As more time passed in our getting to know one another, I endeavored to share more of my world with Jessica, extending an invitation to one of my most cherished retreats, the Atheneum. With great pride, I asked her to accompany me to the club that weekend-a gesture I hoped would deepen her understanding of the traditions I held dear. Yet, I must confess, a flicker of unease lingered beneath my enthusiasm. Would she find this glimpse into my world charming, or would it strike her as antiquated and stifling? More troubling still was the question I dared not voice: would my world find her fitting to join? The thought weighed heavier than I cared to admit, though I brushed it aside as the day approached.
“You know, I’ve passed by this place a bunch of times. I always thought it was a library or something,” she remarked, her tone light, as we neared the stately facade.
I glanced at the exterior and allowed myself a small smile. “I can see that. With its columns and the gilded Athena perched above, it does exude a certain gravitas.” Turning to her, I offered my arm, as a gentleman ought to do. “Shall we?” I gestured toward the polished mahogany doors, my tone light but my heart faintly apprehensive.
The atmosphere of the Atheneum Gentlemen’s Club was as thick and antiquated as the cigar smoke that still clung to its drapery-a haven of overstuffed leather chairs, mahogany-paneled walls, and, by some unwritten decree, an unending sense of self-importance. This, of course, was the sanctum of my closest “friends.” Friends by society, yes; by temperament, perhaps less so.
As we stepped through the polished brass doorway, I observed three figures reclined in the lounge, each engaged in their customary rituals of posturing and thinly veiled self-aggrandizement. First among them was my cousin, Lord Alistair Fitzwilloughby-Davenport, a man whose dedication to the dignity of his own surname bordered on obsession. Alistair, who could scarcely be troubled by matters outside his immediate interest, wore his monocle as if it were a badge of honor-tilted ever so slightly, suggesting he surveyed the world not merely with one eye but with an eye and a half, in order to better convey his perpetual disdain. My cousin’s self-importance and pompous inclinations are, of course, quite apparent to someone with as keen an eye as my own.
Beside him sat Cecil Roderick Forsythe-Bennett, an author of obtuse philosophical tracts that none of us had ever read but all of us pretended to have skimmed. Cecil had cultivated an aura of perpetual dissatisfaction, a constant state of mild sneering that he regarded as evidence of his intellectual superiority. A third glass of sherry typically punctuated his every philosophical observation, and today was no exception.
The third member of our party was Sir Reginald Bartholomew Hightower, a rotund and rather puffed-up gentleman who took great pride in his hereditary knighthood, though one suspected that it had more to do with his ancestors’ proximity to the royal hounds than any act of valor. Reginald was known to pontificate on subjects about which he knew remarkably little, yet with an air so assured that one was inclined to believe him, however briefly.
As Jessica and I approached, the three rose - or rather, attempted to rise with an air of chivalric grandeur, though a slight scramble for canes and adjustments of waistcoats betrayed their collective lack of vigor. Each greeted Jessica with exaggerated bows and the kind of pomp one might reserve for a visiting duchess, although I detected an unmistakable glint of barely masked rivalry in each of their expressions.
“Ah, Percival,” drawled Lord Alistair, his monocle glinting as though it alone held the key to his esteem. “You’ve brought a lady of excellent taste, no doubt, if she chose to spend an afternoon with you.”
“Indeed,” Cecil intoned, already swirling his sherry glass in that perpetually contemplative manner. “And how, I wonder, does she endure the vast silences that so frequently fill the mind of our dear Percival?”
Jessica, to her credit, smiled politely and made a small curtsy, as though aware that responding to their thinly veiled barbs would only invite further commentary.
I began, “Friends, it is my pleasure to introduce The Lady Who Has Captured My Heart, Miss Jessica Whitaker. She is, amongst many other things, a student pursuing a graduate degree and an aspiring actress of the West End.”
“Jessica,” I introduced, “this is my cousin Lord Alistair Fitzwilloughby-Davenport, a man of impeccable titles; Cecil Roderick Forsythe-Bennett, a philosopher of dubious clarity; and Sir Reginald Bartholomew Hightower, Knight of…” I trailed off, as even I was unclear on his titular specifics.
“Knight of Suffolk and of distinguished lineage, thank you,” Reginald added, his chest puffed to the point of near levitation. He adjusted his waistcoat and smiled at Jessica, clearly delighted by her attention.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” Jessica said, with a grace that seemed to flummox them each in turn. She looked about the club, her eyes scanning the stately paintings, the vast tomes on the shelves. “This place is remarkable-it feels like we’ve stepped into another century.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Alistair, as though he had built the place himself. “The Atheneum remains untainted by the trivialities of modernity.” He cast a sidelong glance at me, his smile thin as tissue paper. “Although, one does wonder how it might endure the occasional intrusions.”
“Oh, come now, Alistair,” Reginald interjected, “we all know that some of us have less… refined guests from time to time.” His gaze lingered a touch too long on Cecil, whose brow furrowed in a show of studied irritation.
