While many members of thetonwent to private parties to socialize and dance, Lady Linton only attended if there were tables at which she could play and gamble.
She was also a cheat.
“I thought she’d promised she wouldn’t do it anymore. Not after the ugly fallout I had to deal with following the Duchess of Bedford’s midwinter ball,” replied Bridget.
“Yes, well, old habits appear to die hard,” said Tristan.
She had still been in mourning at the time, so Bridget had fortunately been spared having to witness the embarrassing sight of two lifelong friends exchanging harsh words through the open windows of their respective carriages.
The last thing Bridget needed as she stood on the cusp of reentering society was to yet again be having to smooth over the wounded pride of another of her mother’s friends.
“Who is it this time?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I received a letter early yesterday. It was signed only with an initial,” replied Tristan.
He dipped his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a piece of paper before handing it to Bridget. She unfolded it, her heart sinking as she took in the cold, hard words.
Lady Linton,
On several occasions of late, you have been seen miscounting your hand while playing at the cribbage tables. While the odd arithmetical error can be excused, your ongoing inability to correctly announce your score cannot, however, be tolerated.
It is time to pay for your sins.
You have until the end of the month to hand over the sum of 2,000 guineas or the full details of your dishonest ways will be printed in every newspaper in London.
In the meantime, you will place an advertisement inThe Timesnoting your acknowledgement of this letter, after which you will receive further instructions.
You should, of course, keep this matter private. If not, I will make my accusations public.
Lady Linton, the choice is yours—your husband’s purse or the ruin of your family.
N.
Bridget quietly folded the letter and handed it back to Tristan. For a moment, she feared she might faint. “Who the devil is ‘N?’”
“Believe me when I say I lay awake all last night racking my brains as to who it could be, but I have no idea. I expect ‘N’ is just a nom de plume.”
Two thousand guineas. And I was worried about the cost of heating.
Tristan took a hold of Bridget’s hand. “I know it is only ten o’clock in the morning, but I would kill for a brandy.”
Her gaze went to the nearby sideboard. One of Rupert’s bottles of expensive French brandy sat unopened on the top. Imbibing at this hour was not the proper thing in polite society, but then again, Bridget doubted that Fordyce’sSermons to Young Womenhad a passage on how one should conduct oneself upon receiving a blackmail letter.
Tristan released his hold on her, and Bridget went to fetch him a drink.
She had just poured him a generous glass, when he cleared his throat. “You might want to pour yourself one too. Mama is waiting outside the door. She wanted me to tell you first before you saw her. That is why your butler did not announce our arrival.”
“Oh,” Bridget sighed.
She could understand Tristan’s way of thinking. A stiff drink might well be the lesser of two evils. The other being to go and seize her mother by the shoulders and try to shake some sense into her.
Bridget’s hand was trembling as she set down the bottle of brandy. No, she wouldn’t succumb to either temptation. “Have your drink. I will fetch Mama.” Bridget unlocked the door and flung it open.
Any notions of yelling at her mother vanished as soon as her gaze settled on the countess. Lady Linton’s tear-streaked face and reddened eyes melted Bridget’s heart in an instant.
“I have been so very naughty again. I’m sorry, darling,” whispered Lady Linton. The countess rushed past her and into the room.
Gritting her teeth, Bridget followed, closing the door behind them.
