It was true that he and his friends had lost Hampton, and now Lockwood despite their best efforts, to the state of matrimony. But that still left himself, Dalton, Cabot and Grayson. They would hold the line and when their funds were cut off, his winnings coupled with Dalton’s house would keep them afloat. If it came to it, his mother could live with only one carriage, his sister could make do with what she had in her wardrobe, his brother could survive with only one horse, and his father could drink his last bottle of champagne before Hayes Summersby would be pushed into a marriage he did not seek. When the estates were on solid ground, and when it was the right lady, he would not need to be pushed. He would chain himself happily enough.
But not until then.
*
Lily Farnsworth musedover the array of dresses strewn about her bedchamber. Never had this particular room been so graced with all manner of fine things. More usually, she might find herself examining a year-old garment and contemplating how she might spruce it up to look like new. Or, at least not horribly old.
The fine clothes almost inspired a sort of nervousness, an idea that they could not be afforded, though she did not owe a bill. All her life had been a series of calculations, what could be had and what could not, and it felt very foreign to find herself in the midst of such abundance.
The clothes had begun arriving after she’d sent a letter to her childhood friend Cassandra Knightsbridge, now to be known as Lady Hampton. She’d written Cassandra that she’d scraped together enough money for a season and would come in a month. Her father had no need of renting a house, Lily would stay with her aunt, Mrs. Amelia Hemming. Though the lady did not live at a particularly fashionable address, it was respectable enough. Lily had marshalled together the funds for theater tickets, a rented carriage to carry her about, a sum to compensate her aunt for the increased expenses of a houseguest, and perhaps even the means to host one dinner party, though not an elaborate affair. She’d used all her wits and skills to create a barely credible wardrobe, comprised of her old dresses reworked, reclaimed fabric from the attics, and a judiciously small amount of new material. Nobody, she cheerfully assured herself, would guess that the blue velvet spencer had once been curtains. The end result of all her labor was the bare minimum, but it was just enough as long as nobody was looking too closely.
Lily had hoped, by telling Cassandra of her arrival, that her friend might provide some few introductions. She did not aim for the moon, but she doubted her aunt knew the sort of people who might throw a fashionable ball. She suspected Mrs. Hemming of maintaining a small circle of friends her own age who preferred tea and whist to dancing or routs.
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 herselfdidhave 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 whoweresadly 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 brandyfor the gentlemen gathered round Lord Dalton’s table in the library. Since theLockwood 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.”
