Normally, Gilbert considered his once a week dinner with his Aunt Constance an odious affair. There was nothing wrong with the food itself—her cook prepared meals that were usually on par with the best dining establishments in London, the wines were always of excellent vintage, and her selection of fine aged liquor was superb.

It was the teasing and meddling that Gilbert couldn't stomach, as well as her endless attempts at match-making.

But he needed her social connections to have any hope of succeeding in his task, so the following night Gilbert put on his good suit, stopped by a confectioner's shop, and presented himself at his aunt's imposing Piccadilly mansion for his weekly dose of fine dining and verbal abuse. The butler greeted him at the door, and Gilbert strode down a wide hallway whose walls were covered with works by some of Europe's most famous artists. He passed ornately decorated, high-ceilinged rooms that were only used for parties, as he made his way toward the back of the mansion; his aunt preferred to spend most of her time in a smaller set of rooms that overlooked the wooded grounds of her property. Gilbert reflected that even though it took up less than a quarter of the mansion, his aunt's 'cozy suite' was still bigger than the Arlington Street townhouse he had inherited from his father.

"I almost didn't expect you to show up tonight, Nephew," Lady Constance Bosford, Marchioness of Tenkigh, commented from the far end of the table when Gilbert entered the dining room. "Especially after the temper tantrum you had last week." She turned toward the under-butler. "Tell Cook we're ready for tonight's masterpiece."

"I was justified in my anger, Aunt," Gilbert said, stepping aside to let the man pass. "Without my permission, you made plans on my behalf, and I ended up enduring a very uncomfortable evening with a young lady in whom I had absolutely no interest. It was a waste of my time, not to mention my money."

"Hn. Perhaps next time I should set you up with a nice young man," she said, "since it seems I am wasting my time throwing young women at you."

Gilbert scowled at her. "Next time, just don't. I have no interest in marriage," he said, ignoring the 'young man' jibe. He tossed a beribboned packet on the table next to her place setting. "Here are some of those meringues you like." He took the seat opposite hers.

"Oooh, my favorite," Lady Bosford clapped her hands, and then she arched an eyebrow at her reluctant guest and tapped an immaculately manicured fingernail on the patterned paper of the packet. "I doubt that this is a peace offering, so am I to deduce that this is a bribe?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Gilbert said. "It is indeed a bribe." A footman approached and proffered a food-laden tray, and Gilbert made his selections and filled his plate. He nodded his thanks when a second footman filled his wineglass. "I need your help."

"Good gracious," she said, and then she called, "Mister Jirough!"

The butler instantly appeared at the door. "Yes, my lady?"

"Jirough, I need you to make an entry in today's ledger. Please make a note that my nephew Gilbert has asked me for help!"

"Yes, my lady." The butler didn't bat an eyelid, for which Gilbert was profoundly grateful.

While they ate their excellent dinner, Gilbert filled her in on his meeting with Nigel Janning, and when they finished their meal, they retired to the solar. Gilbert opened the folder he'd been given and shared the reports with his aunt while she poured their drinks.

"I've heard about this 'Doctor Lee,'" Lady Bosford said, sipping her sherry as she settled onto the sofa opposite where Gilbert sat. "Several of my friends have hosted these sessions of his, and of course I was invited to attend, but I always declined. I thought it was silly nonsense, and a waste of money—would you believe that to attend, one must pay Lee a gold sovereign?"

Gilbert took a generous swallow of his port. "It is silly nonsense, but it has Janning and the other Fellows worried enough that they're willing to offer me a Fellowship to take care of the situation for them. Of course, they want it done as soon as possible; Janning is giving me a month."

"A Fellowship would be marvelous, Gilbert, especially since you are not a conventional physician—oh please, don't look at me that way; I completely agree that it is a better way to practice medicine, but the concept is still new, darling. It would be a great boost to your career, and would make it easier for you to start your own practice, although you know I am more than willing set you up now, so you can get away from that odious man—"

"No," Gilbert said, cutting her off. "I won't take that kind of help from you."

She smiled at him. "So proud," she said, "but I wouldn't have you any other way. I know I tease you, but I'm glad you have come to me for help with this matter. I should be able to secure an invitation by the end of the week, and I'll make up some story about how you insisted on accompanying me." She rose from the sofa and poured herself another glass of sherry from a collection of decanters on a nearby table.

Gilbert fetched his glass and followed her. "Thank you, Aunt Constance," he said.

She waved off his thanks. "I must admit that I am curious now about seeing this strange doctor. We should invite Henry Choughton along, Gilbert; that poor friend of yours has spent far too much time in his own company since his wife died, and it would do him a world of good to get out of that huge, mouldery mansion of his. Besides, he's just as clever as you and he might be able to help."

"You just want to parade him in front of all the marriageable young women who will be there," Gilbert retorted, although he was touched that his aunt would think of his friend. Henry might ignore his attempts to get him out more, but he wouldn't be able to ignore Constance.

"Of course I do, darling," she replied, "he's one of the most eligible bachelors in London. I want to parade you, too, for all the good it will do me."

Gilbert sighed and reached for the good scotch.