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“My lord, are you positive we are allowed within White’s?” Buttons, Brock’s butler, spoke for the three men currently ensconced in one of White’s private rooms. They all held tumblers with two fingers of scotch apiece and sat perfectly upright.
This was in complete contrast to Brock, who’d downed two tumblers full in short order. How could he have ever thought this would work? His butler, valet, and stable master masquerading as gentlemen of the ton. He had been so sure of his scheme on the coach ride from Hanover Square.
Brock eyed his servants and noted their obvious discomfort. “It is quite fine. You are in the company of an earl, who would dare question my choice of companions?” He hoped his voice held conviction, because he was unsure of the protocol when bringing guests into his gentlemen’s club. “Do have a drink and relax or we will never pull this off.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Parsons said.
“And please call me Haversham for the duration of the evening.” Brock looked between the three men—his London stable master, Jeffers; Parsons, his valet, and Buttons.
At Brock’s insistence, all three men sipped their scotch and nervously eyed their surroundings. He could imagine their awe at being entrenched in the plush and luxurious inner sanctum that was White’s. Many men only dreamed of attaining an invitation past the front doors. While Brock had given up the finer things in life when he’d traveled with his military group, he had been raised amidst wealth and privilege—no matter how hard he’d tried to forget it.
Booted feet sounded and then two male voices could be heard outside the room.
A soft knock sounded and the door swung open.
“Lord Haversham, I am so glad you and your associates were able to meet with me this evening,” Mr. Cale said.
Brock stood and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Of course. I am sure you are eager to return to Hampshire.”
“That I am, my lord.”
“Then shall we get started?” When Mr. Cale inclined his head, Brock moved on to introductions. “May I introduce Lord Parsons, Mr. Buttons, and Sir Jeffers. And this, gentlemen, is the representative from Foldger’s Foals.”
The men shook Mr. Cale’s hand in turn and looked to Brock for their next move.
“Let us sit.” Brock and Harold had decided to avoid further confusion on his servants’ parts; they would keep their surnames. This meeting would not be overly long, and added complexity was not needed. As far as he knew, Mr. Cale was not a man of the ton and a few made-up aristocrats would not be noticed.
Thankfully, Mr. Cale had come prepared and navigated the men through the requirements for their respective stables.
Brock had had the foresight to instruct each man on their lineage and estate location, all safely more than a day’s ride from Foldger’s Foals, situated in remote villages unknown to most outside their particular regions.
“Sir Jeffers, what do you foresee yourself needing foal for?” Mr. Cale asked.
Jeffers cleared his throat, glanced at Brock, and took a sip from his tumbler before answering. “I am looking for carriage horses. I travel frequently between London and my properties. The journey is long, and I find my horses do not last as long as one would hope.”
Brock nodded for him to continue.
“My—Lord Haversham has spoken your praise.” Buttons faltered.
“We have the finest stock in all of England, or so Tattersalls is wont to say.” Mr. Cale laughed, not recognizing the slip. “Thank you gentlemen for meeting with me. I would enjoy your visiting Foldger’s Foals if you are ever in our area.”
“Oh, for certain.” Parsons spoke up.
“Well, gentlemen. You have our directions. Please let me know if I can be of any help when the time comes for you to purchase.” Mr. Cale shook each man’s hand in turn and executed a bow in Brock’s direction. “I will leave you to your evening.”
“We are departing as well, we will walk you out.” Brock hoped to look engaged in business as they left in order to discourage any conversation with others in the club. “Right this way.” He stepped in to walk beside Mr. Cale, his men leading the way. “Thank you for traveling to London on such short notice. I believe where business is involved you must strike when the iron is hot, as they say.”
“Lady Posey is very grateful for your recommendation.” Mr. Cale smiled.
Brock was unsure what about the man irked him, but while in Cale’s presence the urge to frown at his overly jovial attitude was overwhelming. It quite possibly had more to do with the woman Mr. Cale worked for. “I enjoy seeing businesses receive what they deserve.” Brock returned the man’s smile.
They traversed the newly crowded main room and made their way to the front. Men lounged, drank, and played cards in the many nooks the club featured. Cigar smoke hung as heavy over the room as the early morning fog was wont to do across the English countryside. A servant swept the front doors open and a familiar voice called to Brock.
“Gentlemen, please hail our coach. I will be right out,” Brock said to his servants, and turned to greet his ever-present cousin. “Good evening, Rodney.”
“Brock, was that—” Rodney tried to look over Brock’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the men departing with Mr. Cale.
Brock quickly shifted to the left to block Rodney’s view. “You are correct. Mr. Cale traveled to London to meet with a few potential clients.”
“No, I thought I saw someone else I recognized.” Eyebrows raised in suspicion, Rodney relaxed his posture. “I do hope you have not invited her to London.”
They both knew the her to whom Rodney referred.
“I would not dream of that.” Brock hadn’t paused long enough to dream about inviting her to town, but had hurriedly posted the letter to her—the one resulting in Mr. Cale’s presence. “I must be going. Ladies to meet and balls to attend.”
He’d never tire of rubbing it in Rodney’s face that he, Brock, held the fate of the Earldom in his hands. If he chose to marry and have children, then Rodney’s grasp on the title would slip further and further away.
“Good day, cousin.” Brock took the coat a servant held out to him and exited his club, the doors closing silently behind him.
Shunned No More Page 25
