“I do not.” Though Evie had long suspected the esteemed Lady Pickering was one of them. She was always very friendly with Lucien, and the fact that she’d avoided accepting her now-two-year-old invitation to join the club had always struck Evie as odd.

Evie was also fairly certain the other was a man, someone to whom Lucien was incredibly loyal. He’d slipped up a time or two when talking to Evie over the years. She hadn’t drawn attention to it, but had tucked the information away.

She recalled what she’d considered recently, that those two anonymous people might have invited the Hargroves and others like them to join the club. Perhaps they had more control over the club’s membership than she or anyone else realized. “Whoever they are, if they tell Lucien to go along with Millie’s demands, he will have to. Society will insist upon it.”

Ada frowned. “I don’t understand Society, and I hope I never do. I may be a viscountess in name, but I am just a girl from Devon who happened to fall in love far above my station.”

Evie looked at her intently. “You are a brilliant woman who works very hard. That a viscount was smart enough to see how wonderful you are and make you his own is his good fortune.”

“What about your good fortune?” Ada asked. “You shouldn’t have to leave the club.”

Evie didn’t want to discuss it anymore. “I think I’m going home.” She stood, suddenly eager to be on her way from the club.

Ada jumped up, her face creasing with worry. “Am I driving you away?”

“Of course not.” Evie gave her a brief, reassuring smile. “I just don’t wish to see anyone else.”

“I understand. I’ll walk out with you.”

Nodding, Evie left the office with her and went downstairs. One of the footwomen quickly fetched Evie’s things from the cloakroom—they were not busy since it was Tuesday and most of the ladies who might have been here were instead next door.

Ada bid her good evening, and Evie stepped out into the cold February night. Sparse snowflakes drifted in the air as Evie made her way toward St. James’s Square. She made this walk nearly every day and night, though at night, she was often in the company of a footman from the club, whose duty it was to see her home.

Tonight, however, she preferred to be alone to contemplate the storm that was coming. She only wished she knew if it would decimate everything or if she’d find a way to survive.

“Lord Gregory, what a pleasure to see you.” Lightner, the butler at Witney House, greeted Gregory despite the lateness of the hour. Nearing sixty, Lightner had been at Witney House as long as Gregory could remember. He was one of many people Gregory would miss seeing regularly now that his brother was the marquess.