The implication creeps up on me, a slow march toward the obvious. “Charles?” I blurt. “Jane’s Charles is the one backing you?”

Andrea takes a smug sip of her mimosa, which turns into a downing of her glass. She places the empty champagne flute on the table with a raised pinky. “He’s the one.”

Jane’s jaw goes slack. “Charles wants to help you buy Meryton?”

I fall against my chair, shaking my head. That explains his comment about Andrea’s being persuasive. “Why didn’t you say anything about him coming in?”

She shrugs, refilling her glass. “It’s just as well I didn’t. I assumed the Charles Bingley in question was the senior, not the junior. Old money can be so eccentric,” she muses. “Handing off fortunes to their offspring like they’re doling out Monopoly money.”

“Why are you telling us all this?” As I ask, a possible reason comes to mind. “Don’t you say anything about using Jane as a damn honeypot. That’s gross.”

“But everybody wins.” Andrea waves her champagne flute to take in the general area. “We keep the show going; Jane enjoys a sweet, handsome fellow with a fortune; and Charles gets a talented, delightful boyfriend and a fun investment in the Manhattan property game.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane interrupts, his palm raised like he’s a student waiting to be called on. “You’re talking like I’m not right here. Are you saying it’s on me to keep Meryton intact?”

“No, Jane. I’m simply informing you of the situation.”

“But no pressure.” I prop my chin in my hand and finish my mimosa. Lord.

“Of course not,” says Andrea. “The odds are simply more favorable if the young Bingley has a vested interest in the show’s success.”

Our food arrives. We’re quiet as the plates of biscuits and gravy are distributed, and the waiter departs with Andrea’s request for a refill on the mimosa vat. My irritation with Andrea isn’t mixing well with the bubbles and orange, so I dig in before my hanger hits in earnest.

“There’s a slim possibility the current owner will pass the property on to a nephew,” Andrea says, picking up the thread of conversation as she slices into a biscuit. “Unlikely, though. He’s already had a few failed ventures and wouldn’t have the talent connections—”

I swallow. “Unless we’re willing to stay on with him.”

Andrea freezes, her fork just shy of her mouth. “Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it?” She places the fork back onto the plate. “If it goes that way, there’s no guarantee the nephew would employ the same concept, but given the show is the club’s biggest draw, the best move would be to change as little as possible.”

“Where would you be, in this scenario?” Jane asks.