White's had rarely sounded so funereal.
Ian Beaumont stared gloomily into his untouched drink, Earnest slumped like a wilted flower beside him, Jeremy drummed irritated fingers on the table, Kurt brooded in silence, and Adrian looked as though someone had informed him Parliament had outlawed joy.
The club, sensing collective misery, graciously pretended not to notice.
"She is gone," Jeremy declared dramatically, throwing himself back into his chair. "Not dead, mind you, which would be easier to process. No. She has been—" he made a tragic sweeping gesture, "—claimed by the matrons."
Ian groaned. "Not claimed. Guided. Chaperoned. Refined."
"Tamed," Adrian corrected grimly, as though Sophia were a wild mare being broken in.
Earnest sniffed. "Duchess Arabella and Lady Jersey are very respectable ladies. They will not break her spirit."
A silence fell.
Then the entire table collectively laughed in disbelief.
