Fitzwilliam came to my lodgings this evening. He was bored, and he strode around the room like a tiger in a cage. I said as much and he turned to me and said, ‘Do you ever feel you are looking for something, George?’
A rich wife, I thought, but I did not say it. It would not do to let Fitzwilliam know that I am hoping for an heiress, or he might think to keep Anne and Georgiana away from me. And he would definitely not persuade his cousins invite me to Leighford Castle.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Do you?’
He drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece. ‘Yes.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘I do not know,’ he said with a frown. ‘But I will know when I find it.’ He was thoughtful for a while and then he said, ‘Let us go out.’
‘Where?’
‘To my club.’
‘I am not a member.’
‘That can easily be remedied,’ he said. ‘My name will be enough to have you elected.’
We went out together and I soon found myself in a respectable establishment, too respectable for my tastes, though not for my purposes. I looked around me, making a note of names and faces, for who knows when the men at the club might prove useful in some way?
Fitzwilliam was still restless. He talked of his mother’s devotion, his father’s belief in him, his hopes for Cambridge, and his plans for the London house, but his mind was on none of it.
He knew everyone at the club and he introduced me. Before long we were talking to half a dozen fellows of our own age and we were soon on our way to a party organised by one of them.
When we arrived, I saw the way the women looked at Fitzwilliam and I thought, my mother was right, there is something about him that women find a challenge.
But then I thought no more of Fitzwilliam, for we soon became separated and not all of the women wanted a challenge. Some of them wanted a man to tease them and flirt with them and I was happy to oblige them.