“The second,” Abbot said without hesitation. “You see, a club such as this one can only survive with the greatest of discretion. I can’t share any details about anyone who comes here, no matter what their relationship is orwasto the questioner.”
Her lips parted. “I see.”
“I apologize that you came all the way here. I wish you had written,” Abbot said. “I would not have had you waste your time.” He motioned toward the door and Bernadette’s heart began to pound.
“Do you offer memberships to women?” The words fell from her lips in an almost jumbled way.
Mr. Abbott seemed to understand them regardless, for he lowered his hand. “Yes.”
“W-women like…like m-me?” she pressed.
He smiled slightly. “There are women of title who hold membership here, yes, Your Grace. Is that what you meant?”
She was still trying to digest that fact and she blinked at him. “Y-Yes. And what would it take formeto join?”
He had the same uncertain expression her footman and her driver had each had when she mentioned the name of this place. Her heart sank. He didn’t think her the right material.
“I can be discreet,” she burst out. “And I won’t bother anyone. I’m a member of several charitable societies if you require references and—”
“Paul.”
Bernadette jerked her gaze over toward the female voice that had spoken from the main entrance to the club. A pretty, petite woman with chestnut-brown hair piled artfully atop the crown of her head was standing at the now-open door, hands clasped before her.
“Yes, Mrs. Rivers,” Abbot said with a slight incline of his head.
“Marcus was looking for you,” Mrs. Rivers said softly. “Why don’t you let me handle the duchess?”
Mr. Abbot nodded. “Of course.” He smiled at Bernadette kindly. “Good day, Your Grace.”
He slipped past the pretty woman into the club. Once they were alone, Mrs. Rivers stepped forward. “Do you know who I am?”
Bernadette examined her more closely and then took in a quick breath. “I-I do. You’re Lady Annabelle. You’re the sister of the Duke of Hartholm.”
“I am Annabelle Rivers,” the other woman said gently. “My brotheristhe Duke of Hartholm, but no one calls me Lady Annabelle anymore, unless it is my husband choosing to tease me mercilessly.”
There was a tone in which she said that which made Bernadette think the lady didn’t mind such teasing much. “We weren’t out at the same time,” Bernadette said. “I was married the year you made your debut.”
“But I’m sure you heard the whispers whenImarried Marcus two years ago,” Mrs. Rivers said. “How I married a scoundrel.” Bernadette shifted under the truth of that statement and Mrs. Rivers grinned. “It’s quite all right, Your Grace. I knowtheytalk. My husband owns this establishment. Won’t you come in and we can talk more comfortably than in this drafty entryway?”
Bernadette nodded, shocked that she would be so easily allowed access to this mysterious place when a few moments before she was almost begging for it. She followed Mrs. Rivers through the scandalously carved door and into a huge room filled with tables, chairs and various settees and other couches. There was a large bar in the back, but it was far finer and brighter than any pub bar she’d seen during travel on the roads.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Mrs. Rivers,” she breathed.
“Thank you, but you must call me Annabelle.”
Bernadette looked at the young woman again. She had a kind face and didn’t seem to be preparing to do anything nefarious or cruel. “Bernadette,” she said softly.
“Bernadette,” Annabelle replied. “Come, Marcus and Paul are working on something in one of our back rooms, so our office is available.”
She led Bernadette up a back stair and into a big room with a huge swath of windows that overlooked the club below. “Oh!” Bernadette gasped as she took in the vast, bird’s eye view of every corner of the room.
“Marcus takes a hands-on involvement. Will you have something to drink? I have tea and something stronger.”
“No,” Bernadette said as she settled into a comfortable leather seat across from the desk where Annabelle settled herself. She cleared her throat. “I suppose you did not come here back when my husband did. But perhapsyouknow about him and his activities here?”
Annabelle pursed her lips. “Paul was correct when he told you that discretion does not allow such discussion. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but the truth might hurt even more.”
“I see,” Bernadette sighed. Of course, as much as her curiosity was unsatisfied, she knew in her heart that asking about Tunbridge’s behavior hadn’t really been why she came here. It was just an excuse to get her into the carriage.
