The Lord’s Desperate Pledge Read online

  Seeing the remarkable scene thirty yards in front of him, Hayes waved the footman off and quietly closed the carriage door. Miss Farnsworth was talking to a wretchedly dirty street urchin, her maid looked on with disapproval, her footman appeared delighted, and Lady Jersey’s butler, Riddick, was waving a cudgel on the front steps.

  He carefully opened his window so he might hear what was said. He assured himself that he had no particular wish to speak to Miss Farnsworth. On the other hand, if he must intervene as a gentleman, he would like to know what he was getting himself into.

  After ten minutes of one of the most remarkable conversations he’d ever overheard, the boy raced to the servant’s entrance, Riddick slammed the front doors, and Miss Farnsworth walked on, appearing very pleased with herself.

  He closed the curtain as she approached and let her pass by. The last he heard her say was, “You see, Pips, it has all come out well.”

  After Miss Farnsworth was well away, Hayes motioned to his footman. “Go and ask Riddick, Lady Jersey’s butler, if he will be so kind as to wait upon me at his convenience. We have need of a stable boy and I fear Riddick is just now plotting how to rid himself of such a boy.”

  *

  Mrs. Hemming had been alarmed at the state of Lily’s dress when she returned to the house, and then even more alarmed to hear the tale of the street urchin and Lady Jersey’s butler. She might not have been as alarmed as she was, had not Pips embellished the story to make it out as a battle for the ages ranging across the front steps of number thirty-eight. Lily’s aunt had fretted that Lady Jersey might be put out to hear that Miss Farnsworth had done battle with her butler.

  Lily had quite rightly pointed out that it was highly unlikely Lady Jersey’s butler would ever mention where a tuppence a day was going.

  Mrs. Hemming had been soothed by that idea and mused that for all she knew, Ranier had his own urchin coming to the back door. She could not say she was against it, though she wondered if that was what happened to the radishes every year. She’d blamed it on mice; her neighbor Mrs. Makefield blamed it on rats. But they may have both been fooled. Perhaps those radishes had been happily sliced up in St. Giles all along.

  By the time they’d set out for Mrs. Millican’s dinner, Mrs. Hemming had entirely forgotten Lily’s street urchin in favor of her own imagined urchin lurking somewhere in the back garden. Whether or not she was right in that particular prediction, Mrs. Hemming had been quite right when she’d speculated that the dinner they attended would not run long. Their hostess did not favor cards. In truth, she was very much against them. All who knew the lady understood that her late husband had nearly ruined her with the habit and she did not permit one pack in the house—not even in the servant’s quarters.

  To atone for her lack of entertainment at cards, Mrs. Millican was known to give a very good dinner. Her friends all considered this a fair bargain and were happy to attend her for an early evening.

  The dinner had been a small affair and Mrs. Millican had proved herself an amusing wit. She sparred with Mr. Ellsworth so delightfully that Lily wondered if there were not some attachment there. They were widow and widower and seemed well suited to one another.

  After dinner, Lily played the pianoforte for a time, but except for that, quiet conversations and tea were what ruled Mrs. Millican’s drawing room. It was not more than an hour after they’d retired to the drawing room before guests began to depart.

  Mrs. Hemming had seemed tired when they got in their carriage. As much as it felt disappointing, as they had thought to stop by Lady Carradine’s club, Lily inquired if it might be best if they went home. Mrs. Hemming brushed off the idea and said they might stop in for an hour and she’d be no worse for it.

  Now, Lily and Mrs. Hemming had arrived to the club and made their way to the back room.

  It was not overcrowded and Lily instantly noted that Lord Ashworth was in attendance. He faced away from her, but she recognized the height, the tailored coat, and the fair hair easily enough. He played a gentleman she did not know.

  Though she had not been introduced to the man Lord Ashworth played, she thought she could guess his circumstances well enough. He was young, and his mode of dress exceedingly dandyish. He would be some young buck just recently set loose upon the town and out to prove his worth. He would be desperate to find his set, and hopeful that some of the loftier-titled gentlemen might take him on. He would think to do something daring to attract notice, and what could be more daring than challenging Lord Ashworth at cards?

  The few times that Lord Ashworth actually lost, as Lily was so well aware, it was the talk of every drawing room. There was a distinct cache over playing him and Lily was all but certain that was how Lord Ashworth was able to find a person still willing to bet against him.

