man, and Marlowe broke free from those shackles occasionally. Wolf understood the burden of responsibility and this was one of the reasons Tiffany would be such an asset.

“Yes, instead of investing individually, we should pool our money,” Vale enthused.

“But would that be in the spirit of the challenge? Since we have already accepted—” Lord Lorne pointedly looked at Blackstone “—perhaps we should act like true gentlemen and invest separately as indicated.”

Vale looked around the table. “The challenge doesn’t specify we have to invest separately, it merely indicates each sum of one thousand pounds should show an individual return. Therefore, there is nothing stopping us all investing in the same thing.”

Wolf shook his head. “I agree with Lord Lorne. Our challenger is only investing one thousand pounds. If this challenge is to prove who is the best investor then surely we must follow suit or victory could be hollow.”

“Or at least questioned,” added Tarquin.

“I certainly do not wish my honor to be questioned. I believe the intent of the challenge is that we must each show the return we make on our own one-thousand-pound investment. An apple is only an apple if it’s off the same tree,” Blackstone said.

“Are you saying we cannot compare unless we do exactly the same?” Vale asked.

“Absolutely. I for one would think it a hollow victory if we pooled our money or our knowledge,” Lord Lorne agreed. “We need to each invest our money with no help from each other.”

Marlowe cleared his throat. “You make a good point. Individually investing will also spread the risk of losing. We are all likely to invest in different things. I don’t care who wins, as long as it is one of us.”

Wolf said, “So let us be clear in regard to the rules. We will each individually invest one thousand pounds, and keep a separate ledger. We will not confer as to what investments we have made. And may the best man win.”

The men all raised their glasses and drank to the wager. Soon discussion turned to the latest bill before the House of Lords. Wolf looked at the clock and rose to his feet. “Please excuse me, I have a meeting with Rockwell.”

As he made his way back up the street to his townhouse, Wolf pondered on how he should invest his one thousand pounds. He longed to win the six-thousand-pound prize. It would go a long way to making up for the losses he’d had to cover for Melville. In a month’s time, he hoped he could ascertain Tiffany’s advice; she would surely want to help her husband win.

As he entered his home, Wolf turned his thoughts to finding Melville. Surely between Rockwell and himself, they could find one elderly gentleman.