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With a sigh of frustration, he threw a cloth over the stone and shucked off his apron, tossing it over the changing screen he’d had brought in for Hetty. That done, he summoned Danvers and instructed him to have a bath drawn. As he waited for the tub to be filled, he considered his options.
It was far too early in the evening to think of retiring. His artistic toil could only continue when his model returned the following morning. His household accounts and business dealings were in good order. Reading held no interest for him that night, though it had often soothed him in other times. That night, he felt restless, unwilling to sit alone with his thoughts in the silence of his home.
As he turned another circuit of the room, his eye fell on a letter Jackson had sent him when he’d first arrived back in England. It had carried a note of congratulations on his ascension to lordship, and he offered to introduce him to his club, to his fellow members of the ton, should he have wish to socialize with the peerage he was now a member of.
At the time he’d had no such interest and had not anticipated having interest in the near future. He had kept the letter more as a courtesy to his friendship with Jackson than from any expectation of making use of the open-ended invitation.
Only, he wanted some occupation that eve. And silent contemplation felt like a poor choice.
He could...hecouldgo to London. Introduce himself at Jackson’s club. He had no doubts about his ability to gain entrance. As Lord Salisbury, his patronage would be welcomed. For the first time since his return, the idea did not disturb him. It was even somewhat welcome.
And why should I not go? If nothing else, it would please Jackson and perhaps lay to rest whatever rumors have been circulating among the ton since I returned.
His course of action determined, he summoned Danvers to have appropriate clothing laid out and a single-person trap made ready for him to drive. He could simply ride, of course, but the trap would offer more comfort and better conditions if the weather took a turn for the worse, as it often did in England.
He took care with his toilette, aware that he needed to make the proper impression. One did not attend White’s in rumpled shirtsleeves and a riding coat, or dusty boots. His hair was longer than he expected was proper, especially since it was not yet long enough for the low horse’s tail that was currently in fashion, but he did at least take care to comb it into some semblance of neatness.
At last, he was dressed to his own satisfaction: crisp black trousers falling over well-tended boots, and a fresh and well-pressed shirt of fine white linen with a forest green waistcoat, and a black evening jacket. His cravat had been properly tied, more or less, with Danvers’ most expert assistance, his top hat pulled from its box and brushed to an acceptable state. He tugged on riding gloves and his traveling coat, made sure to have his credentials and a set of other gloves for inside the club. He collected the invitation Jackson had sent him, checked the address once again, and took his leave.
* * *
Dusk was well on its way to night when his driver delivered him to the doors of White’s Gentleman’s Club. The man at the door watched him alight, then waved the driver off. “Your name, my lord?”
“Daniel Thynne, Marquess of Salisbury. I have an invitation here from my friend, His Grace the Duke of Merriweather.”
“Indeed, my lord. Your name is in the books.” The man bowed him into the establishment. “If I may take your coat.”
Daniel shed his traveling coat and his riding gloves and handed them off, receiving in return his cloakroom ticket, which he tucked into his waistcoat pocket. “Is the Duke of Merriweather in this evening?”
“He is indeed. I believe His Grace is in the back parlor, my lord. Shall I send a lad round to let him know you’ve come?”
“Yes. Quite.”
In minutes, a young lad had been sent scurrying off to convey the message. Seconds later, he returned. “His Grace says to come at once, Lord Salisbury, and that he is glad you have finally come.” The lad bowed, awkward in the manner of growing boys everywhere, but polite enough. “Shall I lead you to him, my lord?”
“If you would.”
The boy turned back and led him through the haze of cigar smoke and the small clusters of gentlemen engaged in quiet conversation, or in games of leisure. Daniel kept his eyes straight ahead and his chin up, though he could feel the prickling of stares on him as he passed by. It was a sensation he was as of yet rather unaccustomed to, but he endured the glances and whispers with all the discipline he could muster.
He was still quite glad when the boy opened a door into a smaller, cozy-looking room, in which Jackson stood alone, pouring out two glasses of scotch, three fingers each.
Jackson looked up at his entrance, scarred face breaking into a warm and welcoming smile. “Daniel Thynne! I was beginning to think you would never accept my invitation.”
Daniel permitted himself a small smile at his friend’s obvious enjoyment of his presence. “I had not thought to do so for some time.” He was aware of the boy moving away and closing the door as he crossed the room and took the glass Jackson offered him. Once they were both comfortably ensconced in their respective chairs, he permitted himself to continue. “How is the Duchess?”
“Oh, well enough. The new fashions have just been turned out in the shops, and she’s been driving me fair to distraction with her interest in them. Apparently, we’re to lose our hard-earned coin to the Spanish and the Italians this year, though it is no surprise…” He trailed off.
“No, it is not.” Daniel shook his head to rid himself of the slight shadow of memory that had surfaced. “Pray your lady wife chooses the Italians. They’ve better taste, and at least there you can hope that some of your coin will be blessed enough to reach the Vatican and serve to God’s work as well as the dressmakers.”
“There’s some sense to that.” Jackson nodded. “I shall see if I can encourage the idea, though I doubt she’ll listen to me. She says I have the fashion sense of a carthorse.”
“I’ve no doubt she harbors similar sentiments of me.” Daniel shrugged easily.
They passed a few moments in companionable silence, the topic of recent modes discarded, before Jackson spoke again. “I am surprised to see you here. Why in deuce’s name didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Because I did not know myself until just before I set out.” Daniel cocked his head. “It was a rather impulsive decision on my part.”
“I didn’t know you indulged in such things.” Jackson’s voice was teasing, one eyebrow quirked in good humor.