“And yet,” Cecil retorted, “I recall a certain party of Reginald’s that involved a-how should I phrase this?-rather exuberant individual who mistook a Chippendale chair for a bobsled.”
Reginald sniffed, his dignity pricked. “An unfortunate incident, I assure you, not indicative of my social circle. Unlike, say, the self-proclaimed luminaries one invites when delving into ‘philosophy.’” He turned his attention to Jessica, clearly eager to steer the conversation into more favorable territory. “Miss Jessica, might I inquire how it is that you’ve come to call London your home?”
Jessica, caught momentarily in the crossfire of their verbal sparring, glanced at me with an expression that hovered between bemusement and the faintest plea for translation. Undeterred, she answered with her characteristic poise.
“I’m a graduate student at the London School of Economics,” she explained with an easy grace. “I just started a few months ago, so I’ll be here for a couple of years at least.”
“The London School of Economics!” Alistair boomed, his monocle nearly dislodging from the force of his exclamation. “I would never have guessed. My own wife can scarcely balance the household accounts!” He erupted into a laugh, hearty and unrestrained, the sort that seemed crafted more to fill the room than to convey genuine humor.
Jessica’s expression tightened ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing with a cool precision that sent a ripple of unease through me. “I assure you,” she replied evenly, her tone sharp enough to cut through Alistair’s bluster, “it’s a touch more complicated than arithmetic.”
Sensing the mounting tension, I acted swiftly. Taking her hand in mine, I gave it a gentle squeeze, ignoring the envious glances from my companions, whose expressions ranged from mild indignation to outright disbelief. I turned to her with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
Alistair, for his part, seemed momentarily chastened, though his smirk betrayed no real contrition. “Ah, of course,” he said, recovering with the finesse of a man accustomed to social sparring. “I meant no slight, Miss Jessica. Indeed, a scholar of such a prestigious institution must have depths we could scarcely fathom.”
“May I ask the three of you a question?” Jessica inquired, her tone carrying just a hint of curiosity. I noticed, with some amusement, how she had subtly adjusted her vocabulary to match the formality of the room. A clever adaptation, though I suspected it wasn’t entirely necessary for this audience.
“By all means,” Cecil replied, his voice dripping with mock gravitas as he leaned forward slightly, eager for her inquiry.
“Do you all not have cell phones?” she asked, tilting her head with an air of polite inquiry. “Or is that… a thing in this club? Or perhaps society as a whole?”
For a moment, there was silence, followed by a ripple of chuckles from the trio.
“Most certainly not a thing here,” Reginald assured her, grinning broadly. “That, Miss Jessica, is a distinctly Humphreys ‘thing.’ They’ve always been… how shall we put it… phobic, when it comes to technology.”
Alistair smirked, swirling his sherry. “Indeed, dear cousin,” he added, his tone faintly mocking. “I fear you’ve given our delightful guest entirely the wrong impression about us. Rest assured, we are fully capable of operating modern devices, though we keep them on silent in these hallowed halls.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow, her expression betraying a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Good to know. For a moment, I thought I might have stumbled into the 19th century.”
This drew another round of laughter, though I noted Alistair’s was perhaps more clipped than the others’. Jessica’s deftness at navigating their jibes had clearly made an impression, though whether it was admiration or unease, I could not yet tell.
I leaned closer to Jessica, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Since you’re clearly the most adept person here with modern devices,” I began, pulling my phone from my pocket, “could you show me how to set this blasted thing to silent?”
Jessica smirked, taking the phone from my hand with a quiet chuckle. “Happy to help. Though I’ll warn you, if they catch you with this, I might have to defend your honor.”
“Defend away,” I murmured with mock solemnity. “I suspect you’d do it far better than I ever could.”
She tapped the screen expertly, her fingers moving with the kind of confidence that, I imagined, might scandalize the Atheneum if they noticed. She handed it back moments later, her grin still firmly in place. “There. You’re officially silent. No need to fear judgment from the lords of mahogany.”
“Marvelous,” I replied, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “I shall endeavor to protect our secrets. After all, I’d hate to tarnish the illusion of my impeccable propriety.”
The evening unfolded much as I anticipated, with each man jockeying for Jessica’s attention, each attempt at wit and charm a slightly more exaggerated performance than the last. She, ever gracious, smiled, nodded, and indulged their increasingly ludicrous boasts. Cecil embarked on a labyrinthine discourse on Stoicism, complete with so many tangential qualifications that even the ancient philosophers would have reconsidered their principles. Alistair, meanwhile, launched into an effusive account of his estate’s tennis lawn-a “feat of horticultural engineering,” as he proclaimed it-which, by his telling, had required the collective genius of three landscapers and an architectural consultant. Reginald, not to be outdone, held forth on his prized collection of rare snuffboxes, waxing poetic until Jessica, in a masterstroke of conversational redirection, introduced a less contentious topic, saving us all from further escalation.
At some point during the evening, Alistair sidled up to me with an air of conspiratorial intent. “Percy, a word, if you’d be so kind,” he said, his tone suggesting the matter was of great importance-or, at the very least, of great importance to him.
