“No, the other little sister. The one you’re not related to? Lady—oh, shall we call her the Bright Little Bird? You know, the one whose dance partners at every ball are treated to your scowl? It’s no wonder it took someone four years to work up the nerve to ask her to marry him when we all felt sure you would thrash us just for taking her arm. And we all thought you would be marrying her, after all, and couldn’t see what you were waiting for. And then you were away in May and Thornwick managed to slip in.”
Why does everyone think I was going to marry Phoebe when I only just realized it myself this afternoon? And I didn’t scowl at Phee’s dance partners. Did I?
Phineas went on. “Perhaps you feel a certain protectiveness given the announcement last week? Although perhaps you or her father or her real brothers should have asked the questions before the announcement.”
George cleared his throat. “It could be.”
“Yes, discretion is the better part ofet cetera. I’ve been thinking. The most telling things about a man are his proclivities in the bedchamber and his finances.”
“Really?”
“You shouldn’t be talking to other gentlemen at his club. Or to him.”
“Oh.”
“You should be talking to quite another group of people.”’
“Oh?”
“His whores. And his bankers.”
“Oh.”
“In that order.” Phineas clapped him on his back and sat back down inthe chairand opened his newspaper again.
Thirteen
Something nagged at George as he left his club. Something he needed to do now. What was it? It was not something that was part of his normal routine. Well, that had completely fallen by the wayside since last Friday. But it was something . . . yesterday . . . ?
Oh, yes.
After a stop at his saddle maker to make a curious commission, George hurried to Madame Flora’s, the most popular brothel for the lords of theton.
“I wondered. A gentleman I know has had occasion to come here from time to time. I thought I might visit with one of the women he prefers? Oh, his name? Thornwick. Yes, His Grace. That’s right.”
He was speaking to one of the older whores in the outer parlor where the women displayed themselves for the gentlemen customers. And by older, he meant age thirty or so. Nancy, she said her name was. She was quite lovely, with large, sympathetic eyes and a shapely bosom. But even more importantly, large hands. Perhaps if he lost Phoebe to Thornwick, he might come back to Madame Flora’s in defeat and ask Nancy to rub his head as consolation.
But no. That wasn’t going to happen. He mustn’t imagine defeat. He was determined. He could not be deterred. George Danforth would be victorious.
Nancy was speaking. “The Duke of Thornwick? Oh, he hasn’t been here for ages, has he?”
George didn’t like hearing that. Better that Thornwick be up to his neck in whores. That alone might put Phoebe off him.
Nancy looked around the parlor. “Let me think. He was partial to Lydia at one time. She’s just over there.” She indicated with a nod. “The brunette. She’s quite popular with certain gentlemen. Would ye like to meet Lydia?”
“Yes. Please.”
Nancy crossed to a brown-haired woman and touched her elbow and spoke in her ear. Lydia looked at George and nodded to Nancy. Then Lydia walked over to him and curtsied.
“Good evening, my lord.”
“Yes, uh, good evening.”
“What would give you pleasure?”
“Well, I hoped we might talk.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “There is a charge for talking, my lord.”
