All the others stared at him, appreciation of his predicament dawning in their faces.
“That’s a dastardly thing to do.” Gervase paused, then asked, “When’s your year up?”
“July.”
“So you’ve got next Season to make your choice.” Charles set his tankard down and pushed it away. “We’re all in large measure in the same boat. If I don’t find a wife by then, my sisters, sisters-in-law, and dear mother will drive me demented.”
“It’s not going to be plain sailing, I warn you.” Tony Blake glanced around the table. “After escaping from my godmother’s, I sought refuge in Boodles.” He shook his head. “Bad mistake. Within an hour, not one, but two gentlemen I’d never before met approached and asked me to dinner!”
“Set on in your club?” Jack voiced their communal shock.
Grimly, Tony nodded. “And there was worse. I called in at the house and discovered a pile of invitations, literally a foot high. The butler said they’d started arriving the day after I’d sent word I’d be down—I’d warned my godmother I might drop in.”
Silence fell as they all digested that, extrapolated, considered…
Christian leaned forward. “Who else has been up to town?”
All the others shook their heads. They’d only recently returned to England and had gone straight to their estates.
“Very well,” Christian continued. “Does this mean that when next we each show our faces in town, we’ll be hounded like Tony?”
They all imagined it….
“Actually,” Deverell said, “it’s likely to be much worse. A lot of families are in mourning at the moment—even if they’re in town, they won’t be going about. The numbers calling should be down.”
They all looked at Tony, who shook his head. “Don’t know—I didn’t wait to find out.”
“But as Deverell says, it must be so.” Gervase’s face hardened. “But such mourning will end in good time for next Season, then the harpies will be out and about, looking for victims, more desperate and even more determined.”
“Hell!” Charles spoke for them all. “We’re going to be”—he gestured—“precisely the sort of targets we’ve spent the last decade not being.”
Christian nodded, serious, sober. “In a different theater, maybe, but it’s still a form of war, the way the ladies of the ton play the game.”
Shaking his head, Tristan sat back in his chair. “It’s a sad day when, having survived everything the French could throw at us, we, England’s heroes, return home—only to face an even greater threat.”
“A threat to our futures like none other, and one we haven’t, thanks to our devotion to king and country, as much experience in facing as many a younger man,” Jack added.
Silence fell.
“You know…” Charles St. Austell poked his tankard in circles. “We’ve faced worse before, and won.” He looked up, glanced around. “We’re all much of an age—there’s what? Five years between us? We’re all facing a similar threat, and have a similar goal in mind, for similar reasons. Why not band together—help each other?”
“One for all and all for one?” Gervase asked.
“Why not?” Charles glanced around again. “We’re experienced enough in strategy—surely we can, and should, approach this like any other engagement.”
Jack sat up. “It’s not as if we’d be in competition with each other.” He, too, glanced around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “We’re all alike to some degree, but we’re all different, too, all from different families, different counties, and there’s not too few ladies but too many vying for our attentions—that’s our problem.”
“I think it’s an excellent idea.” Leaning his forearms on the table, Christian looked at Charles, then at the others. “We all have to wed. I don’t know about you, but I’ll fight to the last gasp to retain control of my destiny. I will choose my wife—I will not have her foisted, by whatever means, upon me. Thanks to Tony’s fortuitous reconnoitering, we now know the enemy will be waiting, ready to pounce the instant we appear.” He glanced around again. “So how are we going to seize the initiative?”
“The same way we always have,” Tristan replied. “Information is key. We share what we learn—dispositions of the enemy, their habits, their preferred strategies.”
Deverell nodded. “We share tactics that work, and warn of any perceived pitfalls.”
“But what we need first, more than anything,” Tony cut in, “is a safe refuge. It’s always the first thing we put in place when going into enemy territory.”
They all paused, considered.
Charles grimaced. “Before your news, I would have imagined our clubs, but that clearly won’t do.”