Chapter Seven
Peter and Robert wove through the gathered gentlemen at their club the next night, a plan firmly in place.
When Peter had first asked his friend for assistance in freeing an innocent young lady from the clutches of the deplorable Broadstead, Robert had not hesitated in the least. Indeed, he had taken up the task with determination.
Robert was the first to speak as they searched the crowd for their quarry. “You are going to great lengths to assist this Miss Sherwood. She must be a remarkable young lady.”
“No young lady should be doomed to the likes of Broadstead.” Peter continued his perusal of the gentlemen present. “But Miss Sherwood does strike me as decidedly remarkable. I would very much like the opportunity to discover if I am right on that score.”
He spotted Mr. Sherwood not far off, seated in a corner.
Broadstead occupied the chair nearest his, with a small end table between them.
Peter firmly suspected they intended tonight to work out details of the marriage settlement.
Nothing would be signed tonight, what with solicitors not being present, making this a prime opportunity for Peter to perform a bit of not-so-subtle intervention.
Robert met his eye. Peter gave him a quick nod.
They moved in nearly opposite directions, Peter to a nearby window and Robert directly to the table where Mr. Sherwood and Broadstead sat.
Robert could claim connections to the aristocracy, though his immediate relations had no titles.
His standing exceeded Peter’s, and far outpaced the Sherwoods’.
Broadstead’s standing certainly could not compete.
Robert offered Mr. Sherwood the smallest inclination of his head and a few pleasantries. He made as if startled to realize Broadstead sat nearby.
“Ah.” A bit of distaste colored his single syllable. “I did not see you there.” He looked back at Mr. Sherwood. “I did not realize you were. . . friends with Broadstead, here.”
“I— uh—” Mr. Sherwood’s face twisted in confusion.
“A good evening to you, Mr. Sherwood.” Robert repeated his earlier small bow of the head before stepping away. It wasn’t a cut to Broadstead, but it came very close to being one.
Mr. Sherwood watched Robert as he walked away, still wearing an expression of uncertainty.
This was precisely what Peter hoped for.
If Eleanor’s parents could be led to question the benefit they would receive in Society for being connected with Broadstead, the one true advantage they seemed to hope for, they would be far more likely to reconsider.
Peter stepped away from the window just as Robert passed him.
He greeted his friend and received a warm acknowledgement in return.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Sherwood take note of the exchange.
Robert had shown himself far more approving of Peter than he had been of the gentleman with whom Mr. Sherwood currently shared a corner.
“The fates must be smiling on you, Peter,” Robert whispered. “I spy Lord Permouth just come inside. He’s a cousin and a friend. He’s also a sport and would join us in this effort, I’m certain of it.”
“An earl.” Peter nodded appreciatively. “That’d be quite a pebble in my pocket, wouldn’t it?”
“You wander closer to Sherwood and Broadstead,” Robert said. “Lord Permouth and I will make a fine show of it.”
Not two minutes later Robert made good on his word. He and the earl ambled over, looking as chummy as schoolboys.
“Well met, Havensham,” Lord Permouth said, as though he and Peter were on quite friendly terms. “It’s a fine thing to have you in London again.” He even slapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
Catching Mr. Sherwood’s intrigued glance, Peter jumped on a grand idea.
“Lord Permouth, have you met Mr. Sherwood?” Peter adjusted his position enough to more easily make the introduction. “He was an acquaintance of my father’s, and I spent the most enjoyable evening last week with his family in their box at the theater.”
Lord Permouth sketched a brief bow. Mr. Sherwood jumped to his feet and returned the gesture with a bow of his own, one much deeper and more filled with awe.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Sherwood blurted, his eyes wide.
The earl played his part well. In a tone ringing with pleasure, he said, “Any friend of the Havensham family will always be a welcome acquaintance of mine.”
Before Mr. Sherwood could recover from the growing shock of this conversation, Robert spoke again. “Lord Permouth, I’m certain you are familiar with Broadstead.”
The earl, unwaveringly friendly thus far, raised an icy brow and skewered Broadstead. “I am excruciatingly familiar with him. He owes me money.”
“I will make good on my vowels,” Broadstead said. “I swear to it. I’m only a bit short on the blunt just now.”
“A gentleman may default on any number of debts,” Lord Permouth said slowly, pointedly, almost threateningly. “But he does not fleece a fellow gentleman.”
“Fleece? My lord, that is not the case at all. I swear to it.”
“Walk with me.” Lord Permouth’s words were anything but a request. “There are a number of gentlemen here just now who I am certain would appreciate the opportunity to discuss your definition of the term ‘fleece.’”
Broadstead stood on unsteady legs. He stared at Lord Permouth, fear filling his face.
The earl, apparently unmoved, turned a more friendly gaze on Mr. Sherwood. “Does he owe you money, as well? Would you care to join the five or six of us who mean to give him an education in being a gentleman?”
