Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 32
He wasn’t ready to give up his guaranteed livelihood.
Yet, his meeting with William brought new opportunities to light—a way of life not dominated by his father.
Brock took his silence to mean exactly what it did: Harold wasn’t ready to make any decision either way. “You only need say the word, Harold.”
“Thank you.” He was happy to know his way out remained open, even if he wasn’t prepared to take advantage of it just yet.
“Enough of this moping.” Brock stood. “The women are shopping for the afternoon, which means we are left to our own devices.”
“Oh, really?” Harold asked.
“Yes. Shall we see what kind of trouble we can stir up?”
“What do you have in mind?” Harold laughed, determined to forget his own troubles, at least for one afternoon.
“By trouble, I meant business,” Brock said. “I’m meeting with Lord Yorkton about the acquisition of a rather important broodmare and I thought you would like to join me.”
“Of course you did.” Harold enjoyed accompanying Brock to his many meetings about town. It helped hone his skill at negotiations and kept his mind working. And of course Brock never complained if Harold was able to gain what he wanted at a far better price. “How much do you wish to acquire the animal for?”
“Very astute question, my man. The price is not overly important to me, but the acquisition itself is. You see, the mare is a gift for Lady Haversham.”
“Ah, now I see.”
Brock nodded. “I suppose you do. I know how very much she misses her horses. While running a foal ranch is impossible with my obligations to Parliament, I’m sure she would enjoy having a mare here in town, possibly breeding her with Sage.”
There was only one thing Brock loved more than his stallion, Sage, and that was his wife. Her happiness came before all.
“That’s commendable of you. When shall we depart?”
“Lord Yorkton is expecting us shortly.”
The name registered with Harold. He’d been in the man’s study only nights before to escape the tediousness of the forced social engagement—and there had his first encounter with Ruby. Odd that Brock would have a meeting with one of the men on Ruby’s mysterious list. Maybe he should be concerned for Brock’s well-being where Ruby’s activities were concerned, as well.
“Then let us be off,” Harold said. “We wouldn’t want to keep the good lord waiting, I hear he has an awful temper.” The thought occurred to him that just possibly, he would be afforded a look into the man’s study, and could turn up whatever Ruby had been searching for.
Ruby walked beside Vi, their arms laden with packages, navigating their way to their waiting carriage. The shops were busy with women selecting the perfect fabric for a walking gown, or kid gloves for an evening out, or men selecting the perfect handkerchief to match their lady love’s newest acquisition. Because of the crowd, Vi had instructed her footman to wait by the carriage for their return. Hence their loaded arms and Ruby’s sore feet.
“Are you sure you feel up to carrying all those packages?” Ruby asked.
“I am with child—and not far along, I might add—not helpless. The exercise will do me good.”
Her dearest friend could shop like no other. Granted, they’d spent most of the morning purchasing shirts, skirts, and shoes for children at Foldger’s Foundling House, therefore Ruby’s aches and pains could be attributed to good deeds and not the spoiled, selfish antics of the wealthy elite, which pleased her immensely.
“After we drop these off, we must find suitable material for new bedclothes. The children will be quite excited if Sarah and the other maids make new covers for their beds.” The excitement in Vi’s voice was contagious.
Ruby laughed as she shifted the box she held to her other arm. “Oh, we can make lovely purple ones for the girls and green for the boys. You know how Abby adores purple. I can start on them right away.”
“Oh no, you do not, Ruby St. Augustin,” Vi scolded. “I will not give you another excuse as to why you cannot accompany me out in the evenings.”
Ruby knew her explanations were running thin, but she’d hoped to have a few more evenings free to continue her search. “I swear I do not know what you speak of.”
“You’re incorrigible!” Vi chuckled. “I bring you to London and you barely leave the townhouse. I had to drag you out this morning kicking and complaining.”
The only reason Ruby had accompanied Vi today was because she knew her mother’s penchant for sleeping late after an evening out, thus greatly reducing the risk they would run into Lady St. Augustin during their excursion. “How could I possibly pass up the opportunity to spend Lord Haversham’s money?” Ruby asked, deflecting the conversation.
