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They exited Hyde Park and trotted down the cobbled pavement.
“Tell me about this place.”
“It is a lady’s club.”
For a minute, his mind blanked. That was the last thing he expected to hear. “You mean a club like a gentleman's club?”
She nodded carefully. “Yes. I have been a member for over a year…and these ladies are more than friends; they are my sisters.”
“Prue,” he said, tugging on the reins to slow the horse’s trot. “I would never forbid from partaking in something that you care about so much.”
She sniffed. “I really do not like that word.”
He supposed it was ‘forbid.’ His little wife did not like the reminder that he had the power to control and dictate her choices and actions. And he saw it clearly now; it was the lady’s club which had helped her confidence and the painful shyness that he had become familiar with. “Where is this club?”
“48 Berkeley Square.”
“And you learn to fight there?”
“Yes, I’ve learned how to box, fence, and the art of taking down an opponent who is twice my size. You see, many ladies in society have found themselves helpless at the hands of libertines, rakes, and fortune hunters and are unable to defend themselves against their advances. The matron of our club believes it important all her members know some form of self-defense. But the club is more than that…it is…I cannot express how wonderful it is, Oscar. There is no malicious gossiping or pretension. We are true friends. Best of all, there are no foolish rules or strict adherence to propriety. We remove our shoes and stockings. We let down our hair. We sometimes smoke cheroots or drink brandy without any sanctimonious, judgmental prig to scold us for not being faultless pictures of propriety, which can be dreadfully tiresome to have to conform to.”
Good God. He schooled his expression before he was lumped into the category of a sanctimonious prig. A judgmental one at that. His wife smoked cheroots and drank brandy. Oscar wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. “Who is the owner of this club?”
“Our fearless leader is….” Prue frowned, casting him a suspicious frown.
Oscar rested a hand over his chest. “I swear upon my honor, all that you say to me will be held in the strictest of confidence.”
A dazzling smile curved her mouth. “The new Duchess of Hartford is our leader, and Theo is so wonderful!”
A duchess?He vaguely recalled Lady Theodosia at Prue’s side at balls upon occasion. The impression of a beautiful lady with a radiant smile rose in his thoughts. Prue always seemed animated and happy whenever they spoke together. “Does her husband know about her club?”
“Of course, he does! They have a love match,” she said a bit wistfully.
“Oh, one of those,” he said dryly as they turned onto Russel Square.
Prue frowned. “You do not believe in love?”
“It exists,” he said mildly.
“That is all you have to say on the matter?” she asked with surprising graveness.
A strange sensation assailed him. “Are we now discussing love?”
“You seemed dismissive of the idea of a love match.”
Oscar suddenly felt like a fish out of water, trying to run on land. “If the duke and duchess are happy, good for them.”
Prue’s gaze searched his face as if she tried to peer into him. “I am not talking about them, Oscar.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, entirely lost. Oscar slowly went back over their recent conversation. Keenly recalling every second to see what he had been missing. Then he regrettably reached the same conclusion he had come to before. He was a damn fish out of water and understood nothing. “I…I am not at all certain what we are discussing, Prue.”
“Do you not believe in love matches?”
“I believe they exist,” he said slowly. “I have met several seemingly intelligent lords and gentlemen who swore the instant they saw a particular lady across a ballroom it was love at first sight.”
His wife was silent at that statement, and they trotted for several minutes in silence. He was beginning to suspect that he had said the wrong thing.
“Do you believe in love, Oscar?”
