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“He’s simply staying there? Indefinitely?” Stan asked. “Gads, I envy the man. Would it not be delightful to miss the Season for once?”

“If you wish it so much, why don’t you do it?” Fin asked, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Stan flicked up his brows. “My father would never allow it.”

“I’m uncertain Lord Westervale did either, from what Pip—Lady Phoebe said.” Why was he mentioning her? The conversation had moved from her and onto her brother—just as Freddie had hoped.

“Lucky man,” Fin sighed.

Freddie looked at the paper and saw that the Whist table where the ladies sat was full.

He shrugged. It was likely for the best. He had no patience for the game. It was too polite. And Freddie was feeling anything but polite.

Besides, he’d heard enough. Lord Westervale, it seemed, was in financial trouble. Or that is what society believed. And whether it was true or not, what society believed was as good as the truth.

Freddie thought his father’s high-handed ultimatum would consume his thoughts. And yet, he sat in his favorite chair at Brooks’s, thinking about Lady Phoebe and all he’d heard. It had taken little investigation to uncover the whole of it. Lord Westervale was in trouble. If his country estate and London townhouse were not entailed, it was doubtful the family would have anywhere to live. The earl had already sold off the family properties in Scotland and Cornwall.

What Freddie had not been able to discover was what had caused the fortunes to turn. Lord Westervale had always seemed a steady, reliable sort of man—not the kind to make risky investments or gamble to excess. And yet, he was still on the verge of collapse. What did Lias think about it? Surely he’d come home soon. His father could not afford for him to stay abroad any longer.

“Why are you looking so pensive?” Fin asked as he dropped into his chair.

Freddie shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Fin narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t look like nothing.” He twirled his finger in a small circle in front of Freddie’s face.

Freddie gave a slow blink. “I was just thinking about my father’s ultimatum.” It was easier to lie. Especially when it concerned a woman. Fin rarely had patience for such things.

His face contorted. “What are you to do about it?”

Freddie shrugged. “What can I do? He has me between Scylla and Charybdis.”

“Are there any tolerable ladies attending?” His tone was doubtful.

Freddie let out a sigh. “If I knew that, it might be only slightly better.” He rested his head back against the chair. Would it not have been the gentlemanly thing to provide a guest list along with the ultimatum?

Stan and Miles walked into the room at the same time.

Miles was not a member of Brooks’s and could only come as a guest. He was blackballed at most clubs in London and had been forced to join a rather dubious club—Blackstone’s. But for reasons Freddie could not fathom, Miles was fond of the place.

Freddie could not stomach it, however. Likely because of all the taxidermic animals lurking about. Therefore, Miles always joined them at Brooks’s if they were to be out together.

“I understand you’ve been in London for nearly a fortnight and this is the first I’m hearing from you?” Miles sat down and crossed one leg over the other. He looked rather offended.

Freddie gave his brother a bland look. “I did not wish to witness your marital felicitations.”

Miles smirked. “Grace will be disappointed. I believe she’s been rather lonely since the ton returned to the country. I think she’d welcome even your company at this point.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” Freddie said without a note of hesitation. “Grace adores me.”

“All the more reason you should have visited,” Miles said.

Freddie frowned. Wait, had that been a trap?

“Well played, Yardley,” Stan said, earning Miles a rare Stanhope grin.

“At least say you’ll come to dinner?” Miles looked around the group. “All of you?”

Stan and Freddie shrugged.