Page 22 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love

Blackstone’s Club stood where St. James and Mayfair collided, an unassuming building of similar construction to its neighbors. Edward stood on the pavement outside of the address, looking at it with the same trepidation he had felt when first summoned to a superior officer’s presence. In his jacket pocket he possessed a letter of introduction from Baker’s brother-in-law, a member of the club, vouching for him. That same gentleman, a Mr. Harold Marlowe, had sent a letter to Lord Blackstone to request that the viscount meet with Edward at his earliest convenience.

The summons had arrived the evening before, one week after Edward had met with Baker. The viscount was prompt, he would give him that.

Edward walked sedately up the few steps to the large black door of the Palladian style building, a private residence at some time in the past, and stared at the knocker for a moment. It looked like a crow’s head. How…unusual. He had barely tapped the door before it opened, a man near his own age standing there, dressed in all black except for a crisp white cravat.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Edward blinked at the doorman, then nodded. “Yes. I was invited to a meeting with Lord Blackstone.” He reached into his jacket and held out the letter with Blackstone’s seal. “I am Colonel Halstead.”

The doorman looked at the letter, then took a book from beneath his arm—Edward hadn’t seen it before that moment. He opened it, turned a page, ran his finger along the paper, then nodded and snapped the book shut. “Yes, your name is on my list. If you will follow me, Colonel Halstead?”

Edward stepped inside, where a footman stood ready to accept his hat and coat. He doffed the hat easily enough, but as he was slipping his arms free of his heavy coat, he froze as his gaze collided with the black glassy eyes of a rather large ram.

Or the head of the ram, at least. A stuffed head, mounted on the wall of the entry hall. And the ram wasn’t alone. No, hunting trophies covered the walls, taxidermies of every conceivable quarry met his gaze and made his throat tighten.

Was this a gentleman’s hunting club?

Swallowing back his discomfort, Edward finished taking off his coat and followed the doorman up the stairs, past more stuffed species than he cared to count, through a parlor, then down a narrow corridor filled with glass cases of yet more deceased creatures. Some of them were a little…well, odd. He noted a fox with spectacles on its nose, for one thing, and an owl with a university cap upon its head. He tried not to look at anything else too closely.

The servant knocked on a door, then opened it when a voice called for them to enter. The servant went first, bowed, then gestured to Edward. “Colonel Halstead to see you, my lord.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve been expecting you, young man!” The voice, chipper in tone and possessing the somewhat rough quality that came with age, belonged to a man of small stature standing behind a large desk. He wore a smile, the sort with warmth more common in a friend than in a stranger. His brown eyes took Edward in with a sharpness that suggested either intelligence or a measure of madness. Perhaps both. His gray hair stood on end at the side of his head, though it was combed neatly on the top.

Edward attempted a formal tone. “I have not been called a young man in some time, Lord Blackstone.”

The doorman had vanished, leaving Edward alone with the viscount.

“Eh, we are all young at heart when we have a measure of passion left in us, are we not?” The man gestured to the chairs across the desk from him. “Do sit down, do—we must conduct the interview with at least some measure of decorum, I suppose.” He settled in his own chair, and Edward caught sight of the large painting behind the viscount.

It was a portrait unlike any Edward had seen before. It was a badger. A badger, wearing some sort of jacket. He blinked at it, then looked directly into the Viscount’s eyes, hoping to avoid seeing anything else startling in the room.

The Viscount was stuffing a pipe. “I prefer to smoke when I conduct these things. Keeps me settled and on task, giving me something to do besides sit still and listen.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you smoke a pipe?”

Slowly, Edward nodded. “Yes. I took it up during my time in the army.”

“As good an excuse as any.” He lit his pipe, then puffed at it with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “So long as you see to the hygiene of it, you know. Have to clean your teeth. Scrub out your beard, if you have one. I can’t abide tobacco stains on teeth and in beards. Positively indecent. And what lady would want to kiss such a man?”

Edward blinked. “Erm.” What sort of a question was that? “I cannot think of any of my acquaintance, my lord.”

“Of course not. And you would know, it’s a most practical concern for a bachelor.” He narrowed his eyes at Edward. “Mr. Marlowe said you are unmarried in his letter. We’ve a fair number of unattached men in the club, you know.”

“I did not,” Edward said, shifting in his chair. At least it wasn’t a delicate piece of furniture. It seemed sturdy enough that he wasn’t worried about breaking it with one wrong move. “I am a bachelor. Is that a problem?”

“No.” Lord Blackwell puffed at his pipe again. “Not for me. I wonder if it is a difficulty for you? Eight and thirty. Impressive military career. Financially independent. A landowner. Usually a man of your age is at least looking for a wife.” He tapped his desk with a finger as he named each item. “I also confirmed from a friend that the members at White’s and Brook’s blackballed you, a decade past. Not Boodle’s, though. Have you never applied there?”

An unpleasant heat crept up Edward’s neck. So it was to be that sort of interview “I have not, my lord. I thought it best not to, a decade ago, as I am certain there is at least one man there who would disapprove of my joining.”

The older man’s gaze softened, his expression turned understanding. Even kind. “It is a difficult thing, to face rejection. You need not tell me the particulars, but I must ask a few questions. Do you know why men at those clubs rejected your application for membership?”

Edward lowered his gaze to the desk. “I do, my lord.”

“If the reason became known to the general public⁠—”

“It will never come to that, my lord.” Edward raised his gaze, meeting the Viscount’s with fervency. On this, at least, there would be no quarter given. “Never. I am not the only one invested in keeping it a secret, and I swear it will never be a problem in the future. I was rejected for a youthful indiscretion which would have consequences impacting the reputations of others, should it become known. But I would rather die than hurt those people, even though they have made it a point to exclude me from their circles from that time until now.”

He did not falter in his gaze, his tone remained steady and firm.

It was true. Those who knew the secret of his shame would rather die than reveal it, all to protect the woman they loved. None of them would expose Pamela, now Lady Rothman, for her part in the almost-scandal of their brief, youthful affair.