"He never could withstand her," Hanley bleated. "Nobody can. My brother-in-law tried when he married Fanny. He ended up getting a post in India and taking my sister with him. Said he would rather risk the fever there than have to pay duty calls on Mama at least once a month."

Having finished this long speech, Hanley lapsed into his former semicomatose state, the now-almost-empty glass of port dangling from his limp fingers.

Lord Horton stood in the middle of the floor and let his glance stray around the room to take in the other ten occupants. All were in a state of dejection induced by hours of drinking and playing cards, and by the melancholy of the occasion. He smiled.

"Well, gentlemen," he began, "our number is now down to ten, not counting Hanley, who is, to all intents and purposes, a goner. What is to happen to the Knights of Freedom Club? Are we to renew our vows and continue, or have we all changed our convictions since we began with such high ideals eight years ago? There were seventeen of us then."

"It was all very well eight years ago to pledge our allegiance to the single state," Smythe said hesitantly, playing with the lace at his wrist. "It seemed a noble idea then to swear to uphold one another in our resolve never to marry. But, dash it all," he said, looking defiantly at several of his companions, "what's a fellow to do when his pockets are to let? The dice cannot always be relied upon to bring one around. I have to eye the market, I have to admit. Not a happy prospect, but there it is. Almack's! Ugh!" He shuddered delicately.

"Poor Hanley's problem is that his mama wants him connected to a title," Darnley said in a hushed voice, as if he were talking about someone already deceased. "An earl's daughter was too much for her to resist."

"Why do earls' daughters always have pimples or big noses or flat chests?" Denning wanted to know, testing his curls again with a light touch.