Rake's Wager, page 6
Cassia listened, and held her breath. So he would be back. She would see him again. Inside her pocket, she turned the little fish over and over again between her fingers.
“But what of his behavior toward Cassia?” Bethany asked indignantly. “I know that profit is the goal of Penny House, but surely you don’t intend to let his attention go unchecked?”
Amariah tapped the folded newspaper. “I have already sent letters to the editors of these papers, telling them that while we appreciated Mr. Blackley’s generosity, we have returned his winnings to him, and advised him of the propriety that Penny House expects from its guests. There was also a pretty bit about us three being as virtuous as Caesar’s wife that I’m sure they’ll print.”
At last Cassia turned to face her sisters. “And what of me, then?” she asked with gloomy resignation. “Shall I be banished to the garret to keep from shaming us all again?”
“That’s stuff and nonsense, Cassia, which you know perfectly well.” Amariah twisted around in her chair to see her. “It was hardly your fault. I told you before this wouldn’t be the same as the Havertown Assembly, and I doubt there is a man like Mr. Blackley to be found in all of Sussex, nor one so dashingly handsome. He was far outside of your experience.”
Cassia hung back, feeling both contrite and rebellious at once. “So I will be put in the garret, to keep from Mr. Blackley’s experienced path.”
“Oh, hush, you little goose,” Amariah scolded gently. “You did exactly the right thing with such a man, not shrieking at him or slapping him like a fishwife. You were the model of restraint, when I know you’d prefer to flay him with the lash end of your temper.”
Cassia didn’t answer. There wasn’t really a need to, considering.
“But next time, you won’t be taken by surprise, will you?” Amariah was smiling, but she was also watching Cassia so closely, making sure there was only one response. “Whether with Mr. Blackley or some other gentleman, you will make certain matters do not progress quite so far, won’t you?”
“No, Amariah, I won’t be taken by surprise again,” Cassia said, as meekly as she could.
“I didn’t think so.” Amariah’s smile returned to its customary serenity. “Which is good. There will be plenty of new gentlemen tonight who will expect you to bring them the same kind of extraordinary luck.”
Cassia smiled, and for the first time since Richard had come toward her from the hazard room, she felt her shoulders unknot and the anxiety begin to slip away.
She hadn’t spoiled everything. She hadn’t shamed her sisters.
And the odds were excellent that she’d see Richard Blackley again tonight.
Bethany nodded, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I am not quite sure why, but these gentlemen do seem to love us the more for being virtuous in an unvirtuous business. La, how many times last night did I have to tell of how we traded the vicarage for St. James Street!”
Amariah sighed, spreading another glistening blob of jam on her toast. “One old gentleman told me that we’d have twice the number clamoring for admission if only we could have our portraits taken and shown, the three of us together. Can you fancy such a thing?”
“Not yet, perhaps,” Cassia said, pacing slowly back and forth as she thought aloud. “But what if we hired an open carriage and went riding in Hyde Park? That is where all the ladies go to take the air, and to be admired. We might as well do so, too.”
“But not today,” Bethany said quickly. “I have so many things still to do in the kitchen that I can’t—”
“Yes, today!” Amariah smiled, and struck her open palm on the edge of the table for emphasis. “This is the perfect day to show that we are calm and at ease, as unruffled as can be by last night.”
Cassia glanced at the window again, at the sunshine and watery blue sky over the slate roofs and chimney pots. It wasn’t the sweet-smelling green fields of their old home in Sussex, but to put on her best hat and ride in an open carriage, to be perfectly idle and do nothing but admire the passing scenery—that would be a rare, wondrous treat.
“Might I come, too, Amariah?” she asked, her voice rising with hope, almost pleading. “Even after last night?”
“Must you ask?” Amariah’s blue eyes were bright with determination, and amusement as well. “After last night, Cassia, I’d be a fool—a wicked fool—to leave you behind.”
Three copper-haired visions shouldn’t be hard to find, even in London.
