Chapter Fourteen #3
She somehow didn’t think because I impulsively told my family we were going and now we’ve got to do it so that they’ll think I’m Crafty and Competent and A Woman with a Plan would go over well with this particular audience, so instead, she said, “I’ve been thinking, about which of the clubs haven’t been hit yet, and it made me wonder—what if we ought to investigate the least likely candidate?
The Duke and Earl is stodgy as hell; its owners are known to be friends with loads of mundane politicians, in fact.
Nothing interesting ever happens there—which means they’ll be the ones benefiting if business begins to dwindle at the other clubs. ”
It was the sort of place where nothing at all scandalous ever occurred.
Vesper had been mildly surprised that the owners—a pair of elderly brothers of her grandmother’s generation who flatly refused to pass the ownership down to their daughters—had elected to keep the club running once Forbiddance came into effect, but it seemed their obsession with propriety did not extend to the point of allowing their own business to be shut down, though their offerings continued to be considerably less flashy than those of the other clubs.
Freddie had told her once that one of their menu items was a finger of whisky combined with a teaspoon of spell powder, and its sole effect was to cause the imbiber to grow a particularly bushy moustache for precisely six hours.
Ashbridge, meanwhile, still looked unconvinced. “I don’t think—”
“Ashbridge, it’s been a week since the attack at Holloway’s, and my mother says gossip is beginning to spread. We need to take bolder action.”
“And by ‘bolder action,’ you mean you in trousers.”
“I look quite enticing in trousers, I’ll have you know.”
“I’ve no doubt,” he said absently. “So you think… what? The owners of the Duke and Earl are somehow orchestrating this? Sending someone to infiltrate the other clubs and tamper with their magic?”
“Perhaps,” she said, and leaned forward. “Grenoble sent me a note last night—his father was at dinner with Jacob Finlay.”
Ashbridge’s brow wrinkled. “You can’t be serious. Finlay won’t have anything to do with the magical world.”
Vesper shrugged. “I thought it was odd myself—odd enough to be worth investigating. If he’s mixed up in this somehow…
” She shook her head. “It’s all the more reason to go to the Duke and Earl—if there are any club owners who would be likely to know Finlay, it’s them.
They’re very old-fashioned, just Finlay’s sort of chaps. ”
“Except for the bit where they’re magical,” Ashbridge said, sounding a bit skeptical.
Vesper sighed. “It’s as good an idea as any other. It’s not as though we’re making much progress.”
“We’ve only been at it a week. I didn’t expect us to sort it out overnight.”
“But the longer this goes on, the more likely word is to spread. My mother heard gossip from a mundane friend yesterday.”
“Didn’t know you had those.”
Vesper’s temper flared. “You know, Ashbridge, you might pause to consider that you don’t actually know all that much about us, if you think we’re so prejudiced that we wouldn’t have any mundane friends.
Last I checked, you’re the one who seems to have a problem associating with anyone magical; my family doesn’t mind about that at all when choosing our friends.
Or have you forgotten the years that you and Freddie were best mates? ”
Ashbridge went very still at the mention of her brother’s name. “I don’t want to talk about Freddie.”
“Of course you don’t,” she muttered. “Just as he never wants to talk about you, or whatever it was that you two quarreled about, because Merlin forbid he have to admit that he misses you.”
Ashbridge’s jaw tensed. “I doubt it. I can’t imagine a mighty Holloway missing an Ashbridge all that much.” Without thinking, Vesper reached out a hand and laid it atop his. His gaze dropped to her fingers pressing into his skin, then slowly raised to her face. His gray eyes were intent on hers.
“You don’t rate yourself highly enough, then,” Vesper said, speaking very clearly, “if you think that your friendship wouldn’t be missed.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt itchy with the sudden, unvarnished honesty of them.
Ashbridge was silent for a long moment, never breaking eye contact, before at last saying quietly, “I wasn’t trying to start a quarrel with you.” He flipped his palm up to wrap around her fingers, giving them a quick squeeze.
Vesper dropped his hand, feeling oddly flustered. “My point was, originally, that we need to make progress on this investigation, or it’s going to hurt business—and, presumably, someone else from the Fleas—”
“F.L.E.A.”
“—will get involved.”
He raised a dark brow. “And that would be so terrible.” He, apparently unconsciously, rubbed at the spot on his hand that Vesper had gripped.
Vesper curled her fingers into her palm. “Yes,” she said lightly. “I’ve rather got used to you by now.” She leaned closer. “Did you just roll your eyes? Max Ashbridge, I am delighted, I thought you were far too polite!”
“Growing less polite with each moment I’m forced to spend in your company,” he murmured, but there was the smallest of smiles curving at the corner of his mouth, and she knew he didn’t mean it, even before he added, with a sideways glance at her, “You know I’m only joking. This has been—”
“Thrilling?” Vesper suggested. “Invigorating? Stimulating? Eye-opening?”
“Not as much of a catastrophe as I initially expected,” he replied, and Vesper decided, on the whole, that she was going to take that as a compliment.