He noticed Mordaunt eyeing the hideous, colorless glob. The man’s own dessert plate was empty.
“By all means, take mine,” Matthew offered.
Mordaunt stared at him, eyes narrowed. Finally he reached reluctantly across the table, snagging the china plate without releasing Matthew from his scornful gaze. He set to the dessert in the same manner, his stare unwavering as he chewed.
As if one couldchewthe monstrous thing. Matthew checked himself, not wishing to retch.
On any other evening, he truthfully would be thinking of how grand it would be to sit within the hallowed walls of the Athenaeum, dining alongside the finest minds of the age. How thrilling it would be, how utterly unbelievable, to finally be recognized and appreciated.
But tonight, membership at the club of his dreams seemed a cheap, paltry thrill compared to being desired byher. To having his back clawed at by her. To have her underneath his hands, within his arms, warm and receptive to his embrace. It was a need he’d chased his entire life, one that until now he’d only found in the excitement of the gaming tables.
“You’re looking awfully flushed, Doctor,” Hudgill said, interrupting Matthew’s thoughts. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, no…”
Matthew removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses. He’d have to divert the two nosy old trouts if he were to make it through the evening. As he replaced his spectacles, he conjured the best kind of bluff. One that was true enough, but not exactly the truth they were after.
“It’s only, well. I’ve met a woman, you see.”
He could nearly feel the breeze as the two old men sat up straighter. Good.
“Yes, a widow.”
“Comely?” asked a suddenly intrigued Mordaunt, between bites of the carrageen pudding.
“Very.”
“Of ample means?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, very good, lad.” Mordaunt chuckled and sat back, wiping at his mouth with his napkin. “My advice is to marry her straightaway. You know what they say about widows, don’t you, boy?”
“Erm…” Matthew squinted. He didn’t like the suggestive tone the man was using. “I’m not quite sure?”
“Bilgewater! No need to fill the doctor’s head with such filthy notions.” Mr. Hudgill shook his head. “No need to forfeit your independence, or hand over the reins of your household. You’ll regret it all your days, Doctor, I swear it. Be wary of widows, is my advice.”
“And, I suppose, you would be the expert? A bachelor who’s lived at his club forever and a day?”
“Why… I never…” the elderly man reached to his side, feeling about for his walking stick which leaned against the table. When his hand clasped about it, he pounded the floor twice, drawing all eyes in the room to them once more. “Now, listen here, Mordaunt, just what are you suggesting?”
Matthew quickly stood up.
Both Mordaunt and Hudgill looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.
“I…” Matthew started, feeling the heat creep up his neck.
He was ostensibly only speaking to the two men at his table, but with the entire dining room unusually enraptured by the daily locking of horns between the two curmudgeons, it felt as if he were addressing the Transom Club in its entirety. He lifted his head higher.
“I beg your pardon. I have… correspondence to attend to.”
And then he quit the room, his heart thudding.
He never wanted to see carageen pudding again, for as long as he lived.If you’d not been such a coward, you might dine at your own house, a vicious little voice at the back of his head suggested.You might have a wife to tend to such matters. A wife to instruct your cook, to set the menu to suit. You might have married Harriet.
No. Matthew set his jaw. He did not wish to have Harriet.
He never had.
