Page 69 of Scandalous Heiress
Chapter 11
Three days later, Victor once more climbed the steps to his club.He’d returned from Sussex only last night late.The renovation of the house was progressing.He’d hired a team of laborers to sand down the old wooden floors and paint the inside walls.Though he’d also need gardeners to untangle the jungle that grew on the lawns, he hoped he might delay that.He hoped he might offer the opportunity to the woman who was reputed to be an expert on landscaping.
Wells beamed at him.“My lord, good morning to you.”
“And to you, Wells.Have Lord Billings or Sir Arnold Meachum arrived yet?”
“In the coffee room, my lord.They arrived early and said they would order for all.”
Coffee.That meant brandy, too, as the three of them had always used it to lace their morning drink.His friends were eager to renew old habits and old acquaintances.Excellent.He did not wish to tarry.
Victor made his way down the hall, up the stairs and off to the right into the coffee room.There, twenty or so gentlemen sat in enormous ebony leather chairs or at elaborately linen-draped dining tables.Here the illustrious men of title and commerce took coffee, tea, the newspapers or a morning nap.
In the far corner of the red silk papered room sat his two friends from his school days.Lord Billings, Frederick Danforth, was a year older than he, a swell fellow, jovial and hearty, who had suffered with a stutter as a child.Their other friend, Sir Arnold Meachum and Victor had befriended Freddie, taking up for him when others—like Victor’s brother Richard and his friends—had bullied the boy.
“My God, you look like you’ve grown ten inches taller!”Freddie jumped to his feet to pump Victor’s hand, then hugged the stuffing out of him.
Meachum opened wide his arms to embrace Victor and pound him on the back.“Put on a few pounds.Life in Shanghai must be very good.I shall have to invest.”
“To hell with you, man.You already have put in enough.”Years ago, Arnie had put in one hundred pounds to help Victor start his company.Freddie twice that.Both had received nice annual profits on their money.
“But if I’d like to look like you,” Arnie teased, “I should pass you another hundred.”
“If he gives you more money, Cole,” Freddie said feigning innocence, “can you find a Chinese cure to grow his hair back?”
Victor frowned at his very bald friend.“Yes.On his toes.”
“Long enough to braid?”Arnie chuckled when the others groaned.
“Afraid not.”Victor grimaced.
They motioned for Victor to join them at the table.It was already laden with coffee service, scones, muffins and marmalade.
“I see the kitchen has not changed its menu.”Victor smiled at a footman who silently draped a serviette over his lap, then poured for him.
“That’s because they’re forbidden to read any new recipes,” Arnie offered.
“Can’t read.”Freddie mashed his lips together.
“But you two still come here.”Victor knew they did because they had a legacy here.Both their fathers were members, as was his own.
“I like the scones,” Arnie said.
Freddie snorted.“You can tell, can’t you, by the size of his waistcoat?”
His friend had indeed put on more weight around his middle.Victor put hand to his chest.“My clothes fit more snuggly since I’ve arrived in England.”
“Potatoes and bread,” Arnie said, as he spread orange marmalade over a crusty scone.
“Puddings and pies,” Freddie added.“Means you have to dance a lot to keep fit for the ladies.”
“Are you?”Victor asked Arnie and raised his cup.“Dancing to keep fit for the ladies?”
“Not I.But this fellow?”Arnie poked his friend in the ribs.“Tell him, my lad, who it is.”
Freddie’s cheeks flushed.“I do prefer one lady in particular.Dancing is not my best activity.You both know that.It never was.”
“Sadly,” said Arnie faking a pout, “the lady in question loves to dance.”