“I rarely pass up the opportunity myself,” her friend confided in a whisper. “Oh, there is the coachman now. Jacobs, thank you for waiting for us.”
He took the packages from both women and stored them in the boot of the carriage.
Vi straightened the front of her pink morning dress and rubbed her gloved hands together. “Well, where to now?” she asked.
Ruby looked up and down the street, hoping to see a tea shop close by. Vi could use a few moments of rest, no matter how much she claimed the opposite. “I fear I do not know the area—” Her words were immediately cut off when she spied her mother and Lady Darlingiver exiting a shop a few doors down from where they stood. The women turned in their direction.
Without a word of warning to Vi, Ruby launched herself in the carriage, sinking to the floor and pulling the door shut to hide herself from view. She had good reason to be in London, true enough, but that didn’t mean she intended to inform her mother of her presence.
“Lady Haversham,” Ruby’s mother called. “How lovely to see you. Are you out alone?” Ruby could picture Pearl St. Augustin and Lady Darlingiver peering around for Vi’s escort. It was highly improper for a woman of the ton to venture out without her husband, another member of the ton, or her maid.
She loathed putting Vi in this situation, but now was not the time for her mother to find her in town against her specific wishes.
“Ummm, well,” Vi stalled, and Ruby knew her friend was racking her brain. “No, I am just awaiting Lord Haversham’s return. He insisted on purchasing something special for me—and how could I refuse such a grand gesture?”
“Of course, you cannot,” Lady Darlingiver gushed. “Your father and I hope to see you this evening. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’ve been avoiding our company of late.”
Ruby had begged Vi not to invite Lady Darlingiver, or her mother over for tea, and had refused an invite to their home as well. It was unfair of her and was obviously causing ill will between Vi and her family.
“Quite the contrary, Lady Darlingiver,” Vi continued. “I have been busy preparing Foldger’s Foundling House for the winter months—and for my own child’s birth. I fear my carriage is filled to the brim with supplies.”
Ruby knew both women turned their noses up at the thought of any activity resembling work. A bit of charity fundraising dirtied their hands more than they saw appropriate for the upper class. But the mention of another Haversham had both women cooing in delight.
“Oh, you should call upon Ruby any time you need assistance.” It was Pearl speaking now. “I am sure she’d be willing to move to Foldger’s Hall once again to help you or come to you once you retire to Haversham House for the new arrival.”
Leave it to her mother to hire her own daughter out for manual labor, Ruby thought.
“Oh, I wrote her just the other day and she volunteered to sew thirty-two new bed covers for the children.” Vi added extra inflection to the amount of bed covers Ruby would be responsible for making, her punishment for abandoning Vi to the clutches of the two matronly women.
Ruby saw weeks of sore fingers and cramping hands in her future.
“Well, I must be going,” Vi said. “Oh, look, there is Brock now.”
Ruby peeked over the side of the carriage and out the window, hidden from detection by the drawn shade. The women both looked in the direction Vi pointed and waved, trying to get a glimpse of Vi’s handsome husband.
“He is waving me over,” Vi continued. “He must have a very special surprise for me. It was lovely seeing you both.” She curtseyed to Lady Darlingiver and nodded to Ruby’s mother.
“We can accom—”
“There is no need for you to go out of your way. He is right there, not thirty feet away.” Vi tried her best to deter the women from following her. “Plus, you are headed in the opposite direction. You both are ever so busy, I’m sure.”
“Well, yes, Lady Darlingiver, shall we be on our way?” Pearl asked.
“Very well,” the other lady responded. “Your father is so excited about the babe. Do come visit soon.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Ruby sighed when the women moved down the street, disappearing into the milling crowd.
“Ruby, you get your sissy hide out here right this instant!”
She couldn’t tell if her friend was raging mad or on the verge of laughter. Raising her head further, Ruby pulled the shade back and peeked out the window.
Vi stood on the sidewalk, hands on her hips. “How dare you desert me to those two vultures?”
“I know you’re angry—”
“Do not presume to know what I am.” Vi cut her off, but the tension drained from her body. “It is not that you disappeared per se, it’s that you left me with little option but to lie. You know I despise lying.”