Richard kept his horse at an easy pace as he rode through the park, weaving among other riders and carriages. He paid little attention to the trees or the newly blooming flowers, and even less to the women who smiled at him from beneath their broad-brimmed hats. He was hunting for quarry much more specific than that, and for a few coins the footman at Penny House had told him exactly where to begin his search. A flame-haired beauty, riding with her sisters in an open carriage, should not be so difficult a needle to find in this haystack, even if Hyde Park was larger than many sugar plantations he’d known.
But in the end it wasn’t her hair that led him to her, but the sound of her laughter coming from the other side of a stand of yews, merry and bubbling and unmistakably hers. Quickly he guided his horse through the trees to the next graveled path, and there she was.
“Miss Penny,” he said, drawing his horse close to the carriage. “I’ve found you.”
She smiled at him, the remnants of her merriment still showing on her face. “Gracious, Mr. Blackley. And here I’d no notion I’d been lost!”
“Lost to me,” he said. “I need to speak to you.”
“Then speak away, Mr. Blackley.” She sat back against the dark leather seat, lightly twirling the handle of her parasol so it spun behind her. She was dressed plainly, even demurely, in a plain white muslin gown with a matching short redingote buttoned over it, more like the country parson’s daughter she claimed to be than the proprietor of a gambling club. “I am found, and listening.”
He didn’t waste any time getting to what had bothered him all day. “Why in blazes did you return that money to me?”
“Because it was yours, Mr. Blackley.” The smile remained, but the last trace of her earlier laughter had vanished. “You won it fairly, and it was yours to keep.”
“But I meant it as a gift,” he said. “For that infernal charity of yours, the paupers, or widows, or stray dogs from the riverbed.”
He’d hoped she’d laugh again, this time for him, but she didn’t. “You are perfectly free to give away every last farthing to whatever charity you please, Mr. Blackley, but you cannot do it through the Penny House bank. Unless, of course, you lose properly.”
“That doesn’t make a bit of sense,” he said. “And I still don’t see what in blazes—”
“Because your generosity appeared to expect in return a favor from my sister, Mr. Blackley.” Cassia’s older sister—Anne? Alice? Annabelle?—said, the other one nodding in agreement beside her. “Because you put her in an untenable situation for a lady.”
“A favor?” How the devil had he overlooked the other two sisters there in the same carriage, sitting on the seat across from Cassia? “I did it because you’d made it clear as day that I wouldn’t be let in again if I didn’t make a profit for your blasted charity scheme. I can’t help it if I won. If I wanted to see your sister again, I’d have to pay up.”
“That’s not what Amariah intended, as I tried to explain to you last night,” Cassia said, leaning forward on the seat. “She wished to remind you that we are a gentleman’s club, and nothing more. She meant that it’s not proper for you to be so—so familiar with me there among so many gentlemen.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Richard said. He hadn’t done anything worthy of this damned lecture. And he didn’t see Cassia herself complaining. “I didn’t—”
“None of us wish to be compromised, Mr. Blackley,” Amariah said. “As the owners of Penny House, we must be most careful of that, or risk ruining the club’s reputation before we’ve really begun.”
“Well, we’re not at Penny House now, are we?” Richard swung down from his horse, holding the reins as he walked beside the carriage. He lifted his hat to Cassia. “Come stroll with me, lass, and we’ll talk alone.”
Her eyes widened as she looked down at him. “Here? Along this path?”
“It’s easier than climbing up the elm trees, but I’ll do that instead if you wish,” he said. “Your sisters can follow in the carriage, ready to drive over me if I become too familiar.”
“You won’t,” Cassia said, sliding her parasol shut and gathering her skirts to one side before she climbed out. “I won’t allow it.”
He liked watching her move, purposeful and direct and without any fussiness. The soft muslin was blowing close against her body and legs, not nearly as demure as he’d first thought.
