She adjusted her bonnet, slid the pearl button at her wrist back through its loop. “I thank you for your concern, but it isn’t needed. Good day, Mr. Rollins.”
He didn’t try to stop her from leaving.
But she felt his gaze on her back the entire way out of the park.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lady Mary
Ipretended notto look. The moment between Miss Abbott and Mrs. Sanders appeared intimate. Tender. They sat on a high-backed settee in the library, their words low before Mrs. Sanders rested her forehead on Miss Abbott’s shoulder and cried. Mrs. Sanders was a more recent member of my club, but she appeared to be taking Lady Richford’s death hard.
Finding no reason to continue standing in the doorway, I continued my rounds of the rooms. I didn’t used to prowl about my own club, looking for anything amiss, but now I found myself making the rounds several times a day.
I frowned. Were there fewer women enjoying the club today? It was difficult to measure. Bernard recognized the members and allowed them entry when they appeared at the door. He didn’t keep a written record of who arrived or when. I contemplated the feasibility of implementing such a system. Bernard certainly wouldn’t like the additional work.
I changed direction to speak to him about it. When I arrived at the front door, I caught my doorman reading a paper. When he caught sight of me, he shoved it behind his back.
“You know I don’t mind if you occupy your mind while you’re stationed at the door, Bernard. No need to hide the paper.”
“Of course, milady.” But the paper remained behind his back, his arm bent at an uncomfortable angle.
I narrowed my eyes. “Is thatThe Times? I didn’t find my usual copy on my desk this morning.”
He hemmed and hawed, his jowls jiggling slightly. “There are times, milady, when the paper is not worth reading.”
My suspicions grew. If the paper wasn’t worth reading today, than why had he been nose-deep in its pages? I held out my hand. “The paper, please.”
“I really don’t think….”
“Bernard.” I kept my voice firm. It was that dratted Ryder. He had written more drivel about my club, I just knew it. I pushed down the hint of betrayal I felt. We’d had what I considered a convivial conversation. He apparently took it as an opportunity for more information gathering for his letter writing campaign.
With a mournful sigh, Bernard handed me the paper.
“Thank you.” Forgetting my purpose in seeking the doorman out, I turned from Bernard and marched to my office, paper tucked under my elbow. When I arrived, I cleared everything else off my desk and opened the paper to the opinion section.
It wasn’t difficult to understand why Bernard hadn’t wanted me to see this.
“Scandal continues to lurk amongst the newest addition to London’s gentlemen’s, ahem, gentlewomen’s, clubs. Instead of acting as an equalizing force, and being promoted as a sanctuary for women to have a moment of freedom from society’s strictures, The Minerva Club is instead a haven of corruption, a place designed for illicit assignations, a willing accomplice to its members’ depraved inclinations.
This author has learned that the husbands of several of its members have withdrawn their permission for their wayward ladies to frequent such a club. As its monies dries up, thankfully, its doors will soon close.
And is it any surprise that such a club should come to so ignominious an end? It’s owner, Lady M—, has long been suspected of mental…fragility, shall I say? That she should have been allowed to open such an establishment in the first place is a judgment on all our heads. From the time she set fire to a skiff on the Serpentine to her most recent misadventure of riding the bronze stag in Hyde Park, it is clear that instead of being allowed free rein to start sinful businesses, the lady should instead be taken in hand, perhaps sent to live out her remaining days on some country estate. We know her nephew has a large one.
If her relations are unwilling to check her behavior, well, there are other institutions that would willingly take up the cause.”
I leaned back in my chair and focused on my breathing, sharp inhales through my nose, slow exhales from my mouth. It did little to calm my ire. This opinion piece was anonymous, and much more vicious than the last. I no longer thought Mr. Ryder was its author. He seemed the type to put his name on his opinions, and even though he wanted to shutter my doors, I didn’t feel as though he would make his attacks so brutal and personal.
Who knew about my concerns that The Minerva Club had been used forillicit assignations? I had told very few people about my concerns. Could this piece have been written by someone in the club, someone who knew about those assignations because he or she had taken part in them?
And what of the comment about dwindling membership? The halls of the club had seemed a bit emptier than usual, but if the husbands of my members were revoking their ladies’ memberships, then the author had inside knowledge to whichI was not yet privy. Or was this a case of stating something as fact in the hopes of making it come true? Would my members’ husbands read this nonsense and think it was their moral duty to also refuse their wives this leisure time?
I pulled my ledgers from a bottom drawer, examining the past numbers. I had been making a profit, and it steadily grew each month, but my margins weren’t large. If membership fees started drying up, it wouldn’t be long before I ran into trouble.
I slumped back in my chair. I sometimes wondered if The Minerva Club had been a mistake. It had been born from jealousy, and nothing good usually came from that. My nephew and his friends seemed to enjoy their time drinking, relaxing, communing in their gentlemen’s clubs, and I had wanted something similar for myself. My home was my haven, but issues domestic did occur. At those times, a woman should be able to escape those pressures for an hour or two, just as a man could.
The insults to myself I could ignore. I had earned a reputation, and it was one I was just a bit proud of. Being thought eccentric had allowed me to act with more freedom. I was the batty Lady Mary. The aunt of a duke who had more daring than sense. Thetonmight roll their eyes at some of my actions, snicker behind my back, but no one had ever tried to stop me from implementing my will.
Until now.
