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earned him indulgent smiles from both. The footman set a plate before him and Philip smothered a look of dismay. He’s a game fellow though, for he took a fork and tasted the fish cautiously, and thereafter pushed it around his plate until it looked as if he’d done a credible job of tackling the stuff.
    Dinner, I am sorry to say, was uneventful. I hadn’t expected any sparkling conversation from my fellow guests and I proved rather prescient in that line. White seemed a harmless fellow, but Lord, the man could ramble and he did, mostly about his financial acumen and the new house he and Sylvie were building in St. Louis, and how dreadfully hot it was in the South, but then it had to be for the tobacco to grow so well. I made sure to flutter my lashes at him when Mrs. White was looking elsewhere and White preened and enjoyed my attentions, but not nearly so much as I had hoped. This was no time to panic, however, as I had a week left to work my charms and I had no doubt that by the end of that period old White would be dining with his hand on my knee. Philip looked pale but determined, and chimed in from time to time with trenchant observations about the prices that tobacco would fetch here in England. Carter unbent sufficiently to offer his view of the future of interest rates. The womenfolk, as women should, interjected a few admiring comments so the males would know their plumage was attractive and thereafter we all kept silent, though I noted that Marie Carter made a few conversational sallies in the direction of Ashton, which he repulsed with nonchalant ease.
    Philip hardly touched his dinner, but he manfully managed to drain several glasses of White’s superb vintages. By the time the footmen carried in the Stilton, walnuts and port, Philip was looking like his old self, if still a trifle pasty. I joined the ladies for coffee and demurred, without regret, when Mrs. White suggested a hand of bridge.
Ving-et-un
is my game, but as it’s mostly played in gambling dens and gentlemen’s clubs, I suspect I was the only female there with an acquaintance with the rules. We made small talk of the type I particularly dislike, about fashions and hairstyles and the latest serialization by Mr. Dickens until I wanted to weep. Then the men joined us and the feeling intensified. I’ve seldom been more bored in my life and if someone asks me to describe Hell I can assure him or her that it’s an evening spent with a prig like Carter, an amiable blowhard like White, and the smug Mr. Ashton. I could forgive the latter his superciliousness, however, as he’s a comely fellow and a treat to behold. Philip, I am sad to say, was not his usual charming self and kept glancing at the clock on the mantel as if calculating how soon he could retire for the night.
    I was relieved myself when White finally called time on the evening a little before midnight. We bade the others goodnight and climbed slowly up the stairs.
    “Still feeling badly?” I asked.
    Philip scrubbed his face with his palm. “It’s the damnedest thing. I don’t know what came over me. I could barely stay at the table tonight. The smell of food made me ill.”
    “Obviously the wine didn’t have the same effect.”
    “Don’t be catty, India. The alcohol steadied my nerves.”
    “Alright. I shan’t be catty. How did you think the evening went?”
    “Except for this cursed stomach of mine, I’m pleased with our progress. You made just the right impression on White.”
    “Early days,” I said with confidence. “You’ll have what you came for when we leave here.”
    “I think I will,” said Philip, with what might have been a grimace of pain, or a peculiar smile.
    We had been given a set of rooms on the second floor, consisting of a bedroom for each of us and a drawing room in between. Philip said goodnight to me at my door for the benefit of the footman who had accompanied us with a lamp in hand, and went on to his own room. I found a lady’s maid waiting for