The Lord’s Desperate Pledge Read online

  Dear Cassandra had done more than vow to take Lily in hand and introduce her round the town. Lady Hampton had sent a dressmaker with instructions to fit her out with ten splendid gowns made of the finest materials. There were silks and velvets and satins, and a particularly fine muslin intricately embroidered with gold thread. There had also been an order for several day dresses and a lovely traveling cloak of ruby merino wool trimmed in fox.

  Unbeknownst to Lily, Cassandra had gathered her measurements from the returning modiste and set about writing of her situation to the Marchioness of Lockwood, known to Lily through Cassandra’s letters as the former Lady Sybil Hayworth. The Marchioness had taken those measurements and had made more day dresses, spencers, and a velvet riding habit. Then, somehow, Lady Lockwood told a certain Miss Penny Darlington, a lady entirely unknown to Lily, who had sent a carriage-full of accoutrements. There were nine pairs of kid gloves, a basketful of ribbons, silk stockings, five wraps of various materials, an elegant fur tippet, three parasols of different patterns, and four charming bonnets.

  Another sort of lady might have worried that she’d somehow become a cause, a charity case pitied by those in more comfortable situations. Lily did not see it that way. In her view, a network of amiable ladies in possession of an ever-flowing fountain of pin money had seen another lady in need and ridden to the rescue. They had determined that one of their own would not arrive in London unprepared. In doing so, they had rid Lily of one of her worst fears—that great personages might raise their quizzing glasses and note the shabbiness of her refurbished wardrobe. That those elites might guess the truth of her family’s circumstances.

  Her dear father had spent a lifetime dragging their estate from the brink of ruin. He’d made sure her dowry was suitable, but just. No fortune hunter would eye Miss Farnsworth with any sort of satisfaction. Other than a respectable dowry, there was little money for new clothes of any sort.

  Still, Lily had been determined to go to London for a season. She had looked around her little corner of Surrey and found the gentlemen wanting, ranging from gangly to insipid to irritating. Further, she would be able to do little for her sisters if she married some local gentry. Marigold and Rose did not yet even have dowries and though it had never been said, Lily felt her father depended upon her to marry well and somehow provide. She must not let them down.

  Lily bit her lip as she examined the finery given to her. None of those generous ladies could be in the least aware of how she’d scraped together the money to install herself in London for the season. She wondered if they would condemn her over it. While her father had no means to fund her, it turned out Lily herself did have the means. She had a particular skill at cards.

  She’d spent the past year practicing that skill at a tidy profit. It had taken some doing, not the least of which had been convincing her mama and papa that it was the only practical solution. After she’d realized the potential value of her unique skill, she need only devise opportunities to use it.

  Lily had, during this time, claimed an injury to her leg that made dancing impossible. She would arrive to an assembly with a slight limp, look helplessly about, and then make her way to the card room. She would not wear any of these new dresses to those outings, it would not be well to appear too prosperous. She donned one of her old, refurbished dresses and sat herself down of an evening. Most of local Surrey society appeared to pity her condition and find some solace in the idea that she was at least able to enjoy cards, while they graciously handed over their money.

  Oh, she did enjoy cards! While she had struggled through her studies in the schoolroom, it seemed not the least trouble to remember which cards had been played and which had not. They arranged themselves in her mind like so many paintings, with gaps for those cards still in a pile or in another player’s hands. She might have found it impossible to explain to her old tutor which English King took the throne at what date, but it was the simplest of matters to calculate the likely location of the king of hearts.

  One was text and the other was picture—pictures formed in her mind like some kind of magic, while memorizing text was impossible, her mind a veritable sieve. Cards seemed as old friends that she’d known all her life. The cards spoke to her, and sometimes the backs even told her things. There might be the tiniest of variations in the design—a minute drop of ink or the smallest smudge. There might be a slight bend of a corner and she would know it was the nine of clubs. Over the course of an evening, it would prove handy to recall that the back of the ten of hearts had the smallest deviation.

