“He is, rather,” Lord Cabot said. “But, out with it—how did it happen?”
“I hardly know,” Hayes said.
“Luck,” Cabot said, shaking his head. “One never knows who she will favor. Except to know she usually turns her back onmeat a table. I’ve only luck with my horses.”
Hayes would very much like to imagine it was luck that was on Miss Farnsworth’s side, he would very much like it if everybody else thought so too. He did not, however, believe it.
“I am afraid it was something more than luck,” he said.
“Well, evenyoumight have a bad night I suppose. Simmons says she’s a pretty thing, I reckon you were distracted.”
“I do not get distracted while playing cards,” Hayes said.
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 Carradinewas 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?
Shehadnursed 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 menandwomen.
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 theton. 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.
