Netta gave one last look at the small stage before following her out the door. “I would love to but I’m afraid it’s not within my resources to join a club.”
“I think we can come to some arrangement. Not everything is about money.”
No. Netta’s throat tightened. But for the past six years her life had revolved around it. How much she could earn, how much she could save, all for the end game of taking her sister to America.
That country had once seemed her savior. Now it just seemed lonely. She would know no one but her sister. There would be no one there to make her laugh. No one to tease and inflame.
There would be no John Chaucer.
“Would you like a drink, my dear?” Lady Mary asked when they reached the tavern.
“Yes.” Netta swallowed, her mouth gone dry. “Yes, I quite think I would.”
Lady Mary waggled another finger, and the barkeep put two drinks on a tray and headed their way. She picked up a cut-crystal tumbler and took a sip. “Ah. The Marie Antoinette. It must be Thursday.”
Netta took her own glass and lifted it to her mouth. The alcohol fumes wafting off of it made her eyes burn, but she took a small sip. And coughed. “Lovely.”
“I think so.” Lady Mary raised her glass. “Catherine! I didn’t expect to see you today. Come join us.”
Netta glanced over her shoulder, and everything in her stilled. The Dowager Marchioness of Mallen, otherwise known as John’s grandmother, toddled towards them. She leaned heavily on a cane, her pale peach lace train dragging slowly behind her gown. Her chin was tipped up, the feather in her turban dipping backwards, making the slow march seem regal.
Now Netta knew where John had inherited his sense of style.
Fortunately, he hadn’t inherited the woman’s stone-cold heart.
The woman inclined her head when she reached them. “Lady Mary. I am all amazement each time I visit. Your eccentricities have finally found a home.”
Netta narrowed her eyes. “I think The Minerva Club is lovely. Just like Lady Mary.”
The dowager turned faded blue eyes her way. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“Now no more of that ‘lady’ business.” Lady Mary waggled that powerful finger again, and another drink appeared for John’s grandmother. “In this club we don’t tolerate all those titles. I’m just Mary. Or May, if the spirit takes you.” One edge of her lips lifted. “And I always take ‘eccentric’ as a compliment, dear. No need to defend me.”
Netta inclined her head. Of course, Lady Mary would be welcoming of all. It did her credit.
But that didn’t mean Netta had to be gracious. “I am surprised to learn you are a member of The Minerva,Catherine. From what I’ve heard of you, I would have thought the barest whisper of impropriety would have kept you far away.”
The dowager raised an eyebrow, her haughtiness so reminiscent of John’s it stole Netta’s breath. “And you are?”
“This is Miss Netta Courtney,” Mary said. “She is also a particular friend of your grandson’s. The earl,” she clarified.
“Were you the woman with him at the theatre?” Catherine lifted a quizzing glass that hung on a gold chain around her neck and peered through it. “I would blame my failing eyesight, but you did quite a good job of hiding your face on your own.”
“Thank you.” Mary wasn’t the only one who could take odd compliments.
They all studied their drinks for an awkward moment.
Catherine finally cleared her throat. “And how is my grandson? In good health, I hope.”
“I would say as fine as ever, but we only recently became acquainted.” Netta drummed her fingers on her glass. “And as you haven’t seen him since he was a boy, you won’t be able to give me any frame of reference. It seems there was a large portion of his early life where Summerset’s health and welfare were sorely neglected.”
The dowager flushed and looked to Mary, who shrugged. “You’ve started this path of redemption, Catherine, and I’m afraid it is one you must walk alone. But as much as my curiosity matches Netta’s, there are only three people you need answer to, and none of them are Netta or myself.”
“Redemption?” Netta huffed. She didn’t think she believed in it, at least not for someone who could turn her back on three hungry children.
The woman’s eyes went watery.
Netta squeezed her glass, the crystal digging into her palm. She would not feel badly for the woman. She would not.
