“On yourself?” Daniel asked, startling her.
“What?”
He smiled, and those eyes threatened to pull her in again. “Did she tell you to loosen the reins that you have placed upon yourself? If so, though I wish that I had been the one to inspire you, I must say that I am glad.”
Phoebe did not know how to answer him, any possible words lodged behind the lump forming in her throat, which refused to be swallowed down. Her heart began to race again, her stomach flipping, her face hot, like she had been accused of smuggling and knew she had contraband hidden on her person.
Just as she was about to insist that the advice pertained to her sisters, a different voice captured her attention, coming from a gentleman who sat on her other side. He had his back turned to her, deep in conversation with another gentleman.
“I suppose they think it makes them mysterious,” he declared with a snort. “You know what women are like—they believe that if they make themselves unavailable, it will inspire us fellows to pursue them all the harder. Of course, they do not realize that it is actually rather pitiful. Desperate, some might say. I mean, they are hardly young and enticing anymore.”
Phoebe frowned as she eavesdropped, rankled by the man’s unkind words. Meanwhile, Daniel had fallen silent, his dark eyes searching her face.
“What do they call themselves?” the other gentleman, seated beside the first, asked. “It is something wretched if memory serves. The Ladies’ Club? The Sisterhood? I swear it is something of that ilk. Laughable.”
“The Spinsters’ Club,” the first man corrected, cruel laughter in his voice. “Look at those two up there—it is obvious they were never serious, and it was all a ploy. Still, some men are foolish enough to fall for it. I might have expected it of Thorne, but never of Forbes.”
The second gentleman chuckled. “No one will be able to take it seriously, now that it is falling apart, and two are married, though I doubt the rest of them will have the same luck, gaining a duke and a marquess respectively. Indeed, those other shrews would do well to admit they just wanted attention.” He paused. “How many are there again? Is it eight? Seven?”
“Five,” a different voice cut in, growling straight across Phoebe. “Three remain unwed, that is true, though the club itself does not criticize or discriminate, as you two seem so keen to do. Indeed, what is the name ofyourclub, if we are to begin mocking others? Was it not the Casanova Club? No, it was worse than that—ah, yes, I remember. The Lothario League!”
Phoebe stared at Daniel as if he had taken leave of his senses, astonished by his abrupt, cutting interruption. Yet, she could not help but let a burst of laughter slip from her lips as his words registered in her mind. What sort of arrogance did someone require to name their club theLothario League?
“I do not believe you were invited into this conversation, Lord Westyork,” one of the gentlemen said sourly, while the other blushed furiously, his gaze flitting between the guests, likely hoping that none of them had overheard.
Daniel leaned forward, his shoulder lightly brushing Phoebe’s. “Then you should not converse so loudly, especially if you are being unkind to those who are seated beside you.”
“Who is seated beside me?” The gentleman glared at Phoebe, who could not wipe the smirk off her face. He did not resemble a lothario, his face gaunt and beaky, his hair a slick of grease, his pallor that of a man who had not seen sunlight, much less a multitude of women, in all his life.
“A proud member of the Spinsters’ Club,” Daniel replied, “and a friend of mine. Not to mention that I am related by marriage to dear Olivia up there, who you have so callously claimed to be ‘lucky’ when, I assure you, it is my cousin who is the lucky one.
“As for ‘gaining’ a marquess, what my cousin has gained is something you so clearly lack—the love of a wonderful woman. Which, I suppose, makes it all the more ironic that you gallivant around under the banner of the Lothario League, when neither of you would know how to speak to a lady, even if you were merely in a shop, trying to purchase something from one.”
The more embarrassed of the two gentlemen bowed his head to Phoebe. “I apologize. We did not know you were there.”
“That does not make it acceptable,” Daniel remarked.
“No, of course not,” the fellow conceded. “I am sorry for my unkind words, Miss.”
Phoebe smiled. “You are forgiven, though let this be a lesson that you never know who may be nearby, so ensure that you always speak with kindness.”
Daniel looked at the other gentleman. “And you?”
“I will not apologize for speaking the truth,” the man said curtly.
“Very well, then you shall depart at once,” Daniel stated, in a tone so casual that it struck the other gentleman harder than any anger could have. “After all, this is my house, and I will not allow miscreants and lotharios to eat my food and enjoy my hospitality if they cannot be civil to everyone I have invited.”
The gentleman swallowed loudly. “Come now, there is no need for that.”
“Then apologize to Miss Wilson, and be as sincere as you can,” Daniel replied, drumming his fingertips on the dining table as he waited for a suitable response.
By now, a few others had begun to look in their direction, likely putting more pressure on the sweating, red-faced fellow who had to choose between staying with his pride wounded or leaving in disgrace.
Phoebe nodded, joining Daniel in waiting for some justice.
“I am sorry, Miss Wilson, for speaking out of turn,” the man said, at last. “It does not matter that you were not supposed to hear. I should not have said what I said. Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”
Phoebe shrugged. “I accept, and I do hope that you enjoy your club as much as I enjoy mine.”
