The Lord’s Desperate Pledge Page 6

  Lord Cabot shrugged. “Jolly good story, though. The young lady launches her season by burying the great and terrible Lord Ashworth at cards.”

  “Wonderful,” Hayes said softly.

  Chapter Four

  Lady Judith Carradine was doing her level best to enjoy the bright sun just now coming through the windows of her breakfast room. It had often been an enjoyment, though everything had seemed to lose its luster upon Mr. Shine’s arrival to the house.

  She had thought it impossible that anybody would have discovered her secret—ten years prior, an obscure family with a title but no money emigrates to America. Five years prior, the lot of them die of yellow fever. The sole survivor, the lady’s maid, takes on the identity of her mistress and uses the families’ funds to come back to England as an unfortunate widow.

  The family she’d served had lived on a lonely farm and knew so few people. How was anybody to discover that she was in fact Nancy Manton, the lady’s maid who had traveled with the family, and that the real Lady Judith Carradine had perished alongside her husband and children? Further, what was so wrong with it, really?

  She had nursed the entire family at great risk to her person, though none of them could be saved. When the fever hit, the servants and the hands on the farm all disappeared into the night shadows to get away from it. She’d been left on her own and worn herself thin digging the graves. Then, she’d contracted the disease herself and suffered alone with nobody to care for her.

  Slowly recovering, she had developed her plan. The servants began to drift back, finding only she had survived. When she was well enough, she dismissed them all, claiming she’d been directed to do so by Lord Carradine’s heir. She was bold enough to say it as she knew from Lady Carradine herself that the real heir was some fellow in Yorkshire who was entirely unknown to them. As far as the family knew, the connection was so remote that fellow did not even know he was the heir. In any case, there was no English estate to inherit. Further, she and Lady Carradine were not that far off in looks—both blessed with nondescript brown hair, brown eyes and of a medium height.

  Once the old hands were got rid of, she promptly hired new staff. Those recently arrived hands knew her only as Lady Carradine. Why should they not? She’d installed herself into the lady’s bedchamber, taken over her wardrobe, and donned the best black gown. It had been easy enough to explain that all the prior servants were dead of the fever. It was a circumstance happening everywhere.

  Once she had firmly established herself, she made a trip to the nearest large town, far enough that the real Lady Carradine would be unknown to its residents. She had once cursed the very remoteness of the Carradine’s property, but now it became a blessing. Nobody in these parts had the first idea of what Lady Carradine had ever looked like. She’d ordered headstones made for the graves, Lady Carradine’s own bearing the name Nancy Manton. She’d presented the master’s will and herself as the master’s widow, made arrangements for the livestock and the land to be sold, and booked passage home.

  The Carradine’s homestead had filled her pockets somewhat, but not enough that she might retire to a life of leisure. It was on the ship home that she’d come upon the idea of a gambling establishment. To her surprise, it had been the ladies who were the most vociferous, sitting at table long into the night. One particular lady explained their enthusiasm when she mentioned that it was unfair that, save for a ball, there were precious little chances for women to test their skill. Ever ready to spot an opportunity, Nancy became determined to open a club that would welcome men and women.

  The club would cater to a genteel crowd, as those gentle souls tended to walk the earth with deep pockets. It would be a welcoming atmosphere for ladies, at least, ladies who dared—she had seen on the ship how much money they had at their disposal. She would personally provide the aura of respectability needed to lure in well-born ladies. Tea would be served and men not acting the gentleman would be ejected speedily. She would employ the sorts of women who might otherwise work as a governess or companion—middle-aged spinsters who would act as chaperones if a single lady wished to play a gentleman. She would run it as if it were her own house and she merely entertained guests.

  Word would get around, it always did, and those ladies interested in more than a few shillings wager would make their way to her. It would be the Almack’s of gambling. She would charge a membership fee of a pound a month. It had all gone smoothly and now her current members were providing her with nearly fifteen hundred pounds income yearly.