“Cassia, I’m not sure this is wise.” Bethany’s face was tight with worry as she laid a gloved hand on Cassia’s knee to stop her. “To be seen with this gentleman so soon after last night might be—”
“How am I supposed to apologize if I can’t speak to her?” He didn’t really believe he owed Cassia an apology, at least not for anything that had happened last night, but if an apology would coax her away from the others, he’d offer her a dozen. He held his hand out to help her down from the carriage. “Isn’t that true, lass?”
“I don’t think it’s true at all, Mr. Blackley,” she said without hesitation. “But I shall let you try regardless. Driver, stop here.”
“Only for a few minutes, Cassia,” Amariah cautioned. “Only for him to apologize. And mind, we’ll be directly behind you.”
Ignoring Richard’s offered hand, Cassia hopped down from the carriage and once again opened her parasol, tipping it back against her shoulder. Without looking at him, she began walking briskly away, ahead of the carriage’s horses. Her light cotton skirts swung back and forth with each quick step of her low-heeled shoes, accentuating her hips and bottom in a way that made him almost sorry to catch up with her.
“You didn’t come find me to apologize, Mr. Blackley, did you?” she asked without turning.
He figured he’d probably do better telling the truth, especially since she’d already figured it out for herself. “No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
Her mouth twitched at the corners, though he couldn’t tell whether it was with satisfaction that she’d guessed correctly, or from some private amusement. The afternoon sun was filtering through the openwork in the brim of her straw hat, casting tiny pinpricks of light across her nose and cheeks.
“Is that because you’d hoped I wouldn’t expect an apology?” she asked. “Or because you felt you didn’t owe me one?”
He sighed mightily, and decided to stick with the truth. “I didn’t believe I owed you anything. I didn’t think I’d done anything.”
“No?” At last she turned toward him, her expression incredulous. “Most gentlemen would regard placing a gaming marker where and how you did as having done quite a bit.”
Richard drew himself up straighter, unconsciously squaring his shoulders as if preparing for an actual blow. London was different. None of the women he’d known on Barbados would have been shocked. They would have found such a gesture flirtatious, yes, and suggestive, but they also would have regarded it as a sign of admiration. They would have been flattered. It wasn’t as if he’d pushed her against the wall and shoved up her skirts. He did have sense a of right and wrong, after all.
“So there’s the proof you wanted that I’m not a gentleman. You’ve been looking for it ever since you saw me at the auction, haven’t you?”
“Hardly.” She blinked, surprised. “Whatever would make you think that?”
Too late he realized he’d volunteered more than he’d wanted. “You sent back my winnings this morning. You wouldn’t have done that if I’d been a duke.”
“Oh, yes, we would have,” she said firmly. “Mr. Pratt was very convinced about that”
“Who in blazes is Mr. Pratt?”
“Mr. Pratt is our advisor about everything to do with gaming at Penny House,” she said, as if it were perfectly obvious to anyone with half a thinking brain. “We could not exist without Mr. Pratt. He is guiding us to follow our father’s wishes, you see, and help us make the money lost by wealthy gentlemen at the gambling tables do good for poor women and their children.”
“But not the money I won?”
The look she flashed him beneath the curving brim of her hat showed that she clearly thought that that question had been addressed, and answered. “Charity is our goal, Mr. Blackley, not to become the mistresses of those same wealthy gentlemen.”
“My mistress?” He stopped abruptly, letting the carriage roll past them. “You thought that was what I wanted?”
“Yes.” She stopped, too, both hands gripping the parasol’s handle, and two bright patches of embarrassment glowed on her cheeks. “You are not the first gentleman to ask me, you know.”
“But I didn’t, lass, and I won’t.” He had enjoyed her company and from the moment he’d met her, he’d wanted more of it, but he’d never considered anything so formal as putting her into keeping. He didn’t have time for a mistress, not when he was hunting for a wife. “I’ve other plans, you may be sure.”
Her blush deepened and she fidgeted with the parasol, twisting the tassel on the handle around and around one finger. “I’m very glad, Mr. Blackley, because I have other plans, too.”
“You mean Penny House.”