  This poor fellow would no doubt have a generous allowance at hand to attempt the feat, though his father would have warned him against gambling for high stakes. As many a young man was prone to do, he would cast aside his father’s sage advice and be foolhardy enough to believe in his own luck.

  From his expression, it appeared that the Goddess Fortuna was disabusing him of the idea that she could be called upon at will.

  Lily could not claim to be pleased to see Lord Ashworth. Mrs. Millican’s dinner had been remarkably pleasant and she was still silently glorying in securing a tuppence a day for young Sam. She was in a happy frame of mind and had no wish to mar it with any less than genial conversation. It was one thing to enjoy a dance with the gentleman at Lady Catherine’s very awkward ball, but extended conversations with the lord generally came with an aggravation. She consoled herself with the idea that she would likely not speak to him as he was thoroughly engaged in relieving the pockets of the young and foolish gentleman.

  Mrs. Hemming gazed round the room, looking for one of her usual whist partners. According to her rather doleful sigh, she did not find who she looked for.

  Mr. Shine slid up to them and bowed deeply. “The esteemed Mrs. Hemming and her charming niece, Miss Farnsworth,” he said.

  Mrs. Melton, one of the matrons of the club, was close on his heels. Lily thought the lady did not like to see a gentleman roaming the room and would make it her business to know what he was about.

  Lily acknowledged Mrs. Melton. Then she acknowledged Mr. Shine, though she would rather not. There was something about Mr. Shine that she could not like. It was not his obsequious manners, those were common enough. It was something about his expression. She had noticed it when she’d played against him. His mien did not settle into any one attitude, but changed ever so slightly with strange rapidity. It was as if he could not settle upon a particular feeling. There was something that felt false about it.

  “You have come at a fortuitous moment,” Mr. Shine said. “I have been conversing with Mr. Gentry, a very reputable fellow, and he happened to express a great interest in trying his hand against Miss Farnsworth at piquet. He is intrigued that the lady should have beat Lord Ashworth on two occasions and wishes to try his skill against such a formidable opponent. I was pleased to inform him that you did occasionally come here of an evening. I cannot claim to know his skill, but as dear Mrs. Hemming did warn me of Miss Farnsworth’s skill…”

  “Why does he not play Lord Ashworth if he is wishing to test his skill?” Mrs. Hemming asked.

  Mr. Shine rubbed his hands together in an unpleasant fashion and said in a low voice, “As it happens, Lord Ashworth does not favor the fellow. Calls him a blowhard who does too much talking over his cards.”

  “Oh, Aunt,” Lily said. “May I? I am certain he is a great fool who only wishes to brag to his friends that he has defeated me where Lord Ashworth could not. I should very much like to take him down a peg and take him down a few guineas.”

  “I would be pleased to watch over Miss Farnsworth,” Mrs. Melton said. Though, to Lily, her tone sounded more along the lines of—I would be pleased to knock Mr. Gentry about the head if he does the least thing untoward.

&nb
sp; “Quite kind, Mrs. Melton,” Mrs. Hemming said, “but I shan’t play whist this evening. I will stay by Lily myself.”

  Mrs. Melton nodded, but looked rather dubious. Lily guessed the lady only thought herself a suitable chaperone.

  Lady Carradine swept up to their little group. “Mrs. Hemming, Miss Farnsworth, lovely to see you here tonight.”

  Mrs. Hemming laid a hand on Lady Carradine’s arm. “Can you tell me of Mr. Gentry and what do you think of him?”

  “Oh, he is just there, in the blue coat.”

  Lily looked at the gentleman with interest. He was not in the first bloom of youth, though his clothes might beg to differ. He had stuffed himself into far too tight breeches and his neckcloth sought to do battle in height with every young fop in town. Most amusingly, he scanned the room with an ornate quizzing glass, as if he were Brummel, himself.

  Lady Carradine followed Lily’s gaze and said, “He’s a fine enough fellow, if somewhat silly. Though, Mrs. Hemming, I am afraid I am almost certain he does not favor whist. If he does, I could not vouch for what sort of partner he’d be.”

  “No, Lady Carradine,” Lily said. “I believe he wishes to play against me at piquet, though we have not been introduced. Do you think it should be all right?”