Sensing the inevitability of such an encounter, I offered Jessica an apologetic smile. “Jessica, would you be so kind as to entertain these gentlemen while I attend to this? My dear cousin has undoubtedly conjured up some pressing matter that requires my attention.” She waved me off with good-natured bemusement, and I followed Alistair into the quieter confines of the library.
Once there, Alistair turned to me with a dramatic sigh, his monocle glinting in the dim light. “Percy, old boy,” he began, adopting his most patronizing tone, “your companion this evening is, shall we say, an intriguing choice. Quite the departure from the usual fare, I must admit.”
I raised an eyebrow, bracing myself. “And what, pray, is your point, dear cousin?”
“Simply this,” he said, spreading his hands as though offering sage counsel. “While she is undoubtedly… charming, in her own way, one cannot help but notice certain, shall we say, peculiarities. A lack of polish, perhaps. Not that one could fault her for it; after all, one cannot expect a diamond to sparkle straight from the earth.”
My jaw tightened, but I kept my voice even. “Jessica has awakened something within me, Alistair. Something I cannot ignore, nor do I wish to. I intend to pursue it to whatever conclusion it may lead.”
Alistair’s eyes widened, his face a caricature of mock offense. “Awakened something within you, has she? Captured your heart, as you introduced her to us? How quaintly romantic, Percy. I had no idea we were revising our family history into a melodramatic love story.”
The barb was delivered with the precision of a fencer’s thrust, and I could see the satisfaction in his smirk as he watched for a reaction. “Tell me, will you be penning sonnets next, or perhaps composing odes in her honor?”
I drew a slow breath, refusing to let him see the flicker of irritation his mockery stirred. “I’m afraid, Alistair, that you wouldn’t recognize sincerity if it shook your hand. My regard for Jessica is neither a diversion nor a jest. It is, I assure you, quite genuine.”
His smirk faded, replaced by a more calculating expression. “Ah, Percy, I expected as much. But let us not pretend the world is so easily charmed by novelty. You see, appearances matter. And, forgive me, but your companion tonight… she is not exactly what one would call an asset to our standing.”
I stiffened, but Alistair pressed on, his voice lowering as if to feign intimacy. “Think of the optics, dear cousin,” he said smoothly. “The Humphreys name carries a certain weight—reputation, tradition. What happens when one attaches it to, well, a lady of such… modest origins? It reflects on us all, you see, and not always favorably.”
I tilted my head slightly, fixing him with a cool stare. “And yet, Alistair,” I began, my tone measured but pointed, “it is worth noting that I am a Humphreys by birth and blood. You, on the other hand, are a Fitzwilloughby-Davenport, and are merely a Humphreys by tangential marital relation, thanks to Caroline’s benevolent patience. Perhaps you would do well to remember that.”
For the briefest moment, the practiced smirk on Alistair’s face faltered. His eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what I could only describe as suppressed irritation. “Ah, but dear Percy,” he replied, recovering quickly, “I like to think I’ve earned my place at the table, even if my relation came by way of matrimony. And it is precisely because I value this family’s legacy that I feel compelled to offer you such counsel.”
“Counsel,” I repeated flatly, my tone verging on disdain.
“Precisely,” he said, his smile returning, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You may find her captivating, even delightful, but she does not belong to this world, Percy. Our circles do not embrace such… deviations easily. It isn’t just about passion or compatibility—it’s about practicality. Society thrives on boundaries, dear cousin, and she, for all her charms, is decidedly on the wrong side of them.”
He clapped me on the shoulder, the gesture as insincere as the patronizing smile he offered. “But enough of warnings. Enjoy your dalliance, if you must. I only caution you not to mistake infatuation for something more enduring. Such diversions, while entertaining, rarely withstand scrutiny. But then,” he added, with a faint smirk, “it will certainly make for a story in the years to come.”
I clenched my jaw but said nothing, allowing his words to hang in the air between us. In that moment, I felt the weight of his presumption, the casual dismissal of Jessica as a mere interlude in my life. And yet, beneath my simmering indignation, there was a flicker of doubt—a nagging thought that perhaps Alistair, for all his insufferable arrogance, had struck at something deeper than I cared to admit.
When it was time to depart, each man bade Jessica farewell with a bow so low it might have sprained lesser vertebrae, their words oozing with compliments so lavish one would think they were bidding adieu to an empress.
As we strolled away from the club, Jessica sighed with what seemed like a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Percival, do all of your friends… behave like that?”
I chuckled, adjusting my coat collar against the evening breeze. “They are a loyal, if insufferable, lot,” I said, “Friends of society, as they say, yet each convinced that he alone is the highest form of gentleman to walk these halls. They are all characters in their own right, though as vain and haughty as they are, one can’t help but feel a certain… fondness. Much as one does for the pompous peacock.”
She laughed, tucking her arm into mine. “Well, Percival, if you must be a peacock, at least you’re a well-dressed one.”