“No Lucien?” Tobias asked, glancing around. Lord Lucien Westbrook was the owner of the club and his closest friend.

“He hasn’t come down from his office yet,” Wexford said in his Irish lilt. “I take that back. He just came in.”

Tobias’s back was to the door, so he swung around and saw the tall figure of his friend enter the members’ den, where he was immediately waylaid by a pair of gentlemen. People often sought his company, and not just because he was the owner of London’s most exclusive club. He was also well-known for granting favors to people in need, as he’d recently done for Tobias.

“It’s a damn good thing he found a chaperone for Miss Wingate,” Tobias said, shaking his head. “The one she brought with her from Shropshire is worse than I expected.”

“Worse how?” Wexford asked.

“Well, she dozes off rather easily and, while sleeping, cries out, usually profanely.”

Both of his tablemates laughed.

“What is so amusing?” Lucien asked as he took the chair next to MacNair. The footman promptly delivered a fourth glass.

“Overton was just telling us about his ward’s unfortunate chaperone.”

Lucien’s dark eyes widened. “How can that be? Miss Lancaster is excellent.”

“Not that chaperone,” Tobias clarified. “The one from Shropshire. It’s a very good thing you introduced me to Miss Lancaster. Mrs. Tucket would not have been acceptable here in London.”

Lucien’s brows climbed. “I see. I look forward to hearing what Lady Pickering thinks of Mrs. Tucket.”

Lady Pickering was the sponsor who would shepherd Miss Wingate through her Season. A close friend of Lucien’s family, she was a well-respected lady in Society with excellent connections. The only person Tobias could have asked—and did—was his grandmother and, as expected, she’d refused to come to London. Lucien had rushed to the rescue, as he often did.

“Mrs. Tucket wasn’t very enthused to learn of Miss Lancaster,” Tobias said. “She feels as if she’s being pushed aside.”

“Which she is,” Wexford pointed out helpfully.

“I can’t imagine how she’ll react to Lady Pickering tomorrow.” Tobias couldn’t decide if he was dreading or anticipating it.

“Lady Pickering has the patience of a particular bird of prey,” Lucien said with a smile.

“And the brutality of one if you cross her.” MacNair’s shoulders twitched as he picked up his brandy, and Lucien laughed. “Not that I’ve ever been on her bad side, mind you. I think I’d run from London and never return.” MacNair leaned toward Lucien and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Why hasn’t she ever responded to our invitation to join the club?”

All four of them were members of the Phoenix Club’s secret invitation committee. They, along with Mrs. Renshaw, who managed the lady’s side of the club, and two anonymous members, decided who within Society and without were invited to join.

Lucien shrugged. “There are those who look down at the club.” He also kept his voice low.

Wexford snorted. “Because they’re jealous. That can’t apply to Lady Pickering, however. Why would she be jealous of anyone or anything?”