Page 27 of Enticing Odds
“I thought you might balk. Which is why I’ve come ready to offer a trade.”
“A trade?” Matthew looked up, his brows furrowed.
“Yes,” she said, dragging out the one syllable. “What is it you desire, Dr. Collier?”
Matthew paused, equally taken aback by the question and unsure of the answer. Whatdidhe desire?
Was it a kind and caring wife, and a son and daughter to go along with her? To provide a warmth in his home he’d never known? A stab of pain ran through him as he thought once more of Harriet. Was it the thrill of high stakes, of outsmarting other men with everything on the line, that he yearned for? Or wasit some other enticement altogether? Something he dared not speak of, dared not even think of in the presence of someone as fine and mannered as Lady Caplin? His eyes fell to her lips. And then, the image of her…
No. He forced it away, horrified at the vulgarity of his own imagination.
“Well? I confess I’ve a bit of a talent for making introductions, hosting entertainments. If there’s an association you strive for, or an entrée into—”
“The Athenaeum,” he spat out, in a desperate attempt to steer his thoughts back to civility. “I’ve always wished to belong to the Athenaeum. It’s the finest club in London, full of great thinkers and awe-inspiring personages.” His voice grew more excited as he spoke, the feeling it engendered confirming just how much he did indeed desire it. “But the odds are dismal. They only admit nine men per annum. I could never hope to, well, expect to—”
“Is that so?” Lady Caplin said, her voice husky with interest. “Well, it just so happens that I know a member. Quite well, in fact.” She added in a joking tone, “Although he’s far from a great thinker, I assure you.”
Excitement surged in his veins. He sat up straighter. Why, to leave the Transom Club, and its all-too-frequent dinners of fish, behind! To be a man ofconsequence!
“If I promised to finagle a vote of admittance for you—”
“Absolutely,” Matthew said, not caring that he interrupted. “I shall teach young Master Caplin the entirety of Hoyle’s, to the letter, including the more, er, frowned-upon methods of winning.”
“Now, I can only promise to get you to stand for election, mind. You’ll need to convince them to vote for you yourself.”
She stood up desultorily.
“Of course,” Matthew nodded, standing as well.
“I’m not a magician, Dr. Collier. Only a very well-connected lady,” she said with the hint of a sad smile.
“No,” he said, his voice earnest. “You’re far more than that.”
She looked at him curiously for a moment, her brown eyes searching for something, and Matthew worried he’d blundered. But then she smiled confidently.
“Of course I am. I’ll send the carriage for you. Saturday, I should think.”
Matthew walked her to the door, his head swimming with the possibilities. Dining with scientists like Darwin! Conversing with authors like Arthur Conan Doyle and essayists like Thomas Carlyle! Exchanging pleasantries with the prime minister! Hang that, exchanging pleasantries with thepreviousprime minister!
“I believe this arrangement shall prove extremely beneficial to us both,” Lady Caplin said, her tone firm but optimistic.
Matthew was so overwhelmed by the opportunity that he merely nodded.
She descended the stairs, and allowed her groom to hand her up into her fine carriage, one befitting her rank, marked with her deceased husband’s crest. Matthew stood in front of his door and watched as she pulled out. When he turned back around, he regarded the brass plaque alongside the door.Matthew Collier, Physician, it read.
Membership in the Athenaeum. For a man like him. He could scarcely believe it.
A low whistle interrupted his daydreaming.
“That’s a fancy piece there, Doctor.”
Standing at the foot of his stoop, hands in pockets, was a sparse young man with white-blonde hair and a cap that had seen far better days.
Matthew recognized him. It was the boy from the low gambling house.
“Mr. Fliss!” Matthew shook his head, perplexed as he rushed down the stairs. “Imagine seeing you here. May I see your hand?”
The young lad hesitated, then reluctantly withdrew his hands from his pockets and held one out. It was nearly completely healed, new red and pink skin slashing across his palm instead of a bloody gash.
