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“Lord Osgood.” He waved at the empty chair. “Would you care to join us since our last occupant just vacated?”
He sat down and waited while the cards were dealt. “I don’t suppose that would have been Lady Isadora, would it?”
Rem had meant it as more of a jest, but the man across from him spoke up with a Scottish brogue. “Aye. T’was.”
“Indeed?” His brow lifted. As the game began, Rem considered what purpose she might have possibly had for entertaining this group of gentlemen. He contemplated what sort of connection they might have to a lady of her standing, and then it abruptly struck him. “Could that be it?”
“What was that, my lord?” Mr. Montagu glanced at him, and Rem realized that he had spoken aloud.
He cleared his throat. “Would you mind telling me what business the lady had with you?”
The barrister glanced at his two companions, but when they gave a subtle nod, he said, “Perhaps you’d like to find out for yourself. Wednesday next we are holding a meeting at Old Slaughter’s Coffee House. Lady Isadora will be in attendance. In fact, she’s quite excited.”
Remington considered this. He had been intending to leave London within the next day or two, but perhaps he could extend it a bit longer. It wasn’t as if the rail line was going anywhere. “Indeed. Count me in.”
Isadora wasn’tsure what to wear to a political gathering of like-minded gentlemen, but she finally decided on a modest, dove gray gown with a silver lace overlay. Without the services of a coachman, she set out in the curricle on her own to St. Martin’s Lane, which was just a short drive from Mayfair and where the society meeting would be held.
She was eager to hear what would be said, as after so manyfailed attempts to put some sort of law into place to abolish the abuse of animals, either through sport or cruel mishandling, she prayed that this would finally be a step in the right direction.
As she drew the curricle to a halt before the three-story establishment, she glanced at the entrance. A large gas lamp hung above the door with two windows on either side that were lit from within.
A momentary twinge of trepidation struck her, but she quickly tamped it back down. Isadora didn’t allow intimidation to play any sort of role in her life. If she did, she might not have gotten this far on her own. Granted, it hadn’t yet been a year since she’d been in London, but she had taken care of her father’s accounts until he’d passed. Even Olivia’s husband, the Duke of Gravesend, had commended her when he’d looked over the ledgers at Marlington Hall.
Thus emboldened, she tied up her horse and lifted her chin as she let herself inside.
As she entered, she heard voices to her left, so she turned in that direction. There were several men standing around in the room, but conversation abruptly silenced when she arrived. She couldn’t keep her lips from twitching. “Don’t cease discussions on my account.”
Sir James Graham nodded in her direction. “I’m pleased you could make it, Lady Isadora.”
“Thank you.” She removed her cloak and hung it on a peg nearby.
Sir James Mackintosh walked over with a gentleman who boasted spectacles and bushy, gray sideburns with a full beard. He was bald on the top of his head but had a ring of hair around the rest. “May I introduce, Reverend Arthur Broome?” the Scotsman said.
Isadora was instantly intrigued. “I’ve read many of your periodicals, Mr. Broome. I am quite impressed by your plea formercy and moral obligation when it comes to the treatment of animals.”
He inclined his head. “I am glad to hear that you have likeminded values, my lady.” He paused meaningfully as he glanced at Sir Mackintosh. “Am I also given to understand that you are interested in making a sizeable monetary donation to the cause?”
Isadora wasn’t surprised that money was one of the first topics that was discussed. As a woman, it was one of the few enticements that she had at her disposal when it came to making contact with prospective business associates. It was a mutual commodity that most everyone paid attention to, even if they weren’t too keen on allowing a female to be part of a male dominated world. “I may be inclined, given the right incentive.”
The reverend grinned. “Spoken like a true politician. Welcome to the Society, my lady.”
Isadora cheered inwardly with her victory and took a seat at the oval table. The rest of the men followed suit. She counted twelve in total, including Basil Montagu.
As the rest were introduced to her, she discovered that they were all reformers with various backgrounds, including William Wilberforce, a parliamentarian who had successfully abolished slavery in Britain nearly two decades before.
“Once everyone arrives, we shall begin,” Reverend Broome announced.
Isadora noted that there was one empty chair remaining beside her. She was contemplating who might have accepted the invitation to this inaugural meeting, but her curiosity was satisfied when the Marquess of Osgood strode into the room.
She was hard pressed to glance away as various members of the Society greeted him heartily. No doubt they were overjoyed that a peer was in their midst. Isadora, on the other hand, found it entirely more difficult to engage in such enthusiasm when he glanced up and their eyes met. Every time she encountered those remarkable eyes, and that grin was bestowed upon her, she foundit difficult to concentrate on anything of import. Tonight would be no exception, but she was determined to do her utmost to try.
He walked over and bowed before he sat down beside her. The instant he did, she was assailed by his clean, masculine scent. It was as if a gentle breeze had flowed across her skin. The last time she had felt anything remotely similar to it was when she was at Marlington Hall and she had worked on the estate ledgers beside her father. It was an instant comfort to her, even if the marquess was not.
“Good evening, Lady Isadora.” His voice was soft and sensual, like liquid silk.
“Lord Osgood,” she greeted in turn.
He lifted a brow. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”