She nodded, a quick dip of her chin. He’d been intrigued by her chin from the start, a small, plump chin centered by a dimple, and he was sorry now—quite sorry—that he’d never have the chance to kiss it. “And what are your plans, sir?”
“To marry a lady,” he said, with both pride and determination in his voice. “Preferably the daughter of a peer, though I’ll consider lesser ranks if she’s particularly beautiful. A wife is the final acquistion I need to complete my life.”
“How vastly tidy of you, to have everything so arranged,” she murmured, looking away as she began walking again. “Forgive me my ignorance, Mr. Blackley, but where does one go to obtain—or acquire—such a wife? Surely such ladies are not to be found on the block at Christie’s?”
“It would be far easier if they were,” he admitted. “Instead I must rely on several letters of introduction that I brought with me, and hope to proceed from there. That, and the usual lure of a sizable income.”
“Oh, and your own charm, too.” She glanced back at him, through her lashes, half teasing and half irritated with him. “You are very sure of yourself as a suitor, Mr. Blackley.”
“I have reason to be.” He considered taking her arm to demonstrate his hard-learned manners, then thought better of it before her watchdog sisters. “I have much to offer a prospective wife.”
“But no title of your own,” she said. “That will matter to the fathers of those daughters you seek.”
“I do not hide my past, Miss Penny,” he said. “I don’t pretend to have been born a great gentleman. I came into this world as the youngest son of a Lancaster collier, and I’m not ashamed to say so.”
Her gaze flicked over him, from the toes of his well-polished riding boots to the crown of his beaver hat, appraising him with fresh eyes. “You have prospered, Mr. Blackley. I am impressed.”
“You should be,” he said. “I’ve never believed pride to be a sin, not when it’s earned. Nothing was given to me. Nothing was handed to me. Everything I have came from my own hard work.”
“And dear Lady Luck.” She smiled over her shoulder. “Isn’t that how you said you won your house here in England?”
“Luck and skill and a good deal of Jamaican rum,” he said, smiling back. “And to be honest, Sir Henry had let the house nearly tumble down around his ears.”
She arched one brow, pretending to be shocked. “I thought it was the poor gentleman’s patrimony!”
“A sad, sorry wager is what it was.” Richard sighed, remembering how stunned he’d been by his first glimpse of Greenwood Hall, and that had been before he’d learned about the gaping holes beneath the slates in the roof and the chimneys full of swallows’ nests and the plaster that had slipped clean away from the walls in the ballroom. “But I’ll set Greenwood to rights. I’ll make more improvements than Sir Henry ever could. It will become the best house in the county.”
“I’ve no doubt, Mr. Blackley, that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.” She glanced ahead to the carriage before them, waving her fingers at her sisters—to reassure them, he guessed, that he wasn’t in the process of debauching her right there among the crowds in Hyde Park. “All you must do to remedy Greenwood Hall is to take some of your great fortune and pay John Nash or some other fashionable architect to make everything as it should.”
“That is true.” Richard frowned, thinking. He’d already had to learn which tailor was considered best for bespoke coats and which bootmaker fitted calfskin to the most ducal feet, so it made sense that he’d have to discover who did the same sort of outfitting for houses. “Is this man Nash the best at his craft?”
“He is quite the favorite of the Prince,” she said, “so I suppose he might be good enough for you as well.”
He suspected she was teasing him again, but this was so important that he let it pass. “Did you use him for Penny House? Is that why you recommend him so highly now?”
“John Nash for Penny House? Gracious, no.” She tipped back her chin and laughed, that merry, throaty sound he liked so well. “Hardly, Mr. Blackley, though you flatter me. All of our refurbishing was done at my direction, or even by my own hands.”
“You?” She didn’t seem like the sort of woman who’d tie on an apron and muddy herself.
“Most certainly.” She held one hand out, her fingers spread before him, as if he could see through her gloves. “They’re clean now, but there have been times these last weeks when my fingers were stained as black as a sweep’s with paint and old varnish. “You aren’t the only one who has worked hard to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, you know.”