  Piquet was her particular game of choice. The thirty-two cards arrayed themselves in her thoughts, very helpfully providing their various locations—in her own hand, played, on the table, or in her opponent’s hand. Once she and her opponent had declared, she was able to make reasonable guesses at what her foe held. Piquet had the further benefit of being a game with only two players. Aside from her skill at cards, Lily also claimed a skill at faces and more importantly—hands. A skilled player might become adept at concealing various expressions, but they always forgot about their hands. A person holding strong cards moved smoothly and confidently. A person unsure of their hand moved ever so slightly less so and would often re-check their cards. The signals came to her as clear as daylight—she had a knack for detecting patterns.

  Further, she could not bear to play with a partner. There was nothing worse than being saddled with an incompetent at a whist table. Unfortunately, there were far too many people sitting themselves down for whist who were sadly incompetent.

  The money had been slowly collected, pound by pound and guinea by guinea. Now, all of this finery sent from three generous ladies must be packed and readied. She would leave for London in the morning. Thanks to Cassandra and her friends, Lily Farnsworth would arrive for her season appearing just as prosperous as any other young lady.

  *

  Bellamy poured brandy for the gentlemen gathered round Lord Dalton’s table in the library. Since the Lockwood Affair, as the butler had taken to thinking of it, his master had been in high dudgeon. Fortunately, that high dudgeon had not in the least affected how the house was run. He and his footmen remained free with the lord’s wine and must only be careful not to appear too cheerful in the face of their lord’s wrath. At this moment, Bellamy adopted an expression that was suitably grave.

  “I still cannot fathom how we lost Lockwood,” Lord Cabot said, throwing back his brandy.

  “We were hours from victory, then old Lord Blanding decides to start a fire and nearly get himself killed,” Hayes said.

  “I wish the old devil had found the decency to perish,” Lord Grayson said. “If Lady Sybil was to wear the black bombazine, it would have bought us a good six months to knock some sense into Lockwood.”

  Lord Dalton, appearing to see no use in going over old ground said, “Blanding did not have the decency to kick off and Lockwood was the hero of the hour, launching himself into the flames to pull the old boy out. What’s done is done.”

  Lord Grayson used his forefinger to move his glass, a signal that Bellamy ought to refill it. As the butler did so, the lord said, “I suppose Lockwood appeared a regular knight in shining armor. Rescuing the lady’s father could hardly have been more providential, surprise though it was to us.”

  Lord Dalton looked suspiciously round at his friends. “As we were all surprised to lose Lockwood, is there anybody here who might deliver a similar surprise? Any flirtation that might grow out of hand?”

  “Certainly not,” Hayes said. “I’ve not encountered a single female I could countenance for a fortnight of close quarters, much less a lifetime.”

  “Nor I,” Lord Grayson said. “My flirtations are many, but they never go too far. I am very particular to say nothing that might be construed as a declaration.”

  “As careful not to declare yourself as you may be,” Lord Cabot said, “various mamas are beginning to complain. It is said that you led on Miss Mayfield most unmercifully last season and
Mrs. Mayfield has declared you a rogue.”

  “Miss Mayfield was a delightful diversion, I was quite taken by her,” Lord Grayson said.

  “Until you weren’t,” Hayes said.

  “Just so,” Lord Grayson said. “I fear I should never encounter a lady who can hold my feelings in the palm of her hand for more than a few months. A curse, but there you have it. Anyway, what about you, Cabot? Precisely how many times did you dance with Miss Darlington last season?”

  “Bah,” Lord Cabot said dismissively, “we all danced with Miss Darlington, she is a pleasant lady.”

  “See that she stays only pleasant,” Lord Dalton said darkly.

  Hayes folded his arms. “And you Dalton? Are you in any danger?”

  There was a long pause before the gentlemen round the table erupted in laughter. Even Bellamy was hard pressed to keep his expression somber. The last man on earth who would be in any danger from female wiles was the scarred Charles Battersea, Earl of Dalton.