  That she was a titled lady had cloaked the club in respectability. Nancy had been fairly certain she could succeed in her impersonation. She’d spent years closely watching and then imitating her lady’s every manner and phrasing. On the occasion that she stumbled on something, she blamed it on her years in America. She resembled her old mistress enough that should she encounter a person who had known her before she left for America, she thought she might carry it off. Though, she did not fear the prospect overmuch—the lady was raised in some backwater in Cornwall and had never had a season. Over the course of five years, Nancy Manton had in fact become Lady Judith Carradine and her club had become known for its staid and respectable atmosphere.

  How Mr. Shine, recently of Baltimore, had discovered that she was the maid and not the lady, she knew not. The difficulty was, he did know it. And now he was insistent on posing as her cousin and becoming her business partner. Either that, he’d said, or he’d expose her.

  She did not know what was to be the end of it. How could she carry on with such a partner? He did not even seem at all acquainted with the rules of the ton. She did not know how she would proceed out of this mess, but she must at least stop him from destroying her list of loyal customers.

  Mr. Shine, himself, came jauntily into the breakfast room, having had the audacity of commandeering a bedchamber for himself and installing his person in her house.

  “Madam,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “Mr. Shine,” Lady Carradine said, in a tone that was more reminiscent of condemnation than welcome.

  “Blast it all, on your high horse so early in the morning?” he asked, laughing and taking a roll from the sideboard.

  “Sir,” she said, “I must insist you cease harassing my customers. Lord Ashworth was highly irritated last evening, with your pushing into conversation with him. I am only surprised you did not note it.”

  “Oh, I noted it,” Mr. Shine said, buttering his roll.

  “Then why did you go on with it?” Lady Carradine asked, as always perplexed by the workings of the odious man’s mind.

  “Because I have a plan for the great Lord Ashworth and his ilk,” Mr. Shine said.

  His tone sent a shiver down the spine of his breakfast companion. “I’m sure I do not understand—”

  “Never mind what you understand,” Mr. Shine said darkly. “Nancy.”

  *

  The knocks on the door seemed to come one after the other as Lily worked on a bit of sewing. First, there was the folded up ten-pound bank note. It was enclosed in fine paper bearing Lord Ashworth’s seal and accompanied by a polite and formal note congratulating her on her victory. She had stared long at his signature, as she thought how one wrote their own name must reveal something about their nature. His hand was direct and lacked any fancy flourishes, just as a man’s should be. That led to her contemplating his eyes. That led to her crumpling the note and throwing it toward the fire. That led to rescuing it from the fire, folding it up, and putting it in a book.

  Next came a note from Cassandra. She would leave for the country on the morrow and wished to see her friend before she went.

  Following, were a number of invitations. Lady Blakeley’s famed half-mask was among them, and Lily felt a wave of trepidation over it. She knew from Cassandra that the mask she would wear would come from Lady Blakeley herself, and be a comment upon her. The lady had been most kind to Cassandra last season and cast her as a fawn, Lily could only hope for the same sympa
thetic treatment.

  There were also invitations to various routs and dinners—Ranier brought them in as they arrived, wearing a look of pride and approval.

  To her surprise, there were invitations to both the Bergrams’ and the Hathaways’ balls. Lily was certain that was Cassandra’s doing—both of those balls would be a delightful first-rate crush. The Bergrams invited hundreds and the Hathaways always hosted a themed ball—she remembered reading somewhere that last year had been Russia.

  “Well, my dear,” her aunt said, examining the pile of invitations, “it seems we will be very much out and about. Though, we have nothing this evening and you do have that ten pounds from Lord Ashworth. Perhaps we might go to Lady Carradine’s. You might get the feel for the club if we just pop in for an hour and place very small bets. There are those who bet too high for the likes of us, but there are always a few who don’t mind keeping things comfortable.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea, Aunt,” Lily said. The thought of a gambling club filled her with a tingling sort of excitement.

  “Though I wonder if we might see Lord Ashworth there,” Mrs. Hemming murmured.

  Lily wondered the same thing, though she would not for the world say so. “I hardly think we should factor the lord’s whereabouts into where we choose to go,” Lily said.