Sherwood shook his head mutely.
“Well, then, no doubt you will be glad to be rid of his company, regardless of his financial connections to you.” Lord Permouth quickly dipped his head before snatching Broadstead by the collar. “Ingram. Redmond. Look at the wriggly fish I’ve caught.”
He dragged Broadstead away toward a waiting group of gentlemen. None looked the least pleased to see him.
Debts of honor eventually caught up to any gentleman who refused to pay them.
“That was a scene,” Robert said. “That is what comes, though, of being in proximity with a cheat. Broadstead is not the sort to attract good company.”
“He isn’t?” Mr. Sherwood eyed them both.
Would the man’s brows ever return to their normal position?
“He has never been a gentleman of conviction,” Robert explained. “Lately, however, his behavior has put him beyond the endurance of many in the ton. I fear as the years progress, and a short few years at that, he will lose much of his claim to good Society.”
Peter assumed what he hoped came across as a puzzled expression, speaking directly to Eleanor’s father. “There are rumors going about that your daughter is somehow connected with that bounder. Were I in your shoes, I’d put a stop to those whispers forthwith.”
“Lud, yes,” Robert added. “What a disaster that could be for your entire family.”
They left on that declaration. The remainder of their time at the club was spent talking with acquaintances and friends, generally making themselves agreeable, and, Peter hoped, adding some strength to their words by showing how much more acceptable Peter was in the eyes of his fellow gentlemen than Broadstead could ever claim to be.
It would not, he knew, be enough to necessarily put a permanent end to the Sherwoods’ plans for Eleanor, but it might be enough to slow them down.
***
Eleanor had never been more grateful for gossipy matrons.
She and her mother had made morning calls for hours.
At every house they had heard whispers of Mr. Broadstead and his questionable standing amongst the influential of the ton.
The Earl of Permouth and several gentlemen of his set, if rumors were to be believed, had made their displeasure with Mr. Broadstead known in a very public way.
The rest of Society were beside themselves attempting to decide how drastic their own displeasure with him ought to be.
Mother did not stop in the entryway of their home long enough for a single piece of her outer clothing to be handed over to the waiting maid. She instead made her way directly up the stairs and, if Eleanor’s guess proved correct, down the corridor toward Father’s book room.
Do not allow your hopes to soar. The doubts she had seen in her parents these past two days were encouraging. Mr. Broadstead hadn’t called even once. Father’s solicitor, who was supposed to have arrived that morning, no longer seemed expected.
Though Eleanor had not heard any specifics about the events at her father’s club, she suspected Peter had played a part in whatever had happened.
He had been as good as his word. Better, even.
He had helped undermine Mr. Broadstead’s position in her parents’ estimation.
She would keep her part of the bargain as well, doing her utmost to delay her parents’ final decision.
She could hear Mother and Father’s voices as she approached the book room.
“This is very disconcerting,” Mother said.
“Perhaps it will be but a five-minute scandal,” Father replied.
They were, indeed, questioning how to proceed. This was Eleanor’s opportunity. She slipped inside the room.
“Forgive the interruption,” she said. “I have a question I need to ask.”
“We are having a discussion,” Mother said sharply.
“The question is a brief one.” Eleanor knew she must seize this moment.
“When Mrs. Aimesbury said this afternoon that she meant to leave Mr. Broadstead off of her guest list for her ball in a fortnight’s time, do you think that meant she intends to leave us off as well?
Our names are so often connected with his these past weeks, I wasn’t certain.
The Aimesburys’ ball is a very important event each Season. If we are excluded—”
“We won’t be,” Mother insisted. “I will call on Mrs. Aimesbury. We will not be excluded.”
Eleanor let her uncertainty remain. “I hope not.”
She slipped from the room once more, but hesitated just beyond the doorway.
“What if we are excluded from the Aimesburys’ ball?” Father asked. “Others will follow suit. We will fall out of favor with Society.”
“I will call on Mrs. Aimesbury. We will sort it. In the meantime, we would do well to spend a little less time with Mr. Broadstead. The whispers will soon enough be replaced by something new grasping the attention of the ton.”
Less time with Mr. Broadstead was precisely the goal Eleanor had been aiming for. Finalizing plans for the engagement would now most certainly be delayed.
“She is twenty-three years old, Jane,” Father said. “This Season was her last chance, and now the only gentleman who has ever shown a willingness to pursue her has disappeared from Society. She will be firmly on the shelf, and we will never be rid of her.”
It was not exactly parental tenderness, but Eleanor didn’t truly mind. Their indifference was not new to her. The feeling of near freedom that came with knowing she was not to be immediately tied to Mr. Broadstead was, however, entirely unfamiliar.
She was so near to deliverance, she could taste it.