  *

  Lily’s aunt, Mrs. Amelia Hemming, lived in a tidy house on Cork Street. The residence had the advantage of being so nearby more elegant addresses that it often prompted the lady to refer to it as just off Berkeley Square. The house was not overlarge by anybody’s standards, but everything needed was neatly done. There was a suitable drawing room where one might receive callers, a dining room where twenty might be seated, a cheery though rather compact breakfast room, and even a snug library, though it contained more furnishings than books.

  Above stairs, the bedchambers were on the small side of things, though Lily’s aunt had been clever in avoiding oversized furnishings that might overwhelm the space they were given. Lily did not care two figs for a room any larger than the one she found herself in—it had a charming bedstead of wrought iron, a small fireplace enameled in a lively yellow and green diamond pattern, an overstuffed chintz chair, a slender and elegant writing desk, a large wardrobe, and a lovely view of the tidy rows of the kitchen garden.

  Her aunt’s lady’s maid, Pips, had unpacked her trunks and helped her out of her traveling clothes. Lily had told the maid she was perfectly able to dress herself, as she had been in the habit of it all her life. Pips had not been daunted or put off and had muttered something about backward country ways. Lily had no choice but to let the maid carry on with it in all good humor.

  Now, Lily hurried down the stairs to the drawing room to join her aunt.

  Mrs. Hemming’s butler, Ranier, was just bringing in the tea. He was one of those individuals that Lily thought of as “grumpy-faced.” His jowls hung over his starched neckcloth, pulling his mouth down into a decided frown. She knew better than to think his depressing visage was any kind of representation of his spirit, as she had known him since she was a little girl. Beneath that grim exterior was a kindly man who highly approved of everything she did, even if it would not have struck anybody else as noteworthy. She fondly remembered being six or seven and favoring him with drawings of her puppy which she was now certain had verged on unrecognizable. Lily had been enormously pleased when he’d exclaimed that Holbein himself could not have done better. That Ranier had been the only person who had ever said anything nice about her rather mediocre drawing skills had further cemented him in her affections.

  Now, he gave her the slightest of nods to indicate his approval of her current circumstances.

  Her aunt sat on the sofa in front of a charming pink marble table. Mrs. Hemming was on the short and stout side, her cheerful round face and pink cheeks crowned with an elaborate pile of graying hair held in place with jeweled combs. She said, “There you are, Lily, come and sit by me and refresh yourself after your journey. Though, I suppose it was not a particularly long journey, and here I am speaking of it as if you had just arrived from the Americas. In any event, coming from near or far, you must wish for tea. Everybody does, I suppose.”

  Lily smiled. It was one of Mrs. Hemming’s idiosyncrasies that the lady spoke all her thoughts as they arrived, no matter how willy-nilly they composed themselves. She sat by her aunt and clasped her hands. “It was so kind of you to allow me to come, Aunt. I could not be more grateful.”

  “Bah,” Mrs. Hemming said. “Why should I not? Of course, there is always money to think of and I do not have all that much to think about as a general thing, though sometimes I have more. But here you are and somehow your father has come up with the sum. How did he do it, I wonder?”

  Lily could feel her cheeks tinge pink. She had debated what she should tell her aunt about how the trip was afforded. In the end, she’d decided honesty was called for. Though, perhaps vague honesty would be best.

  “We were fortunate to come into some funds that were not anticipated,” Lily said.

  “Did you?” her Aunt said, pouring the tea. “Funds not anticipated sounds delightful. I should like to know about that! What a pleasant idea—one is just going along as usual and then suddenly somebody gives them some money. Who was it, dear?”

  Lily had somehow forgotten how inquisitive her aunt could be. While others might take the answer at its face and comprehend that the speaker wished to say no more about it, Amelia Hemming would take in no such hint.

  Lily took her teacup and set it down on the marble tabletop. “Aunt,” she said slowly, “as you know, my father has had a time of it bringing the estate back to what it once was.”

