*
Hayes had justreturned to Berkeley Square from his meeting at Destin’s with Cabot. He’d thought to attend to some papers in his library before a dinner engagement with his aunt. As he pulled up to number forty, the footman jumped down and opened his door.
Seeing the remarkable scene thirty yards in front of him, Hayes waved the footman off and quietly closed the carriage door. Miss Farnsworth was talking to a wretchedly dirty street urchin, her maid looked on with disapproval, her footman appeared delighted, and Lady Jersey’s butler, Riddick, was waving a cudgel on the front steps.
He carefully opened his window so he might hear what was said. He assured himself that he had no particular wish to speak to Miss Farnsworth. On the other hand, if he must intervene as a gentleman, he would like to know what he was getting himself into.
After ten minutes of one of the most remarkable conversations he’d ever overheard, the boy raced to the servant’s entrance, Riddick slammed the front doors, and Miss Farnsworth walked on, appearing very pleased with herself.
He closed the curtain as she approached and let her pass by. The last he heard her say was, “You see, Pips, it has all come out well.”
After Miss Farnsworth was well away, Hayes motioned to his footman. “Go and ask Riddick, Lady Jersey’s butler, if he will be so kind as to wait upon me at his convenience. We have need of a stable boy and I fear Riddick is just now plotting how to rid himself of such a boy.”
*
Mrs. Hemming hadbeen alarmed at the state of Lily’s dress when she returned to the house, and then even more alarmed to hear the tale of the street urchin and Lady Jersey’s butler. She might not have been as alarmed as she was, had not Pips embellished the story to make it out as a battle for the ages ranging across the front steps of number thirty-eight. Lily’s aunt had fretted that Lady Jersey might be put out to hear that Miss Farnsworth had done battle with her butler.
Lily had quite rightly pointed out that it was highly unlikely Lady Jersey’s butler would ever mention where a tuppence a day was going.
Mrs. Hemming had been soothed by that idea and mused that for all she knew, Ranier had his own urchin coming to the back door. She could not say she was against it, though she wondered if that was what happened to the radishes every year. She’d blamed it on mice; her neighbor Mrs. Makefield blamed it on rats. But they may have both been fooled. Perhaps those radishes had been happily sliced up in St. Giles all along.
By the time they’d set out for Mrs. Millican’s dinner, Mrs. Hemming had entirely forgotten Lily’s street urchin in favor of her own imagined urchin lurking somewhere in the back garden. Whether or not she was right in that particular prediction, Mrs. Hemming had been quite right when she’d speculated that the dinner they attended would not run long. Their hostess did not favor cards. In truth, she was very much against them. All who knew the lady understood that her late husband had nearly ruined her with the habit and she did not permit one pack in the house—not even in the servant’s quarters.
To atone for her lack of entertainment at cards, Mrs. Millican was known to give a very good dinner. Her friends all considered this a fair bargain and were happy to attend her for an early evening.
The dinner had been a small affair and Mrs. Millican had proved herself an amusing wit. She sparred with Mr. Ellsworth so delightfully that Lily wondered if there were not some attachment there. They were widow and widower and seemed well suited to one another.
After dinner, Lily played the pianoforte for a time, but except for that, quiet conversations and tea were what ruled Mrs. Millican’s drawing room. It was not more than an hour after they’d retired to the drawing room before guests began to depart.
Mrs. Hemming had seemed tired when they got in their carriage. As much as it felt disappointing, as they had thought to stop by Lady Carradine’s club, Lily inquired if it might be best if they went home. Mrs. Hemming brushed off the idea and said they might stop in for an hour and she’d be no worse for it.
Now, Lily and Mrs. Hemming had arrived to the club and made their way to the back room.
It was not overcrowded and Lily instantly noted that Lord Ashworth was in attendance. He faced away from her, but she recognized the height, the tailored coat, and the fair hair easily enough. He played a gentleman she did not know.
Though she had not been introduced to the man Lord Ashworth played, she thought she could guess his circumstances well enough. He was young, and his mode of dress exceedingly dandyish. He would be some young buck just recently set loose upon the town and out to prove his worth. He would be desperate to find his set, and hopeful that some of the loftier-titled gentlemen might take him on. He would think to do something daring to attract notice, and what could be more daring than challenging Lord Ashworth at cards?
The few times that Lord Ashworth actually lost, as Lily was so well aware, it was the talk of every drawing room. There was a distinct cache over playing him and Lily was all but certain that was how Lord Ashworth was able to find a person still willing to bet against him.
This poor fellow would no doubt have a generous allowance at hand to attempt the feat, though his father would have warned him against gambling for high stakes. As many a young man was prone to do, he would cast aside his father’s sage advice and be foolhardy enough to believe in his own luck.
From his expression, it appeared that the Goddess Fortuna was disabusing him of the idea that she could be called upon at will.
Lily could not claim to be pleased to see Lord Ashworth. Mrs. Millican’s dinner had been remarkably pleasant and she was still silently glorying in securing a tuppence a day for young Sam. She was in a happy frame of mind and had no wish to mar it with any less than genial conversation. It was one thing to enjoy a dance with the gentleman at Lady Catherine’s very awkward ball, but extended conversations with the lord generally came with an aggravation. She consoled herself with the idea that she would likely not speak to him as he was thoroughly engaged in relieving the pockets of the young and foolish gentleman.
Mrs. Hemming gazed round the room, looking for one of her usual whist partners. According to her rather doleful sigh, she did not find who she looked for.
Mr. Shine slid up to them and bowed deeply. “The esteemed Mrs. Hemming and her charming niece, Miss Farnsworth,” he said.
Mrs. Melton, one of the matrons of the club, was close on his heels. Lily thought the lady did not like to see a gentleman roaming the room and would make it her business to know what he was about.
Lily acknowledged Mrs. Melton. Then she acknowledged Mr. Shine, though she would rather not. There was something about Mr. Shine that she could not like. It was not his obsequious manners, those were common enough. It was something about his expression. She had noticed it when she’d played against him. His mien did not settle into any one attitude, but changed ever so slightly with strange rapidity. It was as if he could not settle upon a particular feeling. There was something that felt false about it.
“You have come at a fortuitous moment,” Mr. Shine said. “I have been conversing with Mr. Gentry, a very reputable fellow, and he happened to express a great interest in trying his hand against Miss Farnsworth at piquet. He is intrigued that the lady should have beat Lord Ashworth on two occasions and wishes to try his skill against such a formidable opponent. I was pleased to inform him that you did occasionally come here of an evening. I cannot claim to know his skill, but as dear Mrs. Hemmingdidwarn me of Miss Farnsworth’s skill…”
“Why does he not play Lord Ashworth if he is wishing to test his skill?” Mrs. Hemming asked.
Mr. Shine rubbed his hands together in an unpleasant fashion and said in a low voice, “As it happens, Lord Ashworth does not favor the fellow. Calls him a blowhard who does too much talking over his cards.”
