in, and he, in turn, twisted their weaker arms.”
“Well, it is a good thing for you, you don’t have any farthings left to lose,” Derek shot back.
Actually, despite that opinion and assumption, Charles hadn’t coerced or coordinated anyone. Everyone had come—and more importantly, stayed—of their own volition. Brother included.
Landon narrowed his eyes. “That is a low blow, young Hayden.”
Derek surged forward, but the marchioness slid herself between them. “Boys!” She clapped once, and much the way they had as the children they once were, Charles, his brother, and his boyhood friend immediately stopped sparring and drew back their shoulders, standing at attention. “We are now at . . .” She grabbed Charles’s timepiece, and he grunted; lest she break the piece, he allowed her to draw him over to consult the fob. She released it quickly. “Ten minutes away, and there’s no meeting place set up. I just visited the parlor, and I know this is your venture, Charles, but this is also a reflection of—”
“I’ve taken care of it.” Charles had gone back and forth over all options, and had arrived at the only place that made the most sense for his club centered around books.
“You have?” his mother asked.
“I have.”
This time, Charles’s pronouncement was met with like stupefaction, and from this, his greatest supporters. And that collective shock proved somehow even more . . . hurtful than the early words voiced aloud between Landon and Derek. Those, even if they had contained traces of truth, had been delivered in good-natured jest. This awkward silence from all of them was just one more indication of the lack of faith they had in his abilities . . . and in his capabilities. Nay, what was truly worse? They were entitled to their reservations. At what point had he demonstrated himself a man capable of focusing and carrying out . . . anything of import?
“Seating has already been arranged, and an agenda already laid out in preparation. Refreshment trays should be out, even now.”
“Miss Dobson—”
Charles interrupted his brother, anticipating the remainder of that question. “I’ve instructed Cook to avoid any inclusion of almonds due to Miss Dobson’s hypersensitivity to the food.” Yes, that had been . . . a rather unfortunate and ignominious start to their last meeting. The young woman had consumed a ratafia cake, baked in bitter almonds, and her face had immediately swelled while her throat had closed. “I also solicited Camille to send around inquiries about potential food sensitivities to our other members. I’ve seen to the purchase of copies of the text and seen they’ve been distributed to . . . those members whose family are not in the position of parting with the funds.” As was the case with Camille’s closest friend, Miss Fawcett, and several of the young lords who came from notoriously impoverished families.
The trio looked among one another.
“What?” he asked gruffly, fiddling with his cravat.
Tears shimmered in their mother’s eyes, and he tensed.
“I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, but . . .” Charles’s words trailed off as she came forward, and much the way she had when she’d first sent him on to Eton, she tenderly adjusted his cravat.
“I never doubted you.”
Landon shot up a hand. “I did.”
The marchioness turned her famous pillar-of-Polite-Society glare upon him, and the gentleman had sense enough to drop his gaze to the floor.
“’Pologies,” he mouthed, lifting a palm.
Returning her attention to Charles, his mother dabbed the drops from the corners of her eyes. “Now, let us go, as the members are surely arrived and are being shown to the library.”
With a sigh, Landon returned his cue stick to the wall and reluctantly joined Derek.
Charles made to follow after them, when his mother stayed him with a hand on his arm.
He glanced down.
“I am proud of you, Charles.”
I am proud of you . . .
He’d never doubted her love. Not for a single moment. Nor his father’s. Oh, he’d resented him for controlling his life and maneuvering him into marriage as a boy, but he’d also known there was love there.
But pride?
Those were words that had not fallen often—if at all—from either of their lips. In fairness, he’d never given them reason to be proud.
“These . . . things have not come easy to you, as they do Camille or Derek, but it never meant you weren’t clever or capable.”
It meant all that. Bitterness filled his mouth and soured his tongue.
She framed his cheeks in her hands, directing his gaze to hers. “You’ve never believed in yourself, Charles,