“And to you.” Winston nodded but didn’t invite the pair to join him. Better that he kept to himself rather than risk offending his friends. He smothered a groan when they didn’t wait for an invitation but pulled out chairs to sit.
“Yes, yes. Please join me,” Winston muttered, unable to keep from scowling.
“Our pleasure.” Montfort signaled to a waiter. “Glad we could ruin your plan for a solitary sulk.”
Before he could respond, Trentworth and Garland entered the club and strode directly toward them, followed by Bolton and Sinclair, all pulling up chairs to settle at the table, which was far too small for so many. That didn’t stop them.
Only a few other gentlemen were in the bar, the club relatively quiet until now. Winston bit back an oath and shifted to one side to make room for everyone. To his shock, Winstead and Roth also joined them.
Winston glared as he looked around the crowded table, waiting with impatience as more drinks were ordered. To his recollection, this particular group of men had never met like this except for at a dinner party with the ladies in attendance. “To what do I owe the honor of this gathering?” Then he held up a hand as he looked at each of them. “Wait—do the husbands of The Mayfair Literary League have a secret club that I don’t know about?”
Viscount Winstead shook his head. “For your information, Prue isn’t a league member.”
“I’m certain that could be rectified,” the Earl of Bolton suggested.
“We haven’t yet formed an official association, but it’s a fine idea.” Trentworth glanced at the other men with a lifted brow.
“It is indeed,” Bolton agreed. “The ladies have become a family of sorts. That applies to us by extension. And I think we are all willing to do whatever it takes to keep the members of our found family happy.”
“Absolutely.” Trentworth nodded. “Are we all in agreement?”
“Yes,” they said in unison, displaying the sort of self-satisfied grins that Winston longed to knock off their faces.
He heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Not all of you are members in this club either.”
“No,” agreed Roth, the barrister he’d met at one of the dinner parties who’d married a league member, though Winston couldn’t recall her name. “But His Grace was able to convince them to bend the rules.”
“Of course, he was.” Winston glared at Trentworth even as a trickle of warmth ran through him. “What is the occasion?Another baby on the way?” He looked at the Earl of Bolton, a relatively new father, who in turn pointed at Captain Shaw, the author.
“Yes.” Shaw nodded, his grin saying everything about his happiness. “Tibby is expecting, but that’s not why we are here.”
“Then what?” Winston asked, becoming more and more uncomfortable at the way everyone stared like they expected something from him. They need only call on his steward to confirm how quickly that path led to disappointment.
“It has come to our attention that your...affections may have been caught by a certain lady.” Montfort lifted a brow as if to dare him to disagree. “Garland and I noted it at the ball the other night.”
“As you already know, Eliza and I are also aware of your interest,” Trentworth added. “Though you are clearly reluctant to admit it.”
Winston felt a cold sweat form along his brow. Memories of being called to his father’s study to hear what a disappointment he was filled him. The urge to run rather than listen to what his friends had to say made drawing a proper breath nearly impossible. “I don’t know of what you are speaking.”
“We think you do, my lord.” Roth’s steely gaze surely made lying difficult for clients or witnesses. “But we are here to tell you that you are among friends. We know it is...disconcerting to experience. Painful, even. I believe I can say that on behalf of all of us. But we want you to know that is normal. All is well.”
Winston scoffed. He felt anything but ‘well’.
“You will feel much improved once you admit your feelings,” Shaw suggested. “First to yourself and then to the lady in question.”
“You have it wrong,” Winston argued, though the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
“I don’t think so.” Garland shook his head. “Chances are you feel as if you don’t deserve her love. Perhaps you think she would be better off without you. Doubt has been part of the process for many of us.”
His friends murmured their agreement.
“Love might be worrisome, but you will soon come to see that living without her is even more so.” Sinclair’s expression was sympathetic rather than judgmental. “Take it from us.”
Winston’s heart leapt even without the mention of Millicent’s name. The word ‘her’ rang through his mind like a bell, clanging again and again as the other men nodded, conversation pausing as their drinks were served.
He took the momentary reprieve to gather his thoughts, hardly able to believe they would confront him, shoulder-to-shoulder, like this. Yet under his frustration, he was deeply touched. The warm feeling slowly seeped through him. To think they cared enough to unite in an effort to help him was surprising, especially when he didn’t deserve it.
To know he wasn’t alone loosened a knot deep inside him. And to learn he wasn’t the only one who had doubts doubled the freeing sensation. Could they be right? Was it love he felt for Millicent? An even more important question was whether she could possibly love him in return?