  Lady Carradine said, “Certainly. I’ve known Mr. Gentry for quite some time, though he has been out of town for these past two years. He is a bit puffed up for my taste, but I can say he is in no danger of defaulting on you—he always pays his debts.”

  Mr. Shine appeared to take this as a ringing endorsement and set out to fetch Mr. Gentry. Mrs. Hemming nodded and said, “I depend upon you, Lady Carradine.”

  Mr. Gentry, for his part, seemed nearly overcome as he spoke to Mr. Shine. He hurried over in what Lily could only call mincing steps.

  After they had been suitably introduced, and Mr. Gentry had several times said it was an honor, he led Lily to an open table while Mrs. Hemming trailed behind.

  As Lily sat down, she noted Lord Ashworth note her. He quickly averted his eyes, but she smiled to herself. The young gentleman he played picked up the trick and she had a notion that she had momentarily discomposed the great Lord Ashworth.

  Mr. Gentry declared he thought they ought to play for fifty pounds. Had Lily not played for such a vast sum at Lady Montague’s, she might have quaked at hearing the number. But then, she’d already had the experience of high play and was less alarmed by it. She also thought she had a very good chance of winning. She usually did have a good chance of winning, and this gentleman did not look to be much of a challenge. If he were a challenge, he played a very deep game indeed.

  She nodded in acquiescence.

  Mr. Gentry appeared to consider this a victory of sorts and then foolishly claimed the right to deal. Lily dismissed Lord Ashworth from her thoughts and turned her attention to the play.

  As the game went on, Lily became more and more certain that Mr. Gentry was a buffoon. He did not seem to have any kind of strategy, at least not that she could discern. His expressions gave him away at every turn, his squint here and bitten lip there and scrunched up nose toward the end of every play telling the tale well enough. He was like a child denying he’d stolen a cake while his face was covered in crumbs. His hands nearly quaked when he held low cards. She suspected piquet was not even his favored game, but he’d held out some sort of hope that the cards would all go his way and he might squeak out a victory against Miss Farnsworth. It was an entirely ridiculous hope.

  Lily might have felt sorry for the gentleman, but he was proving himself to be a terrific braggart. Apparently, he wished her to know of any and all gambling experiences he’d had, where he’d come out on the winning side. She supposed she should be grateful that he confined himself to tales of winning, as she suspected his tales of losing would go on a good deal longer.

  “I once won five hundred pounds in one evening at faro,” he said, watching another of his cards slide away from him.

  “Course,” he went on, “I am most proud of the night at White’s, when Sir Luther and I partnered at whist and defeated Lord Mallon and Lord Edgewater.” Mr. Gentry looked over her head at some far-off vista, as if he were recalling to mind the scene of his victory. “To the tune of four hundred pounds,” he said. “It is recorded. In the book. For posterity.”

  “That must have been very gratifying, Mr. Gentry,” Lily said, hardly attending to her own words. Her attention was on her cards. She was, however, forced to admit that Lord Ashworth’s opinion of the gentleman was correct—he was a blowhard who talked far too much. Mrs. Hemming’s rambling speeches had a charm to them. Mr. Gentry’s were simply irritating.

  “And then of course,” Mr. Gentry went on, “you have heard the tale of my extraordinary run of luck at White’s hazard table?”

  “I am afraid not,” Lily said.

  Mr. Gentry looked hopefully at Mrs. Hemming. She shrugged.

  “Well, I suppose it is only still spoken of amongst gentlemen,” Mr. Gentry said. “Of course that would be it. I can tell you, it was quite the scene. Unforgettable if you ask me.”

  Lily laid down her last card. An ace of hearts against Mr. Gentry’s nine of clubs. “That is one hundred points, Mr. Gentry,” Lily said.

  Mr. Gentry seemed entirely nonplussed to see that they had reached the end of the game.

  Mrs. Hemming stifled a yawn, though she looked pleased that Lily had dispatched Mr. Gentry so handily.

  “I must have a rematch, Miss Farnsworth!” Mr. Gentry said with some feeling. “I see how you play now and am prepared to take myself to victory.”

  Lily was vastly amused and would not mind at all to relieve Mr. Gentry of another fifty pounds. However, she could see that her aunt was tired.

