“Because I know your father told you not to do that, and I also know that if you are, it could be very dangerous for you. Whoever did that horrible thing to the man would not be happy to know you’re snooping around.”
Amy patted Cook’s hand. “Don’t worry, I am not in danger, I can assure you.” Wishing to move the conversation away from that topic, she said, “What have you prepared for lunch?”
Cook hesitated for a moment, looking like she hadn’t fallen for the switch in subjects, but then said, “Whitefish, carrots and turnips, and roasted potatoes.”
“Excellent! I am quite hungry.”
“’Twill be ready shortly.”
Amy left the kitchen before Cook could question her further and joined William in the drawing room. “You will never guess who I saw at the Pump Room just now.”
He turned from the window and crossed the room to join her on the settee. “Who?”
“Lady Ambrose and a few of the ladies from the sewing circle. They talked about how poorly Miss Hemphill has been feeling lately.”
“Really? I do think we need to gather more information on her.”
“Yes. I agree. I am trying to come up with a reason that would allow me to talk to her. I have a strong feeling that whatever malady she is currently feeling has to do with St. Vincent.”
“Oh, I am absolutely sure of that as well.” William shifted on the seat and turned toward her. “I did not meet with success in searching out Mr. Harris or Mr. Miles at the clubs I visited, both last night and this morning. I checked the roster at two of the clubs, and Mr. Miles is a member at both. Harris’s name did not appear, but since he has only been in Bath a few weeks, it’s possible he hasn’t joined or been accepted just yet.”
“But he could be there as a guest? If he was with another member?”
“Yes.”
She smirked. “What about women?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “What about women?”
“Can I go to one of your clubs as your guest?” She loved the outraged expression that crossed his face. For goodness’ sake, one would have thought she had asked him to escort her to a brothel. “What?”
“Women are not permitted in men’s clubs,” he answered stiffly.
“Why not?”
He leaned forward and spoke slowly, as if to a small child. “That is why they are called men’s clubs. They are for men.”
“What if I dressed like a man and—”
William held up his hand. “Do not continue. You will not dress as a man. I will not take you to a club. And, furthermore, you will never carry a gun.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “Who mentioned a gun?”
“You did. The other day.”
“Milady, luncheon is served.” Lacey must have caught the last part of their conversation, given the grin on her face.
With her chin held high, Amy walked with William to the dining room. The aroma of the items Cook had mentioned had her stomach rumbling again.
Once they were settled in their seats and had served themselves, Amy took a bite of the delicious fish, closed her eyes, and gave a slight moan. Her eyes snapped open at the sound coming from William sitting across from her. “What?”
He was staring at her, his fork halfway to his mouth. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Besides seeing Lady Ambrose and her sewing circle at the Pump Room, I also had the opportunity to observe something that I found quite interesting. I am sure you will as well.”
William took a sip of water. “What is that?”
“Mr. Miles and Mr. Harris, together at the Pump Room, off in a corner, heads together in deep conversation.” She added the story of Persephone running off to chase the cat and then sliding on the floor to slam into Mr. Miles’s leg.