Henrietta nodded. “The Viscountess Cordell, should anyone ask. But we are not formal here.”
Next to Willow on the sofa, grinned a young girl, rosy and curvaceous with a book open on her lap. “And I’m Allison. Miss Allison Shropshire.”
Henrietta nodded regally toward Maggie. “Viscountess Cordell, Miss Shropshire, may I introduce my new sister, Mrs. Blake.”
Maggie smiled a greeting at both women. “It’s lovely to meet you both. Please do call me Maggie.”
Across the room, seated in a large wingback chair like a queen, her leg resting on an ottoman—the countess. It could be no one else. Her chin rose with a stately tilt and her abundant hair curled in bright auburn locks around her face. A strip of white hair radiated back from her brow. And though she didn’t smile, laugh lines at her lips and eyes looked ready to burst into action at the slightest provocation.
Henrietta faced the countess. “Aunt Lola, I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Blake. Maggie. Maggie, this is the Countess Beckingham.”
Maggie dropped into a deep curtsy. “Countess Beckingham.”
“So, new blood.”
At the countess’s odd reply, Maggie raised from the curtsy to find four sets of eyes contemplating her. Again. She wiggled her fingers to make sure she had not turned to stone.
The countess leaned forward. “Tell me, Lady Maggie, how do you feel about prostitutes?” Her eyes twinkled.
Maggie’s governess had given her just enough of a social education for Maggie to know the question the countess asked was not normal, nor acceptable for polite society. Casually mentioning such women simply was not done.
But Maggie had not been raised in polite society. In fact, the artistic circles she’d been raised in rarely shied away from such subjects. If this was some sort of challenge, an initiation she must pass before acceptance into the club, Maggie was not unprepared.
“I have thought on the subject. Last year, my father invited a woman to our annual house party who painted nothing but women who walk the streets. Her subjects were both lusty and …” She searched for the perfect word. “Exhausted is the best word I can come up with. I often wondered if Arabella, the painter in question, had joined the women’s ranks at some point in her life. I do not think I can judge them or her. They have not the protections of family and funds as I have and must still keep themselves alive. Still … I wish it were not so and they did not have to do what they do. But”—she tapped her arm, thinking of that morning in Tobias’s arms—“do you suppose that some of themlikeit?” She blushed. She should not, perhaps, have said that last bit aloud. “My thoughts are helplessly muddled. My apologies, Lady Beckingham.”
The countess beamed and placed a hand lightly on her belly. “Not at all. Your answer was perfect. You were correct, Henrietta. She’s a good candidate for our club.” Her sharp gaze swept once more over Maggie. “And you will call me Aunt Lola. Everyone else does.” She smiled then, and Maggie saw how she earned her laugh lines. When she deigned to smile, she did so like it was her reason for existing.
Henrietta shepherded Maggie into an armchair next to Lady Willow.
“Tea?” Willow asked, gesturing to the teapot on the table nearby. “We serve ourselves during our meetings.”
“Yes, thank you. What is it, exactly, you do in your club?”
Aunt Lola leaned back in her chair. “We devise ways to help others less fortunate than we.”
“You’re a charity, then?”
“Not precisely,” Henrietta said. “We aren’t a formal organization because charitable endeavors are not our only deeds.”
“What else do you do?”
The young blond, Allison, thumbed through the pages of her book, eyes distant, thoughtful. “They help people like me.”
“Are you … all right?” The girl did not appear ill or even in any sort of pecuniary trouble. Her dress was quite elegant and much less threadbare than Maggie’s own gowns.
Allison frowned, her gaze snapping back into focus. “I am and I am not. I am, as you see, hale and hardy. But I am also obliged to marry whomever my parents tell me to. And to attend my mother’s horrid moral luncheons.” She shook her head and straightened her spine. “But Aunt Lola is helping me learn how to speak up for myself and how to be bold.”
Willow tapped the other girl’s arm. “A good way of putting it, Allison. We all try to be bold here.”
Maggie looked at the stylish women before her. “Scandalous, you mean?”
The countess chuckled. “We’ve all done something beyond the pale in our time. I disobeyed my father and eloped with the man I love.”
Allison grinned. “And I collect forbidden books given to me by a mysterious stranger.”
“I own a dress shop, of course,” Henrietta said.
Willow frowned, then burst into a smile. “I got foxed in the middle of the day once.” Her brows drew together. “Then shot the cat in front of my fiancé.”
