Free To Catch a Rake by Sally Orr Page B

support today. She blushed upon theorizing what Mr. Drexel would do when she told him of her success. Whatever his response—shake her hand, waltz her around the room, a tender gesture—the thought excited her.
    Lady Sarah spoke first. “I fail to understand what the happiness of your sister has to do with Mr. Brunel’s tunnel.”
    Meta feigned a smile. “The situation is a private matter, but I must admit a rather urgent one. So if you would be so kind, please take my word upon the subject.”
    Several ladies nodded.
    “Of course, Meta, dear,” said Bethia. “You need not say any more upon the subject.”
    Clara put down her teacup. “I do agree that something must be done about London Bridge. I myself have been held up by a rabble of not very polite people. Persons of the most disagreeable manners.”
    “I thought a tunnel had been tried before and failed,” stated Sybella, the newest member of the group, who was memorable for her rather daring short, tight spiral curls. “The soil is too damp or loose to build a proper tunnel.” Her brows furrowed. “It was several years ago, but I do remember something about it flooding. Can you imagine, the horror of being drowned in a tunnel? Digging under water is clearly a great risk.”
    “My dear Meta,” Clara said, “personally, I must refuse your request at this time. Perhaps we all can come to an agreement that more information is needed before we make such a significant request for funds from our fathers. I can speak for myself when I say that my father feels put upon with each shilling I ask for.” She colored slightly. “You must all admit, he has been very generous to our ladies in need.”
    Most of the women nodded.
    Sybella, her dark red hair catching the light from a tall window, stated, “If we donate to the tunnel, it might cause our loved ones not to donate to our governesses. Our ladies would then be in direct competition for funds.”
    Meta shook her head. “The tunnel is different, because it can be a future investment of your capital.” Since her explanations failed to gather her needed support, Meta carefully explained a few of the details of her sister’s situation. She expected an empathetic response centered on Lily and James’s misunderstanding. But to her disappointment, the ladies only wanted to discuss the field guide.
    “That man,” Grizel started, then turned to Meta, “is he really a gentleman, my dear? Think of the lack of empathy for womankind a man who could write such a book must possess.”
    Unfortunately, almost to a lady, they agreed that Mr. Drexel must be a scoundrel toward women.
    Meta sighed. They were right, of course. After all, she did not know him well. The naughty innuendo and flirting came to mind first, but he had helped Fitzy and at least tried to right the situation in regard to James. But his behavior could turn unpredictable and contradictory, like all gentlemen’s. “The book is a work of fiction solely to amuse gentlemen who frequent places like the Coal Hole. Mr. Drexel is an educated gentleman and a dedicated engineer.”
    “How did a very proper young man like Mr. Codlington come by the field guide?” Grizel asked.
    “Fiction?” asked Bethia. Her gray hair appeared almost white from the strong sun streaming in from the windows. “Are you sure, Meta? I read the book years ago and thought my initials were in it. To think that someone sixty years of age could be considered ‘Eager Out of the Gate.’” She turned to the lady next to her. “Brightened my whole day.”
    The lady patted her hand. “I understand, dear.”
    “Yes, it’s fiction—truly,” Meta said, “and written for the amusement of gentlemen only. Mr. Drexel wrote the book after his friend Lord Boyce Parker, a London publisher, wagered he could not do it, or could not best another man. I know very little of the details, except that he made a significant profit and it proved to be a bestseller.” She stopped, curious about why