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Doubt flickered across her face. “Then you wore that dirt on purpose?”
I clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t wear much on purpose unless it’s within easy reach after I roll out of bed. The dirt was just an added accessory that I picked up on my trip here.”
“Oh. I. . .I see.”
It was my turn to study her. “So how long have you been a member?”
Her hands fidgeted in front of her. “This is just my second meeting. My parents thought I might want to expand my social circle.”
I snorted. “This place is certainly good for circular compliments.”
She stared wide-eyed at me. “But these are some of the most well-known ladies in the whole city.”
“And I don’t know a single one of them,” I countered as I folded my arms over my chest and inspected the room. “So I guess that puts me on even footing with everyone in the room.”
At that moment the butler led a pair of women into the room. Lady Trent swooped over to welcome them before she turned to the rest of the group and clapped her hands. The room fell into silence as she smiled at us.
“First off, thank you all so much for coming on such short notice,” she told us as she looked around at the crowd. “It gives me much joy to see all of your wonderful faces.”
One of the members raised her hand. “Your letter mentioned that someone would be missing during our normal meeting tomorrow. For whom is this special session raised, Madam President?”
An exaggerated sigh came out of her. “The missing member will be me. My husband has decided to take me on a ‘wonderful’ trip to the final day of the thunder races at those dingy old barracks.”
One of the other members set a hand on Trent’s shoulder. “I am so sorry.”
I had to seal my lips shut with two fingers to keep from laughing as Trent solemnly nodded. “Thank you so much, my dear. I will persevere as well as I can, considering the circumstances.” She rallied her spirits and offered the group a smile. “But where are my manners? I would like to call attention to our newest member, Miss Millie Lucas!” Trent announced as she used a hand to reluctantly gesture to my messy person. “With a new member present, I feel I need to remind everyone of the rules of the Lady’s Book Club.” She cleared her throat as though she was about to repeat a mantra. “You mustn’t speak ill of each other or the magazine we graciously provide to the public. Please keep to the topic at hand according to the itinerary laid out in my notice to you, and ensure you make everyone feel welcome.” One of the women reluctantly raised her hand, and Trent’s attention fell on her. “Yes, Matilda?”
“Then we won’t be talking about the ‘situation’ with ‘Bookstore Booklet?’” she wondered.
Trent stiffened before she wrinkled her nose. “The agenda in all your letters was that we would discuss a book because one of our members would be missing from the next meeting that was scheduled for tomorrow. However, since you have brought up that distasteful topic, I must remind everyone that belonging to both groups will not be allowed. Discussing their latest attack on our group will also not be tolerated and even if it was on the agenda I would ask that everyone not repeat their distasteful tripe. Now, are there any questions before we start the discussion of the latest book?”
I raised my hand. “Whathasthis Bookstore Booklet said about the group?”
My innocent question earned surprise gasps and gawking looks from the crowd, and Trent’s smile tightened. She clasped her hands together in front of her and shook her head. “As I said before, we do not discuss that group during these meetings, Miss Lucas.”
I knitted my eyebrows together. “But you just did.”
Someone could have cut the tension with a knife. Trent cleared her throat. “Yes, well, that was different. It was merely an announcement. Discussion, however, is very much not allowed.”
“So we can’t discuss the announcements during the meetings?” I asked her.
“No,” came the curt reply.
“But I don’t know what’s going on with this other group.”
“Then you may make your inquiries to the members, butnotduring the meetings,” she snapped before she turned to the company. “Now then, on to the meeting. I have gathered us today to feature this book.” She plucked an impressive tome from the coffee table and grasped it between both hands.
One of the members squinted at the thick book. “That doesn’t look like ‘The Graces of His Majesty.’”
“I have laid that book aside for the moment to have comments onthis.” She sneered at the book in her hands. “It is a compendium of information regarding that lowest of low entertainments, the thunder races. My husband, of all people, forced me to listen to a few pages which he read to me.”
“Who’s the author?” I spoke up.
“Peter Munio.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
My heart skippeda beat as I recalled the lame lad I had seen on the race course.
