“Or dice or horseraces or just bets in general,” Serenity said.
“I am unfortunate enough to have some personal experience with the results of excessive gambling. So, perhaps it is not so much acceptable as it is nevertheless commonly done.”
What did he mean? He was unfortunate to have personal experience? Did he somehow blame a lack of luck at the tables for excessive losses?
Winsome’s heart was slowly sinking. She had hoped against hope that he was not a profligate gambler. Another lady might be fooled into thinking it was no matter, but she knew otherwise! She knew of a real-life case where a lady was fooled and now lived miserably. She knew of an untold number of cases in her novels where money was at the heart of the villainy.
She had promised herself she would not be taken in by a rogue. She had thought all she need do was spot it and had considered some of the ladies in her novels rather stupid for being faced with evidence and ignoring it at their peril.
So why on earth did she have a great desire to ignore all the evidence about Lord Manderbey?
Winsome supposed she’d been foolish to underestimate feelings and how they might work to upend rational thinking.
The dowager picked up two tickets, one yellow and one blue. She held one in each hand. “Manderbey, why do I not have grandchildren yet?”
Lord Manderbey narrowed his eyes at his grandmother. “Because I am not yet wed,” he said.
“And that,” the dowager said, throwing a yellow ticket at him, “is unfortunately a fact.”
The game went on and Winsome was pressed to name what she’d first noticed about Lord Manderbey. She answered that it had been his urbane manner and it was deemed a fact.
Eventually, and after several glasses of sack, the dowager fell tomusing on questions and then answering them herself. The questions centered on how long she had to live before seeing grandchildren, wondering how many grandchildren other women her age already had, and speculating that Lord Manderbey would be very sorry if she were to die without them. She awarded herself a yellow ticket for each answer and the duke jovially declared her the winner.
All through it, Winsome fought with her own ideas. Was she to succumb to a rogue? Or was she to stick with what she knew to be true and run in the other direction? Even if the running away would feel like a slog through deep mud, always trying to pull her back.
*
After Mrs. Righthad followed Charlie up the stairs from the wine cellar, she’d gone back to the kitchens to establish some sort of order there.
The kitchen maids were reminded that they might sleep together in the same bed if it helped them feel safe, they had a sturdy lock on their bedchamber door, and Mrs. Right would personally search the room before they retired. She then pointed out that no man, not even the disappearing Mr. Wicket, would dare set foot into the women’s side of the quarters. Adding in two generous glasses of the servants’ supply of sherry had gone a long way toward restoring calm.
Now she hurried into the housekeeper’s closet and shut the door. It was good-sized room, actually meant to be the butler’s closet. It had a small sofa and two chairs, a small hearth, a desk for writing, drawers filled with the silver of the house, and shelves of carefully wrapped porcelain settings.
As itwasthe butler’s closet and as a butler was lurking around somewhere, she peered round the dim room to assure herself that it was uninhabited. It was empty, so she placed her candle on the desk and pulled the note she’d found in the wine cellar from her pocket.
For Mr. Tobias Wicket—
We have been informed that you have resigned your post with His Majesty’s government and taken up a position with the Duke of Pelham’s household. We consider this a loss, however we are confident that you hold the security of England as dear as you ever have.
Therefore, in an unofficial role, we ask that you keep your discerning ear to the ground. There is a certain lord who has got himself in rather deep through gambling losses. So deep that we fear he may be vulnerable to bribery or threats from our enemies, particularly if he were to find himself on foreign soil.
As he is of marriageable age, and as the Duke of Pelham appears to have a never-ending supply of eligible daughters who are particularly well funded, we speculate that this individual may make an appearance at the house. He may be looking at every avenue to raise funds and a dowry is as good as any. If that is the case, I am sure you will find opportunities to listen at doors and search overcoat pockets.
We leave you with this hint, so you might better understand the crown’s particular interest in this target: TRULOGAP
LC
So Mr. Wicket actually had been some sort of spy. Mrs. Right had considered the possibility that he’d made the whole thing up but that did not seem to be the case.
She could not make heads nor tails of the letter, other than they must be cautious of gentlemen coming into the house. Who, though? And who had sent the letter in the first place. LC…the L could be for Lord…Lord Somebody starting with a C.
She could not work it out. However, ought they not be cautious of gentlemen approaching Winsome at other houses? That might be out of reach for Mr. Wicket, but it was not for Mrs. Right. She would warn Winsome to keep her guard up.
Of course, Mrs. Right reminded herself that Winsome did always have her guard up. Suspicion was in her nature. In any case, as far asshe could tell, things were going rather well with Lord Manderbey. If things were to proceed as it looked as if they might, an engagement would stop any unsavory types in their tracks. Nevertheless, she would warn her, just to be on the safe side of things.
Mrs. Right folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket. If only she could work out what a TRULOGAP was.
