A few minutes later on her way out of the club, Augusta paused to glance at the latest entries in the betting book that was enshrined on an Ionic pedestal near the window.
She saw that a certain Miss L.C. had wagered a Miss D.P. the sum often pounds that Lord Graystone would ask for the hand of "the Angel" before the month was out.
Augusta felt quite irritable for the next two hours.
"I swear, Harry, there is a wager on it in Pompeia's betting book. Most amusing." Peter Sheldrake lounged with languid ease in the leather chair and eyed Graystone over his glass of port.
"I am glad you find it amusing. I do not." Harry put down his quill pen and picked up his own glass.
"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Peter grinned. "After all, there is very little you seem to find amusing about this business of getting yourself a wife. There are wagers in the betting books of every club in town. Hardly surprising there's one in Pompeia's. Sally's collection of dashing female friends work frightfully hard to ape the men's clubs, you know. Is it true?"
"Is what true?" Harry scowled at the younger man. Peter Sheldrake was suffering from a serious case of ennui. It was not an uncommon problem among the men of the ton, especially those who, like Peter, had spent the past few years on the continent playing Napoleon's dangerous war games.
"Don't fence with me, Graystone. Are you going to ask Sir Thomas's permission to pay court to his daughter?" Peter repeated patiently. "Come, now, Harry. Give me a hint so that I can take advantage of the situation. You know me, I like a good wager as well as the next man." He paused to grin briefly again. "Or lady, for that matter."
Harry considered the matter. "Do you think Claudia Ballinger would make a suitable countess?"
"Good God, no, man. We're talking about the Angel. She is a model of propriety. A paragon. To be perfectly blunt, she is too much like you. The pair of you will only reinforce each other's worst traits. You will both find yourselves bored to the teeth within a month of the wedding. Ask Sally, if you do not believe me. She happens to agree."
Harry raised his brows. "Unlike you, Peter, I do not require constant adventure. And I most certainly do not want an adventurous sort of wife."
"Now, that is where you are going wrong in your analysis of the situation. I have given this considerable thought and I believe a lively, adventurous wife is precisely what you do need." Peter got to his feet with a restless movement and went to stand at the window.
The fading sunlight gleamed on Peter's artfully styled blond curls and emphasized his handsome profile. He was, as usual, dressed in the first style of fashion. His elegantly tied cravat and crisply pleated shirt were a perfect complement to his faultlessly cut coat and snug trousers.
"It is you who craves action and excitement, Sheldrake," Harry observed quietly. "You have been bored since you returned to London. You spend too much time on your clothes, you have begun to drink too much, and you gamble too heavily."
"While you bury yourself in your study of a lot of old Greeks and Romans. Come, now, Harry, be honest. Admit you, too, miss the life we lived on the continent."
"Not in the least. I happen to be quite fond of my old Greeks and Romans. In any event, Napoleon is finally out of the way at last and I have duties and responsibilities here in England now."
"Yes, I know. You must see to your estates and titles, honor your responsibilities. You must get married and produce an heir." Peter gulped down a long swallow of his wine.
"I am not the only one who must see to his responsibilities," Harry said meaningfully.
Peter ignored that. "For God's sake, man, you were one of Wellington's key intelligence officers. You controlled dozens of agents such as myself who collected the information you wanted. You developed the ciphers that broke several of the most important secret codes the French had. You risked your neck and mine to get the maps that were needed for some of the most crucial battles in the Peninsula. Do not tell me you don't miss all that excitement."
"I much prefer deciphering Latin and Greek to poring over military dispatches written in sympathetic ink and secret codes. I assure you I find the histories of Tacitus far more stimulating than pondering the workings of the minds of certain French agents."
"But think of the thrill, the danger you lived with on a daily basis for the past several years. Think of the deadly games you played with your opposite number, the one we called Spider. How could you not miss all that?"
Harry shrugged. "My only regret regarding Spider was that we never succeeded in unmasking him and bringing him to justice. As for the excitement, I never sought it out in the first place. The tasks I assumed were more or less thrust upon me."
"But you carried them out brilliantly."
"I discharged my duties to the best of my ability and now the war is over. And none too soon, as far as I'm concerned. You're the one who still seeks out unhealthy thrills, Sheldrake. And I must say, you are finding them in the oddest places. Do you like being a butler?"
Peter grimaced. His blue eyes were bright with wry humor as he turned to face his host. "The role of Scruggs certainly lacks the thrill of seducing a French officer's wife or stealing secret documents, but it has its moments. And it is worth a great deal to see Sally enjoying herself. I fear she will not be with us too much longer, Harry."
"I know. She is indeed a gallant woman. The information she was able to glean from certain parties here in England during the war was invaluable. She took grave risks for her country."
Peter nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Sally has always loved intrigues. Just as I do. She and I have much in common and it pleases me to guard the portals of her precious club. Pompeia's is the most important thing in her life these days. It gives her much pleasure. You can thank your little hoyden friend for that, you know."
Harry's mouth curved ruefully. "Sally explained that the harebrained notion of a ladies' club modeled after a gentlemen's club was all Augusta Ballinger's idea. Somehow it does not surprise me."
"Hah. It would not surprise anyone who knows Augusta Ballinger. Things have a way of happening around her, if you know what I mean."
"Unfortunately, I believe I do."
"I am convinced Miss Ballinger came up with the idea of the club solely as a way to amuse Sally." Peter hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Miss Ballinger is rather kind. Even to staff. She gave me some medicine for my rheumatism today. Few ladies of the ton would have bothered to think of a servant long enough to worry about his rheumatism."
"I did not know you suffered from rheumatism," Harry said dryly.
"I don't. Scruggs does."
"Just see that you guard Pompeia's well, Sheldrake. I do not want Miss Ballinger to come to social grief because of that ridiculous club."
Peter quirked a brow. "You're concerned about her reputation because of your friendship with her uncle?"
"Not entirely." Harry toyed absently with the quill pen on his desk and then added softly, "I have another reason to want her kept safe from scandal."
"Ah-hah. I knew it." Peter leaped toward the desk and slammed his empty glass down on the polished surface with explosive triumph. "You're going to take Sally's and my advice and add her to your list, aren't you? Admit it. Augusta Ballinger is going on your infamous list of eligible candidates for the role of Countess of Graystone."
"It defeats me why all of London is suddenly concerned with my marital prospects."
"Because of the way you are going about the business of selecting a wife, of course. Everyone's heard about your list. I told you, there are bets all over town on it."
"Yes, you told me." Harry studied his wine. "What, precisely, was the wager in Pompeia's betting book?"