  “I must decline, Mr. Gentry. My aunt will wish to go home by now.”

  “Indeed, my dear,” Mrs. Hemming said. “I am exhausted.”

  “It cannot be!” Mr. Gentry exclaimed. “Lady Carradine,” he called, “do come over.”

  Lady Carradine, always alarmed when a person called her over with such urgency, hurried to the table.

  “There is no problem here?” she said hopefully.

  “I am distraught, Lady Carradine,” Mr. Gentry said. “Miss Farnsworth refuses a rematch on account of Mrs. Hemming wishing to retire. Surely, there must be a solution. I must have my chance.”

  Mr. Shine had slid over to their table. He reminded Lily of a garden snake, weaving its way around the shrubbery.

  “Certainly, there must be, my dear Mr. Gentry,” Mr. Shine said smoothly. “Nothing easier. If Mrs. Hemming were to return to her house in their carriage, the carriage could then be sent back and Miss Farnsworth could return safely at her leisure. Mrs. Melton is here to watch over her.”

  “I must intervene on that point, Mr. Shine,” Lady Carradine said. “Mrs. Melton was looking a bit peaked and I have sent her home.”

  “You, then,” Mr. Shine said smoothly to Lady Carradine. “You could watch over Miss Farnsworth. Nothing more respectable and it would have the further benefit of allowing Miss Farnsworth to view the upcoming game of the evening. Lord Ashworth has agreed to play me when he is done with young Medham over there.”

  Lily could hardly suppress her mirth. Mr. Gentry would insist on his right to lose another fifty pounds and Mr. Shine had somehow the lunacy of playing Lord Ashworth. Mr. Shine, as she well knew, was no expert. While she might be able to prevail over Lord Ashworth, he had no chance whatsoever.

  “You are to know, Miss Farnsworth,” Mr. Shine said with a hint of pride in his voice, “that I have become a great student of the game and am vastly improved. I would consent to match with you, if you dared. Though, I bet rather high.”

  “Indeed,” Lily said, pressing her lips together to stop her laughter. It seemed now there were two gentlemen lined up to throw her their money. She might make a very tidy profit before the night was through. She turned to Mrs. Hemming and said, “Oh, Aunt, might we arrange it?”

 
Mrs. Hemming squinted her eyes, as she did when she was deep in thought. “Well,” she said slowly, “if Lady Carradine were to take charge of you as a chaperone and stay nearby, I might send the carriage back with the addition of two footmen and Pips. You already have two grooms and the coachman—I suppose five men and a lady’s maid could not be safer. In truth, I would put Pips up against the five men in both spirit and ferocity, once I apprise her of the scheme. But then, I rarely inconvenience the woman so I dare say she might lump it for once.”

  Lily had followed her aunt’s calculations closely. “Then I shall stay?” she asked hopefully.

  “Oh, do say so!” Mr. Gentry cried.

  Mrs. Hemming looked to Lady Carradine. Lady Carradine appeared to waver, then she said, “Of course, if you wish it.”

  Mrs. Hemming said, “It appears all arranged. But mind, do not stay too late. I will have Pips here by two.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” Lily said, enormously pleased.

  Mrs. Hemming appeared satisfied and kissed her niece’s cheek. She was escorted to the carriage by Lady Carradine, and Lily picked up the pack and dealt the cards.

  Chapter Nine

  Lily and Mr. Gentry had, for the most part, been left to their game. Lady Carradine came by from time to time, but she appeared to deem the gentleman not a particular threat to any young lady’s virtue. Lily thought that wise—it was not likely his conversation or his person would conquer anybody, nor did he have the daring of a rake.

  Most others in the room had drifted over to Lord Ashworth and Mr. Shine’s game.

  Mr. Gentry had long since given up recounting his various wins at various tables. Lily could not be certain if that was because he’d run out of them, or whether he was cognizant that he was on the verge of losing another fifty pounds.

  Whether or not he knew it, Lily knew it. She’d sunk a triplet of kings and was just playing them as her last cards, well aware that Mr. Gentry could not beat them.

  As she took one trick, then two, then the final, the sink seemed to dawn on Mr. Gentry. He laid down his last card, the ten of spades, and sighed deeply. “That’s it, then,” he said quietly.