  “Yes, I suppose that is right. Goodness, if I was always thinking of who I do not wish to see I should never go anywhere. Well then, we’ll go if you like, dear.”

  “I’d like it very much,” Lily said. “There will be other nights for balls and such. We surely should take advantage of an evening in which we are not engaged.”

  “Yes, my thoughts too. Now, about balls. You won’t mind if I make my way to a card table almost as soon as we enter the house? I like to have some choice of partner and if one wanders in too late, one runs the risk of spending the evening attempting to keep Lady Saffey’s attention on her cards. She is a dear creature, but her memory…she’s as old as Methuselah, so you can imagine.”

  Lily could not be certain of Lady Saffey’s memory, having not met the lady, but was sympathetic to her aunt’s wish to obtain a better partner for whist.

  “Perhaps Lady Saffey will not make an appearance so very often,” Lily said hopefully.

  “Oh, she will,” Mrs. Hemming said, nodding vigorously. “It’s her son, you see. He takes her everywhere. Mind, he does not have much choice. She lives with him and if he leaves her behind, she’s likely to slip out and go wandering. They say she once turned up at Brook’s in a nightdress, asking for a cup of brandy and berating the poor footman at the door for gambling away her dowry.”

  Before Lily could inquire what had been the result of Lady Saffey’s nocturnal adventure to a gentleman’s club, Ranier came in and announced Lady Hampton.

  “Ah, Cassandra, there you are,” Mrs. Hemming said. “I suppose you’ll want cakes or something sweet. I can see that you’ve grown fond of those sorts of things. Though, one might find that one had grown perhaps too fond of them.”

  Lily blushed for her aunt and said to Ranier, “If we might have tea?”

  Cassandra suppressed her laughter until the butler had closed the door behind him. “Dear Mrs. Hemming, my recent expansion is due to quite another cause. I am with child.”

  Mrs. Hemming laid down her sewing. “Are you? That is exceedingly welcome news. I had grown afraid you were running to fat. I did hint at it, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Cassandra said, laughing.

  Mrs. Hemming rose and said, “I will leave you two friends to talk on your own. Very nice to see you, Cassandra, and I am exceedingly relieved that you haven’t gone wild with fairy cakes.”

  With that interesting pronouncement, Lily’s aunt bustled from the room.

  “Oh, Cassandra…”

  “Do not oh Cassandra,” her friend said. “You know I find your aunt the most delightful lady.”

  “I must confess, I do too,” Lily said. “Though I sometimes wonder if everybody does.”

  Cassandra patted her hand. “I expect so. At least, the good humored of us do. Lady Blakeley was delighted with you both.”

  “She is very kind,” Lily said. “We received an invitation to her half-mask.”

  “I will be very sorry to miss it,” Cassandra said, “but I am off to the country on the morrow.”

  “So you have told Lord Hampton?”

  “I have, and the dear man is over the moon,” Cassandra said, “though he claims he guessed weeks ago. He barely consented to my making calls this morning and I overheard him telling Dreyfus to instruct the servants that everything is to be done quietly, lest the mistress be disturbed. I will be cossetted to distraction.”

  “How fortunate that he is so considerate!” Lily said.

  “He is a darling of a man,” Cassandra said, nodding. “Now, to you. I have not the slightest fear for you. I have only heard very complimentary notions about the idea that you defeated Lord Ashworth at cards. I suspect most people do not mind hearing that Lord Ashworth has been taken down a peg. He can be a touch arrogant on occasion.”

  “He most certainly can,” Lily said.

  “All that’s come of that silly wager is the gossips say you are pretty and clever.”

  “Well,” Lily said, “I cannot say if that is true, but I am grateful the talk is no worse.”

  “Never mind,” Cassandra said. “It was only a card game and it is not as if you plan on making a career of it.”

  Lily felt the slightest flush, as she had so recently conferred with her aunt about visiting Lady Carradine’s club. Though she did not think there was anything wrong about such a visit, she also did not feel inclined to mention it to Cassandra. She wondered if that meant it might not be perfectly right. After all, she should not be ashamed of anything she chose to do. And certainly, her aunt would not encourage her in anything to be ashamed about.

