It was the first time she’d seen her alias in writing and the flowing text further fueled her anxiety. For the past few days, she’d fooled people only out of necessity: for her safety or to get past the barriers that Fiona couldn’t.
This—visiting White’s purely for entertainment purposes, exposing herself to a group of the most powerful men in England, making a mockery of one of their most hallowed spaces—it suddenly felt a little daft.
The consequences of being found out, the inevitable blackballing of her career, didn’t seem quite worth her curiosity. But it was too late to back out. William was striding down the corridor, without pausing his conversation, assuming she followed.
She increased her pace to keep up with him, trying to refrain from feeling the edges of her wig or adjusting the bands that kept her breasts bound. She didn’t want to do anything that might give the game away.
They would stay for a drink and then she would make some excuse to leave. Hopefully, she could be in and out without anyone noticing, and then she would store the memory away someplace special.
Another footman opened a set of double doors that led into the morning room, where men sat in groups on plush chairs, servants stationed in intervals along the perimeter, ready to respond.
And there, at the tables by the wide double bow windows looking out on the street, sat Edward. The light that streamed through the window caught the peaks and valleys of his curls, creating pockets of silver within the midnight black that her fingers itched to explore. It emphasized the furrow between his brows and the straight line of his jaw, and for a brief second she imagined running her hand along it, reaching his throat, shifting and cupping the back of his neck.
He was deep in conversation, his gestures graceful and restrained but carryinga confidence that was uncomfortably appealing, that stirred something inside her that she wished had stayed dormant.
He turned, his mouth cocked in a half smile that disappeared when he saw her. His lips thinned and his eyes widened. Even from this distance she could see him stiffen.
So much for going unnoticed.
“Yer brother does nae look too pleased to see us here. Should we go?” she whispered to William as he scanned the room.
“Ignore my brother,” he said quietly. “He’s dining with Liverpool. Dreadfully dull fellow.”
Fi’s heart stumbled at the mention of Liverpool’s name. Disappointment flooded her, quenching any spark that had just ignited. “I did nae expect His Grace to be friends with the earl. I thought his political views were somewhat more progressive than that.”
During their brief affair, they had strongly debated many social and political issues. But while Edward had always been more moderate in his ideas for achieving reform, they had always agreed on the principle need for it.
She had never anticipated that he would dine with the Tory leader, a man who advocated for fewer rights for the working class.
“Ah! Dunley, old fellow.” William waved to a group of men seated in the corner of the room. “We have a new pal.”
Fiona dragged her gaze from the duke and his companion. She had never seen a more vivid riot of color in one place. Each of the men lounging in the chairs had at least three hues to their outfit, in silks and lace no doubt worth more than her entire wardrobe combined. These were the type of men Amelia called dandies.
Swallowing, she allowed herself to be towed in their direction. When a footman pulled out a chair for her, she mimicked the cross-legged affections of the party, resting both hands on her knee.
“May I present Mr. Finley McTavish,” William said. “He’s a country boy staying with Wilde while in London and I’m determined to see him thoroughly ruined while in town.”
Oh, God.
Fiona ducked her head, a hot flush creeping up her cheeks. “Gentlemen. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”
“Tell us,” one of the dandies said. “What are you doing in London? And why are you residing with theAnti-Wilde? I couldn’t imagine a more tiresome host.”
Her instinct was to defend Edward. He was arrogant and overbearing, but he was a man who’d moved his sister’s piano so the family could be together, and was a conscientious estate owner—even if she hated being his tenant. He’d walked into last year’s riots with nothing but his presence to defend him. He was far from tiresome.
But she also couldn’t look past the person he was currently associating with. Whenever she thought she was finding scraps of Edward beneath the duke, something like this would crop up to show her just how wrong she was.
The men were staring at her expectantly. She’d forgotten to answer their question. “I’ve developed a tool to make it easier to light fires. It’s safe, easily portable, and will significantly shorten the time it takes a chambermaid to prepare a room.”
“Why on earth would anyone buy those?” The derision in the dandy’s voice matched the tone she’d been dealing with these past days. It was frustrating, this complete disregard for the humans who made their privileged lives function.
But if the distributors she’d spoken to had no care for the working class they’d sprung from, she was mad for thinking these flouncing, insubstantial sugar puffs would.
“A chambermaid’s day is eighteen hours long,” she said through gritted teeth. “With this device they have an extra two hours’ sleep in the morning.”
There was a collective eye roll from the men in front of her. One of them—ridiculous in his purple-and-blue paisley waistcoat—turned to William. “I thought you had brought us someone fun to play with.”
William colored slightly. “Finley is fun. At least, he has the potential to be, and you can’t criticize a man for wanting to better himself—what’s the last useful thing you accomplished, Cossington?”