  Amelia waved her hands, “No need to be nice about it, your grandfather was a reprobate and nearly ruined us all. It was a blessing he got on his horse that day, drunk as a sailor, and returned in a wood box. I know I should have been very sorry to have seen him returned to us thus, but in fact I was delighted. We all were. He was a beast to our mother, cruel to his children, and careless of the estate—we did not miss him for a moment.”

  Lily pressed her lips together. Of course she was aware that her grandfather had ridden out rather the worse for wear and it had ended with a broken neck, but she had never heard it described in such terms. “Indeed,” she said. “And so you know that my dear father could not have spared—”

  “Yes! And now we come to the unanticipated funds. Do go on, dear.”

  “Well, it seems I’m rather good, as it happens, I find I have a penchant for—”

  “Yes?”

  “Cards, Aunt. I’m rather good at cards. I won the money. I’ve been gambling for the past year.”

  Chapter Two

  Lily had supposed the idea that she had gambled for the money to afford a season would shock, but Mrs. Hemming only clapped her hands. “Gambling! Now that is something to think of. Of course, I should only consider taking you to whatever little parties I can wrangle an invitation to. Of course I should. After all, one never knows who one shall meet here and there, which causes an invitation elsewhere and so on. That is precisely the sort of thing I should do. On the other hand, is it likely that we should be engaged every evening of the week? That, I cannot say with any certainty, but I rather think not.”

  Lily had tried her best to follow her aunt’s mode of expression, but she could not be sure what the lady was debating with herself.

  “And then,” Amelia went on, “the place is so very respectable. Everybody says so. Nothing untoward could go on under the watchful eye of those matrons that mill about the place. The membership is everything one might wish for. Even those awful cakes advertise it as respectable—only last week, Lady Edith claimed they were drier even than Almack’s.”

  Seeming to have come to a conclusion, Mrs. Hemming turned and faced her niece. “I suppose your father knows of your gambling?”

  Lily nodded. “He was not enthusiastic about it, but I was able to convince him that coming to London was the best chance for all of us and the only way to get here was through a card table.”

  Amelia nodded. “Yes, of course, George is levelheaded like that. If one can present an argument logically, he’s likely to be won over. He ever was practical as a boy.”

  “Aunt,” Lily said, “do tell me what you think of. What pla
ce? What matrons? What dry cakes?”

  Amelia set her cup down and said, “I think of my friend Lady Carradine. She is a charming woman who happens to preside over a charming club. There are musical evenings and sometimes the ladies form a reading circle. Those of us that stayed in town even knitted for the poor one Christmas season.”

  “Oh,” Lily said, rather nonplussed. Her aunt’s mind seemed to be more wandering than usual.

  Mrs. Hemming pointed to a handsome secretaire at the far end of the room. “See that? I purchased it with winnings, it is a Hepplewhite. Very fine.”

  “Winnings?” Lily asked. “From the musical evenings or the reading club?”

  “Oh, neither,” Mrs. Hemming said. “The musical evenings and reading circles are all well and good, but the real fun is the gambling. In truth, I cannot think that anybody has joined for any other reason.”

  The last thing Lily had expected her aunt to do was own to gambling. She’d been under the impression that the lady’s funds were not unlimited.

  “Ah, I see you wonder at it. Well, it is like this—years ago your father and I both inherited some money from a cousin. Unexpected funds, just as you were saying. It was three hundred pounds each and I am certain your father plowed his share back into the estate. As for myself, I thought, well I might spend it in drips on butter and flour and meat, or I might hold it back in a special fund. That’s what I’ve done, I’ve used it to gamble and once it’s gone, that’s the end of it. But wouldn’t you know, after all these years, it’s not gone. It was only slowly creeping up until Lady Carradine opened her club five years ago. Now, I currently have four hundred and eighty pounds. Goodness, half the furniture in this house has come from that little pile. The bon ton all crow about their four percents, but I believe I’ve done rather better. If one were to add up all the furnishings.”

  Lily sat back, both surprised and amused. She would not have guessed for the world that her aunt had a gambler’s spirit. “So, it is a gambling club that admits ladies?” she asked, having no inkling that such a thing existed.