Page 21 of The Viscount of Shadows

“But of course, he is,” Shinwell barked cynically as he gathered his coat and hat. “Well, gentlemen. By all means, go forth and indulge in tedious charity work. I have organized an exclusive private party at The Velvet Vine tonight. If any of you change your minds, the bacchanalia starts at eight sharp.” He gave the men a mocking bow. Then, turning on his heel, Shinwell swept from the room with Tolwood and Linton close behind him.

The door slammed.

Exclusive private party. Which meant an orgy of various delights, sexual and otherwise.

“First note of business, change the locks,” Damon snapped irritably. “Second note: donate Tolwood, Linton, and Shinwell’s recent membership fees to various charities.”

“I concur,” Watford snarled.

“Some of us have known Tolwood most of our lives. How many times had we protected him from bullies through the years, and he up and swans out of here following Shinwell? Of all men?” Wenlock exclaimed, shaking his head. “So much for loyalty.”

“Are all the meetings this dramatic?” Rett asked as a footman entered the room, carrying a platter of sandwiches.

“Not quite,” Allenby smirked. “Though the delivery of a severed leg last year certainly tops the list.”

Rett’s eyebrows arched skyward. Oliver would have to tell him the story later, as he had only recently learned of the episode. It is where Allenby met his duchess, Eleanora Galway, the co-owner of the Galway Investigative Agency.

“Thomas,” Damon called out to the footman. “When you are done serving, I want you to rouse a locksmith and have him come immediately. I will pay the man extra. All the locks to this club must be replaced. Tonight.”

“At once, Your Grace,” the young man replied firmly.

When they were alone, Damon pushed the journal away. “It was bound to happen. Some of us have changed. But for others, the transformation began long before any of us fell in love. Well, perhaps not Watford.”

The men chuckled.

“But as soon as he met Olivia, he fell hard. Love can be transformative,” Allenby added.

“As the rest of you will someday discover,” Wenlock said. “So, where does this leave us?”

“I indeed wish the main focus of this group to be philanthropic initiatives, but there is no reason why we cannot continue recommending various places for those who wish to indulge in whatever,” Damon suggested. “Only please let us dispense with the grandiose bragging of one’s conquests. It is tedious to the extreme, even when I did it.”

The men laughed.

“I propose we dispense with titles,” Wenlock proffered. “We are all friends here, first names only going forward when we are alone like this. And any new members who join must have the full approval of all the other members.”

The Rakes pounded the table in agreement.

“And any prospective members, like Gregory, Rett, and Oliver, should be full members this very moment,” Wenlock concluded.

Damon began to write in their club journal about the recent doings. Talk broke out among the men as the sandwich platters were passed around, along with coffee, tea, and the whiskey decanter.

Oliver tried to keep track of the conversation, but his mind wandered toward Shinwell’s declaration about the revel in the East End. He would no doubt be taking Bryan to the brothel with him. Which meant Claudia would follow them. The Velvet Vine had a good reputation, although its neighborhood was not the best.

Would his brother be attending? He had to know. Right now. He should track them to see if they stay clear of danger. Oliver glanced at the clock. It was closing in on seven.

He stood abruptly. “Gentlemen, I have another appointment. I must take my leave. Rett, you stay and take copious notes. Tell the group about your idea of opening another free medical clinic within the Hornsby-Wollstonecraft initiative.”

Rett blinked rapidly, then glowered. He was putting his cousin on the spot, as they had yet to discuss the idea at length. Oliver didn’t wait for Rett’s response, as he had already grabbed his coat and hat and halfway down the stairs.

* * *

The sun had started to sink, causing rays to skitter across the clouds, casting an array of pink and purple colors in the sky. It was a rare but beautiful sunset. Claudia paid the hansom driver and jumped out of the cab.

Poplar High Street. The men couldn’t be going to The Velvet Vine and Tackle, could they? Claudia had followed their cab to the East End from Notting Hill. She knew Shinwell and Linton attended a meeting on Albany Street because Tensbridge had sent a note to her informing her of that fact. So Claudia stayed in Notting Hill, watching the younger Wollstonecraft. Three men arrived at Notting Hill long enough to gather Bryan, so she followed behind in another hansom. Tonight, Claudia wore a wig of long flowing ebony locks and a putty nose. She slipped into the alley behind The Velvet Vine. Trying the door, she found it open, but before stepping across the threshold, she was met by a solid muscular wall.

Claudia looked up. “Colin, it’s me. Mary O’Toole.” She used her Irish accent.

The cook approached the door, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “That’s Mary, sure as brass. Let her in.”