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“It decidedly is not breakfast time,” she said, dumping him into one of the wooden chairs that surrounded her table.
It was then that she realized Caleb wasn’t just drunk, he was covered in blood.
“Caleb, you’re hurt!” she cried, dropping to her knees next to him.
He lifted his chin and revealed that his nose had been punched. The blood had mostly dried, and bruises were beginning to form under his eyes.
“Have you been in a fight?” she asked.
He smiled at her dopily. “Hmmm . . . ?”
“Caleb, what happened?”
He frowned, the humor draining from his features. “Lost.”
Lavinia’s heart sank. “You lost at cards again. How much this time?”
He crossed his arms and stuck his lip out in the same sort of pout he’d used as a child when Cook refused him a treat. “Need more whiskey.”
“You can have coffee and bread and cheese, but no more spirits,” said Lavinia.
She set about raking the coals and putting on water to boil, well aware that Caleb was watching her. Sure enough, as she pulled the cheese out of the larder, he said, “Funny you doing all that. Mother would never have acted like a servant.”
“Mother didn’t marry a wastrel who lied about his income,” she said. “And I don’t mind doing my own cooking.”
That was a fib. She was exhausted at the end of every day, and the last thing she wanted to be bothered with was putting food on the table. Fiona helped a little in exchange for luncheon and tea, but the bulk of the work fell to Lavinia.
“You could’ve married again,” said Caleb. Then he laughed sharply. “But all you want is this pokey little shop.”
“Say another ill word about Mrs. Parkem’s and I’ll toss you out on your drunken backside,” she threatened, just as she always did when they reached this point in one of her brother’s drunken evenings. It was the cruel, petty side of him, and she hated it.
Tears began to run down his face. “I’m sorry, Livy. I’m a rotter. An eedjit.”
“How much was it this time, Caleb?” she asked quietly.
He was tugging at the edge of his coat, avoiding looking directly at her. “Five hundred.”
She sucked in a breath. “How did the club let it get that high?”
“Wasn’t playing at my club,” he mumbled.
“Where were you playing?” When he didn’t answer, she tried again. “Where?”
“It was a private game we’ve had going for a few months now.”
Damn you, Caleb. They’d been here before too many times.
“And they hit you because you couldn’t pay?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“Yes. But maybe ladies like a nose with character.”
The half-hearted attempt at a joke fell flat.
“How much do you owe them?” she asked.
He screwed up his face, thinking very hard about the question. “For tonight?”
“For everything.” She knew enough by now to ask that.