  Ranier brought in the tea and Lily ceased her wonderings about it. At least, for the time being.

  As Lily poured, Cassandra said, “Penny Darlington has arrived to town. She will call on you as soon as she is settled. You will find the lady fairly horse-mad, but a dear all the same. She’s already offered to drive me in her phaeton. My poor lord was prepared to rail against it, until I pointed out we need not decide, as we will be off on the morrow.”

  “She drives a phaeton!” Lily said.

  “Indeed, she does. It does not sit as tall as what one might see with a gentleman at the reins, though I’ve yet to see a fiercer tiger than one of Lord Mendbridge’s hanging off the back of it. Nobody really comments on it—her father is rather renowned as an expert on horses and so if he condones it, it must be right.”

  Lily was rather cheered by the notion. She did not suppose anybody would stay talking about her wager with Lord Ashworth while a lady driving a phaeton sailed by.

  “I shall be sorry to miss watching your season unfold, Lily,” Cassandra said, “though I shall also be happy to return to Derbyshire. You must write often and tell me everything.”

  “Of course, I will,” Lily said. “You never did tell me how you found Weston Hall. It must be a great change to be the mistress of your own house.”

  “Not so very much, as I always acted as such for my father and as it turned out my lord and I had quite a lot of help,” Cassandra said. “Edwin had not paid much attention to the estate and there were not many servants employed. While we were in Italy, the dear dowager and my aunt fell upon the place, hired servants, and marshalled them into order. It was quite arranged when we came home. Both will be there when we arrive, neither Lady Marksworth nor the dowager have any intention of missing the first grandchild to come on the scene. We shall be quite the party, as the dowager will have brought her dog and I am certain that fierce little Pomeranian will spare no effort to rule over our own Mayhem and Havoc.”

  “You will be surrounded by those that love you,” Lily said, wistfulness creeping into her voice.

  “So I shall,” Cas
sandra said, rising. “I ought to be off, the house is likely to be at sixes and sevens getting ready for our departure and I suspect my dear husband of hiding in his library to avoid the chaos. He is all energy when it comes to my own comfort, but Dreyfus will be left to struggle on alone.”

  Cassandra kissed Lily on the cheek. “Do enjoy yourself and write me every detail.” She shook a playful finger at her friend and said, “And no more gambling, if you please.”

  After Cassandra had taken her leave, Lily sat for some time considering her friend’s words. Perhaps, in light of the talk of her wagering against Lord Ashworth at Lady Blakeley’s dinner, it would not be wise to be seen in a club that was known for its gambling. At least, not so soon.

  Before she could come to any real conclusion on the matter, her aunt bustled into the drawing room, waving a card in her hand.

  “I’m afraid our little excursion to Lady Carradine’s is quite off, at least for this evening. I received a summons we dare not ignore.”

  “Goodness,” Lily said, “we are not ordered to Carlton House?”

  “That might be a deal more pleasant than where we are summoned,” her aunt said mysteriously.

  Lily waited with some trepidation. She was not accustomed to see her aunt ruffled, and ruffled she certainly was.

  Mrs. Hemming sat down with a huff. “Harriet Montague, of all people.”

  Lily started. That was not a name she would ever be likely to forget. “Is that… Lady Montague? The lady who caused Cassandra so much trouble?”

  “The very one,” Mrs. Hemming said nodding.

  “But why should she—”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. Further, why does an invitation for a party come so late? It is for this evening! It does not even specify the nature of the entertainment. And, I hardly dare call it an invitation. We are expected, is what she says. Well, I suppose we’d better eat before we go, I rather think if it were a dinner she might have said so.”

  “But surely, we need not attend,” Lily said, the idea of entering Lady Montague’s house feeling rather like contemplating entering a lion’s den. The woman had ruined Cassandra’s ball and drove her out of town with her scheming. “We might invent any sort of excuse.”