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“Why would I—” And then she remembered what was so special about Tuesdays, or rather, Tuesdays at a certain establishment in particular. “You couldn’t possibly be suggesting…?”
“I am,” Kitty replied without hesitating. “If he won’t come to you, then you’ll just have to go to him.”
Anxiety assailed her. How could she possibly go to such a scandalous place, one filled to the brim with people? The thought of standing in the middle of that floor, all eyes piercing into her, was enough to cause a cold sweat to break out along her neck. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what I could possibly do there,” she said, a mild quaver in her voice. Yet, the idea was oddly tantalizing. What would it be like to enter such a den of sin, to see the infamous revelry of The White Heather for herself? And Arthur wouldn’t be able to run from her, if she even found him, that was.
Kitty reached over and put a reassuring hand on Francesca’s shoulder. “Do not worry, I’ll be going with you.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.” Her cousin-in-law sent a beseeching look in Francesca’s direction. “Please, think this through. Surely there are less scandalous ways for us to achieve our aim.”
But the attractive thought of cornering Arthur at last overrode common sense. With her drab, common brown hair, a mask could easily hide her identity, and Kitty would be there to assist her in navigating the place.
“Let’s do it,” Francesca proclaimed before she could change her mind, pounding a fist on her knee for strength.
“Wonderful!” Kitty all but squealed and clapped, while Sophie let out a low groan into her hands. “Lets begin planning. We only have a few hours until the night begins.”
Francesca nodded with a confidence she didn’t feel in the slightest. “I can do this.”
Chapter Fourteen
“The enigmatic owner finally shows himself.”
Arthur turned towards the dulcet tone. Though she wore a mask and black wig, he easily recognized the voice. “Lady Aircourt,” he greeted with a smooth bow. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”
“Too long,” she replied and propped a hand to lean against one of the less busy faro tables. The night was an absolute crush, with scores of patrons crammed around the card tables, many having to wait for a turn at the games. It being a Tuesday, and there being no society events, it seemed just about everyone who was anyone had decided to brave The White Heather, some perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of its owner turned earl. Already he’d been accosted by several gentlemen, some of their congratulations more backhanded than others. The gawking wasn’t as bad as he’d been expecting, however, and once the novelty of his presence wore of, it was nearly back to business as usual.
“Lady luck has smiled upon you, I hope?”
The countess smiled and took a graceful sip of her sherry. “I’m having a marvelous time. I almost convinced Candice to come as well. She and Charlotte are back in London with her brother.”
“They are well, I trust?”
“Yes. She hopes you will call on them sometime. Charlotte is eager to meet her nephew again.”
“We shall see,” he replied noncommittally.
Lady Aircourt’s smile slipped, her gaze gentling. “You will need to acknowledge them and your place in society eventually, Clifton. There are people who would love you, if you’d only let them.”
Arthur swallowed a bubble of emotion, for he knew she was correct. No matter what his name was or what rank he held, he was still himself, child of the streets and owner of the most successful gambling hall in London. Accepting his family, even walking amongst the Ton, would never change that. “I will call,” he said after a quiet, tense moment.
Lady Aircourt’s smile returned. “I will tell her to expect you.” A loud cheer breaking out at a nearby table drowned out the rest of her statement. The countess winced as the noise died down. “You are quite busy, I am sure. I’ll leave you to your floor, My Lord.”
Arthur politely dismissed her with a nod and a smile before turning towards the raucous table. High stakes were likely afoot, and he wanted to be there to ensure nothing untoward was occurring, but a flash of wispy blue fabric caught the corner of his eye as he strode across the floor. Arthur flicked a disinterested glance at the source, only to freeze in his tracks. A young woman stood at the front of the hall, wearing a beautiful cerulean concoction that whispered around her slight frame. She swayed from side to side, nervously taking in her surroundings. With the black mask covering her face and nondescript brown hair, one might be excused for losing interest after the shine of the gown wore off. But Arthur knew better.
It was the eyes that gave Francesca away.
“What in the world are you doing here?” he muttered to himself, his heart hammering. He hadn’t been prepared for what the sight of her again might do to him. Memories blasted his brain; her melodic laugh, brilliant face, the harsh accusations and the almost confession. A man approached her, obviously in his cups, and Francesca stiffened with a polite smile. With a muted curse, Arthur made a beeline for the couple, malice replacing his irritation as the oaf sloppily grasped her forearm.
**
This was the very nearly the most foolish thing Francesca had ever dared to do, only eclipsed by her attempted elopement. After spending a few hours strategizing their plan of attack, Kitty had a sudden bout of illness, as occasionally happened during her pregnancy, leaving her unable to accompany Francesca. Sophie had proclaimed that they would postpone the plan until Thursday, the other day of the week that women were permitted entry. Far too nervous to even consider going alone, Francesca had initially agreed despite her immense disappointment. But, as she lay in her guest chamber at night, her mind assaulted by doubts and what-ifs, she’d all but tingled from the temptation to prove herself. The thought of finally seeing Arthur again tipped her over the edge enough to where she rang for her maid and clandestinely dressed.
Francesca jumped as her hired hackney lurched away, leaving her alone on the cold steps of The White Heather. She stared up at the immaculate brick façade, hands shaking. Men and masked women shuffled in and out, many stumbling from too much drink. It was nearly midnight already, and the place would be at the height of activity. Before her nerves caught up with her, Francesca checked to see her mask was secure and marched up the stairs. The man stationed at the door gave her nary a glance, and a footman took her cloak with a professional ease that rivaled even the grandest of households. She entered the main floor, surveying her surroundings and wondering how she would ever find Arthur in the crush. The chatter of patrons, smack of dice, and riotous shouts of both glee and despair were nearly deafening. Francesca squinted into the crowd, the haze of cigar smoke and dim lighting making it nearly impossible to discern one gentleman from another. Her only solace lay in that no one seemed to pay her any mind, far too distracted by their own entertainments to spare her a glance. She jumped as another rowdy shout sounded from a far-off table. Francesca bit her lip, wondering if it might be better to ask around for Arthur’s location.
“Hullo there. Haven’t seen you before,” a male voice slurred from beside her.
She looked over to see a young gentleman dressed to the height of fashion looming over her, a glass of liquor barely secured in his shaking fingers. The drunken dandy might have looked charming were his face not splotched with inebriation, and his leering appraisal of her form did not improve her assessment. Francesca smiled grimly, hoping to leave this interaction with little fuss. “Pardon me, sir. There is a gentleman I am meeting.”
The man grabbed her forearm before she could think to back away. “Allow me to escort you.”
