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Matthew faulted himselffor the near disaster, but he and Alice enjoyed several more drinks until the sun had risen then several more after a generous breakfast.Neither of them brought up questions about Sandhurst.There were certain things that were buried for all time.Sandhurst’s ails would be one of them.
The tales Alice DuPuis knew were enough to fill years’ worth of columns in theDaily Informer.Instead, she talked about Jezzy, and a few of those tales he’d never heard.Nothing embarrassing, just how she’d helped Jezzy and her son and how Jezzy had been a friend when Alice needed one.Many things could be said about his mother, but the one Alice repeated was how much his mother had strived to lift her son from the worst of London’s poverty.
She then counted the money out, taking her fifteen percent.Damn, Matthew would need to repay Lord Chester for his loss and Rose’s stake.Lord Chester would have to ask for the money back for all this inconvenience—Matthew wasn’t going to go out of his way to repay him.
The other gamblers were at the table of their own will and, to hear Alice tell it, other than Sandhurst’s clumsy attempt at cheating, she had not substituted her best dealers to facilitate the win for which he had paid.Evidently, only certain dealers were allowed to alter games.
Rose would be happy to know she’d won her table using her own skill.
Lady Jersey, of Child & Co., arrived at ten with the proper iron chests and skilled men to safely convey the currency and gold winnings to the bank.
“Remind me to stay away from your gaming tables, Alice,” he said.
“I would think a man like you already knew that.It was good to see you again, Dukey.”She pushed to her toes and kissed his cheek.“You can be sure I won’t ever have such a lucrative opportunity again.”
He climbed into the waiting carriage.Instead of directing the coachman to Islington, Matthew said, “Piccadilly Road.”
Revenge wasn’t the sort of business he wanted to be in.There was no more reason now that Welliver and his family had been exposed as empty shells.His real purpose would be Rose and their children.
He’d come very close...he’d touched the sort of wickedness that he’d always told himself he was above.
When the carriage driver stopped the horses at the townhouse—his community townhouse—he stepped down and went inside.This was one of his ventures in which he made no money, other than having a piece of real estate he might sell someday.The real value was inside the house.
Most of the sounds came from the first floor and he tripped downstairs to where the kitchen, laundry and a few storage areas were.Three women were working over tubs washing clothes.Mary Trimble was there, a sweaty kerchief covering her hair.One-by-one they stopped their scrubbing.“Mr.Hardy,” they said, bobbing politely.
“Mary, do you have a minute?”
“Certainly.Have I done somethin’ wrong?”she asked.
“No.No, not at all.Thank you for helping at the gala the other night.”She wiped her hand on her wet apron.“How are my nieces?”he asked.
“I don’t know.All right.”
“Are they working?”
“I keep them busy here.They’re learnin’ to cook, and Mr.Sanders is teachin’ them their letters.”
“I’m sure they are happy.What I wanted to know, what I am thinking about, is to bring them to live with me and my wife in Islington.My wife has two daughters about their age.They would have good tutors.Some friends.A safe place to be young girls and enjoy a bit of life.”
“They wouldn’t be with me?”
“No.”
“What would I do?”
“What do you want to do?”Matthew asked.
“Not that I’m not appreciatin’ whats you done, but my girls are all I have.”
“Well then, get your things together.We’ll leave for Islington in ten minutes.”
She nodded, looked to her friends with a tremulous smile, then found her granddaughters.She carried one worn valise and settled beside the girls inside his carriage.
“Dora.Shonie.This be your uncle, you papa’s brother.Mr.Hardy.”
They smiled and stared at him.“You look like Papa,” Dora said.
“I’ve been told that.”
