“Thank you for that gracious acknowledgement.” John pushed off the table.
“Shall I have a maid come clean?”
“What for?” John pushed past his friend and headed for his study. “I’m finished playing about with my chemicals.”
Wil followed him into the next room and stood at attention in front of the desk while John dropped into his chair. “For someone who is finished with that part of his life, you seem to be poking your head in there quite a bit lately.”
John ground his teeth. He picked up his chair and turned it to face the window. There. Much better view of the gardens than his annoying friend’s face. “You are mistaken. I only wandered in there because I was distracted.”
“About?”
Throwing his legs up on the windowsill, John grumbled. “Has anyone ever told you that you show an awful amount of impertinence for a servant.”
“Yes. You. Many times.” Wil circled the desk and stood beside John’s legs, his gaze also out the window, his hands clasped behind his back.
A sparrow flitted under the overhang of the gazebo in the yard, adding a bit of dried grass to a nest she hurried to build before darkness fell. John followed her path as she hunted for more material to make her home.
Perhaps he should take up bird-watching. Several other gentlemen of his acquaintance were amateur ornithologists. Yes, instead of missions saving the Crown from disaster, instead of trying to get in the head of one devilishly obdurate woman, he could watch birds. A sound plan.
“Christ.” He scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “The woman’s gone barmy. Up and decided to give me the silent treatment last night, for no reason.”
The one eyebrow that John could see on Wil’s face raised in a slow arch.
“It’s true,” John insisted. “We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation about her future prospects, and she went and got all huffy. Women.” He slapped his thigh. “When you want peace, all they do is jabber; when you want to know what the problem is, they close up tighter than a nun’s knees.”
“I’ve never heard Miss Netta jabber.”
“Hmpf.” John slouched lower in his seat. That may be true, but it only made it more frustrating. If Netta told him what the problem was, he could fix it.
She’d seemed to get particularly ill-tempered when he’d discussed that manager of hers. John had only spoken the truth. Touching her hand. Giving her calf eyes. A fool could see the man wouldn’t say no to having an affair with her.
And who could blame him? They both worked in the same industry. She was beautiful and cunning. Jarvis was a bit old for Netta, probably ten years John’s senior, but some women seemed to like that. Who knew? After she and John parted ways, why wouldn’t she turn to the manager?
His stomach clenched.
She could turn to any number of men. And John wouldn’t have any say about it.
He dropped his feet to the floor and stood. “I’m going to get her to talk.”
“She went to Lady Mary’s club.” Wil turned to face him, a suspicious twinkle in his eye. “When you do speak with her, a bit of advice?”
John plucked an onyx-headed walking stick from the stand and gave it a twirl. “Your track record with women isn’t such that anyone should take advice from you.”
“I know enough,” Wil said. “And one thing I’ve learned is not to tell a woman that you take no blame in a disagreement. And truly, how likely was that in any case?”
John turned his back on the man’s smirk and strode to the front door. He called for his carriage and hopped in when it arrived, telling the driver to make haste.
And make haste he did. Not ten minutes later they rolled up to the front steps of the building May had rented for her endeavor.
A burly footman was just lighting the lamps bracketing the front doors. He stepped in front of John, blocking his path. “Apologies, but this club is for members only.”
“I’m a member,” he gritted out.
The man looked him up and down and twisted his lips. “It’s a women’s club. You might dress as fine as one, but that doesn’t make you a member of the fairer sex.”
John gaped, outraged. “Does Lady Mary know the insolence of her staff? I’ll have you know my investment paid for your services, and I can make sure they are terminated just as fast.”
The door swung inward, and Auntie May stood framed in the entrance. “Johnnie. We did agree that you’d have no control over the management of my club. I’ll have you know I hired him because of his delightful insolence. But,” she said, turning to the footman, “this man is always welcome.” She pressed her lips together and squinted at the sky. “Well, almost always welcome. The Venus and Bacchus nights he should be denied entrance. Our female members might be uncomfortable otherwise.” She waved her hand in welcome and John stepped through, knocking the footman with his shoulder as he passed.
