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You can thank your little hoyden friend for that, you know."
Harry's mouth curved ruefully. "Sally explained that the harebrained notion of a ladies'
club modeled after a gentlemen's club was all Augusta Ballinger's idea. Somehow it does
not surprise me."
"Hah. It would not surprise anyone who knows Augusta Ballinger. Things have a way
of happening around her, if you know what I mean."
"Unfortunately, I believe I do."
"I am convinced Miss Ballinger came up with the idea of the club solely as a way to
amuse Sally." Peter hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Miss Ballinger is rather kind. Even to
staff. She gave me some medicine for my rheumatism today. Few ladies of the ton would
have bothered to think of a servant long enough to worry about his rheumatism."
"I did not know you suffered from rheumatism," Harry said dryly.
"I don't. Scruggs does."
"Just see that you guard Pompeia's well, Sheldrake. I do not want Miss Ballinger to
come to social grief because of that ridiculous club."
Peter quirked a brow. "You're concerned about her reputation because of your
friendship with her uncle?"
"Not entirely." Harry toyed absently with the quill pen on his desk and then added
softly, "I have another reason to want her kept safe from scandal."
"Ah-hah. I knew it." Peter leaped toward the desk and slammed his empty glass down
on the polished surface with explosive triumph. "You're going to take Sally's and my
advice and add her to your list, aren't you? Admit it. Augusta Ballinger is going on your
infamous list of eligible candidates for the role of Countess of Graystone."
"It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects."
"Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course.
Everyone's heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it."
"Yes, you told me." Harry studied his wine. "What, precisely, was the wager in
Pompeia's betting book?"
"Ten pounds that you would ask for the Angel's hand by the end of the month."
"As a matter of fact, I intend to ask for Miss Ballinger's hand this very afternoon."
"Damnation, man," Peter was clearly appalled. "Not Claudia. I know you have the
impression she would make you a very proper sort of countess, but a lady who wears
wings and a halo is not really what you want. You need a different sort of female
altogether. And the Angel needs a different sort of man. Do not be a fool, Harry."
Harry raised his brows. "Have you ever known me to play the fool?"
Peter's eyes narrowed. Then he grinned slowly. "No, my lord, I have not. So that's the
way of it, eh? Excellent. Excellent. You will not be sorry."
"I am not so certain of that," Harry said ruefully.
"Let me put it this way. At least you will not be bored. You will propose to Augusta
this afternoon, then, eh?"
"Good God, no. I do not intend to propose to Augusta at all. This afternoon I am going
to ask her uncle for his permission to wed his niece."
Peter looked momentarily blank. "But what about Augusta? Surely you will have to
ask her personally first? She is four-and-twenty, Graystone, not a schoolroom miss."
"We both agreed I am not a fool, Sheldrake. I am not about to put an important
decision such as this in the hands of the Northumberland side of the Ballinger family."
Peter continued to appear blank for a moment longer and then comprehension set in.
He roared with laughter. "I understand completely. Good luck to you, man. Now then, if
you will excuse me, I believe I shall make a quick trip to a couple of my own clubs. I
wish to place a few wagers in the betting books. Nothing like having a bit of secret
intelligence, is there?"
"No," Harry agreed, thinking of how many times his life and the lives of others had
depended on such intelligence. Unlike his restless friend, he was very glad those days
were behind him.
At three o'clock that afternoon, Harry was shown into the library of Sir Thomas
Ballinger.
Sir Thomas was still a vigorous man. A lifetime of devotion to the classics had not
softened his sturdy, broad-shouldered frame. His once-blond hair was silvered now and
quite thin on top. His well-trimmed whiskers were gray. He had on a pair of spectacles
which he removed as he glanced up to see his visitor. He beamed at the sight of Harry
coming toward him.
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