The women all laughed identical hard, bitter laughs. “We do save when possible, my lady, and sell any baubles given us, but that only goes so far, and then the time comes when we must again look for a protector or be forced into less desirable circumstances,” Madelyn said.
“What could be less desirable than being a mistress?” Charlotte asked.
“Charlotte, if you cannot behave, you will have to leave. Ladies—” Gillian spread her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I wish there was something I could do for you. I can, of course, pay you a modest sum for your time helping me.”
“A modest sum?” Anne asked. “How modest a sum?”
Gillian calculated her next quarter’s pin money and divided it into four. “Ten pounds?”
The women all looked at one another again; then Madelyn spoke. “Since all the others are currently seeking protectors, and as my husband is…well, he’s in gaol, we accept your offer. What is it in particular you want us to do?”
Gillian told them.
Charlotte offered her advice. “You should not forget this last mistress, the one who sent Lord Weston the letter.”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Charlotte. Noble’s latest mistress was someone named Mariah. I don’t know her surname, but I would imagine it would not be too difficult to find out.”
The ladies agreed that it would not be difficult, and promised to find the whereabouts of the mysterious Mariah.
“As for the other thing,” Gillian said slowly, nibbling on her lower lip. “Have you thought of organizing yourselves — mistresses, I mean — into a group? A guild, if you will, that would help members in times of need?”
The women, Charlotte included, stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings. “A…mistresses guild?” Laura asked.
“Yes, a mistresses guild. For the…” Gillian gnawed on her lip for a moment. “For the welfare and betterment of the demimonde. You could arrange to have dues from those members who are currently…ah…employed, which go into a general fund to help those who find themselves unemployed and in need of assistance.”
The women all blinked at her.
“Do you know,” Madelyn said slowly, “that might be a thought. If we encourage enough women to join and subscribe for a set amount while they have carte blanche, we could set aside money for those women who are in between gentlemen.”
“It’s something to think about,” Gillian said.
The ladies discussed it with increasing enthusiasm.
“We’d need someone to manage the fund,” Beverly said loudly over the excited chatter. “Someone who could invest it for us, so that we could benefit from our subscriptions.”
“That’s our Beverly,” Laura said proudly. “She was with Lord Cardwell, you know. The banker.”
“Yes, she’s right,” Anne said, narrowing her eyes and giving Gillian a close look. “We’d need someone with connections to invest our money for us. No man would touch the money if he knew it was from us, but if it was from someone of the noble class, someone who might wish to invest her pin money, someone who had access to her husband’s man of affairs…”
All five of the women’s heads swiveled to look at Gillian.
“I’d be delighted,” Gillian said graciously. “We can talk about the details at a later date, but first, I simply must ask you something that’s been uppermost on my mind.” Four brows rose in inquiry. “It’s about you and Noble…”
The ladies smiled.
Noble was smiling as well. A silly, sated, smug sort of smile. He sat in a quiet corner of his club, his body blissfully at rest in the deep armchair. He had, he thought with amusement, all the strength of a newborn pup. His mind, the only thing that had the energy to function, wandered the merry paths of the memory of the past night’s — and the morning’s — activities. His smile turned into a cheeky grin.
“Will you look at that, Tolly?” Rosse said, prodding at Noble’s outstretched legs with the toe of his boot. “It looks as if our friend here is suffering from a newly wed man’s complaint.”
Sir Hugh watched as Noble lifted a limp hand to wave the two men into nearby seats. “ ’Pon my honor, Weston, I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so wasted. Are you ill? Ought to see a physician. Your color’s not good at all.”
“He’s not suffering from anything other than paying tribute to the altar of Hymen.” Rosse snickered, and waved for an attendant.
“Harry, if I had the strength I would thrash you soundly for that,” Noble said, and instead demanded a whiskey.
“Ah, but you haven’t, so I will take the opportunity to wish you a long and happy life with your lady, my friend.” Rosse lifted his glass in a toast. Noble acknowledged the toast and sighed with deep appreciation as the water of life spread warmth throughout his limbs.
“About last night, Weston—” Sir Hugh began. “It’s a damned shame that had to happen.”
Noble, thinking of his and Gillian’s activities against Lady Gayfield’s wall, murmured something unintelligible.
“But you’ll take care of that blighter Carlisle tomorrow morning, eh? Noticed the wagers are laid evenly across you both in the books.”
Rosse shot the baronet a questioning look. “Having a little flutter yourself, Tolly?”
Sir Hugh flushed and busied himself with arranging his fobs.
“What news do you have, Harry?” Noble asked, taking pity on the younger man’s discomfort. Nothing could sour his present mood.
“Ah, well, a bit of information there, as it turns out. Mariah, your Mariah, or rather, formerly your Mariah, has been seen in the company of Sunderland.”
One of Noble’s sable brows arched. “Really? I hadn’t imagined he would be interested in her.”
Rosse nodded. “It surprised me too. Rumors are that he prefers his women a bit more…masculine.”
“To say the least,” murmured Noble.
“Sunderland?” Sir Hugh asked, a look of confusion crossing his face. “The Duke of Sunderland? What has he to do with your mistress?”
“That is the question, is it not?” Noble said, setting his glass down and stretching his arms high over his head. He still felt drained, but it was an extremely pleasing sensation.
“You forget, Tolly, Sunderland is a cousin of Noble’s. Spent some time with him at Nethercote, or don’t you remember that? Ah, but that was before your time.”
“I’m not that much younger than you,” Sir Hugh replied with an angry glance at the marquis. “I remember Sunderland.”
“No other word on the matter I wrote you about this morning, Harry?”
Rosse shook his head. “Impossible to trace.”
“Other matter?” Sir Hugh asked, clearly peevish about being left out.
Noble gave him a quick accounting of the evening’s shooting, and told Rosse that he had his Bow Street Runners in place.
“Excellent,” Rosse responded, and rose with the others as they started off for the dining room. “With that much protection, I’m sure you need not worry about either Gillian’s or Nick’s welfare.”
One of the footmen presented Noble with a note on a silver tray as they were about to enter the dining room. He paused for a moment to read it, and then swore loudly.
Rosse turned back, watching silently as Noble questioned the footman. The man repeatedly shook his head and tried to back away from the enraged earl, but Noble was clearly bent on gleaning what information he could. Finally the man made his escape.
Rosse raised his brows as Noble turned back to his friends. “Trouble?”
Noble said nothing but ground his teeth together as he handed the note to his friend. Sir Hugh leaned in to read the note.
Rosse whistled softly. “This fellow’s really going for blood now, isn’t he?”