They looked at each other and broke into laughter. They knew each other too well to take this silly game seriously.
“Did Willoughby offer you tea?”
“He did, but I declined,” George said, “I heard you were in London recently.”
“I just returned. How did you hear about that?”
“I might have heard it from Helena.”
“Oh, have you seen her recently?”
“I believe we crossed paths in the village recently. I hardly remember.”
Thomas studied him. He could usually tell when George was not replying with a straight answer, and he said, “I need to pay her a call. She came by when I was away and left me a note. I owe her a visit in any event.”
“Well, tell her I say hello. It has been so long since I saw her last.”
“Did you not just tell me you met in the village?”
The guilty expression on George’s face gave him away, but he brushed off the mistake. “Oh, yes. But it was so brief as not to be a real conversation.”
“Hmm,” Thomas said.
George became animated and slapped his walking stick in his hand. “I should be going. I have a few other errands to attend to. It was wonderful seeing you again. I hope you will be at Pemberton for a while.”
“I expect to be. Perhaps we can go for a ride some afternoon that does not threaten rain.”
“I should like that.”
“And if your father is serious about the mare let me know.”
George smiled. “I shall pass along your message to him.”
Chapter 3
Wilcox Mowbray, the Earl of Denham, had a modest estate in Gloucestershire, but he resided mostly in London. His Lordship was a gentleman in his early fifties. And though he kept a trim figure, he had lost a great deal of his sandy hair—his face was sallow and sagging, and he had a lazy eye that was most disconcerting if he trained it on you in a confrontation.
He spent a great many evenings at his town club playing cards with some of the regular players. However, as Mowbray was preparing to leave the club one afternoon, the club’s chairman stepped away from his office and, with a stern expression, stood before His Lordship.
“Your Lordship, if we might have a few words…” He gestured with his hand for Wilcox to precede him into his office. Wilcox obliged.
The Chairman went to his desk and offered Wilcox a chair opposite. He then picked up a statement and offered it to his guest.
“As you can see, you are more than several months behind on your dues and fees. Your Lordship, I thought this might be the perfect time for you to settle your account.” He paused and stared intently at the Earl.
Wilcox shifted in his chair, slowly placed the statement on the desk and folded his hands atop his walking stick. Unfazed by the situation, he said, “Of course, I shall be happy to take care of it in the next few days.”
“We accept cheques, My Lord.”
“I never carry a chequebook with me, I am afraid,” he said with a tight smile.
The Chairman removed his pince-nez, wiped them with his handkerchief, replaced them on his nose, and gazed once more on Wilcox.
“There are one or two other matters…”
“Oh?”
“Several club members have spoken to me about your… obligations…”