It was true. Guilt filled Ruby. Ever since her friend had deceived Brock into thinking she was someone else, Vi had a very strict ‘no lying’ policy. “It was not my intention.”
“Oh, come out here now.”
Ruby used her perch a few feet above the crowded street to search for her mother, but the women had disappeared. Probably into another shop full of frivolous items they didn’t need.
“They’re gone, I assure you,” Vi encouraged her. The footman stepped forward, opened the door, and set the steps down for Ruby. She eyed him, then the steps, and finally Vi before stepping down. “Let us seek refreshments before I pass out on this very street.”
“You said you were feeling quite the thing today and that exercise would do you good,” Ruby said in alarm, scrambling to Vi’s side.
Vi only chuckled.
After the excitement of the morning, Ruby reflected that it was time she found a more efficient way to assess her list of potential fathers. The reality of one’s dire situation is no clearer than when huddled on the floor of a carriage, hiding from one’s own flesh and blood. And sneaking into homes, whether occupied by the owner or not, was risky. She needed to find a way to manage that risk…and quickly.
Chapter 10
Harold stared down at the three aces and pair of kings before him. Not the first lucky hand he’d been dealt that evening, and hopefully not the last. He itched to place his cards face-up on the table and display his winning hand, but instead he kept his face passive and his fingers steady.
All Harold needed was a few more solid hands and his purse would increase tenfold in just one evening. The notion of winning the money he needed to fund his brother’s venture without dipping into his ever-dwindling savings was too good to pass on. When Brock had invited him to White’s for an evening of gambling, Harold had jumped at the chance. He’d always been a superior card player—and all activities that involved some risk, including business ventures. Brock liked to jest that was the true reason for their lasting friendship—that, and the standing invitation to stay at the Haversham townhouse.
The Marquis of Drake, Andrew Penton, held his hand close to his chest. Harold was unsure whether it was to hide his cards from view or because his eyes had deteriorated with age. Regardless, Harold was certain he held the finest hand, just as rumor held he always had the finest woman upon his arm. His reputation as a rakehell of his time was legendary, even to those who’d grown up away from society’s gossip rags.
Daring a look to his left, Brock eyed him closely. After playing for many years together—and winning their brothers’ allowances as soon as the coins hit their pockets—Brock knew Harold’s tells. The smirk on his friend’s face told Harold Brock was aware he held the top cards, but he was willing to risk his own coin to see what cards he laid down. Brock pushed a short stack of notes toward the center of the table. They both looked to Drake for the next move. With no hesitation, Drake, too, pushed money into the ever-growing pot, leaving only a few coins and a note or two in front of him.
Then, it was Harold’s turn. He pondered his cards, giving Drake the impression that he was apprehensive about whether to add his own coin at the risk of losing it all. For more dramatic effect, he swept his forearm across his forehead as if wiping away moisture caused by the tension of the situation. Keeping his breathing even despite the blood running through his veins faster than a star flying across the night sky, he also pushed his money forward.
At the same moment, Brock sat back in his chair and let out a wallop of excitement. “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “I do believe we have a winning pot like none have seen in this club in over a decade.”
Harold didn’t take his eyes off Drake as he waited for the elderly lord to show his cards.
Hopefully, his losing cards.
For a moment, the blink of an eye, Harold pondered the ramifications if the hand did not go in his favor. It would mean losing half of the coin he’d managed to save. He’d be forced to return to his father’s home long before he’d planned.
Harold let out his breath when Drake threw down his cards, a hand similar yet far inferior to his own.
Brock threw in his own cards, facedown, admitting his defeat.
Keeping his excitement at bay, Harold laid down his own hand: a full house. He gathered the mound of notes and coins and pulled them across the table, all the while remaining composed. It was ungentlemanly to boast of one’s luck at the card table—not to mention it would scare off other players. And Harold needed other players besides Brock, if he was to increase his capital.
“Lucky break,” the marquis muttered. “Haversham, are you responsible for bringing this upstart swindler into our club?”
“Oh, don’t be such a poor sport. You know as well as I that if one is willing to chance their money on the flip of a card, one must also be prepared to see it leave in the pocket of another.” Brock chuckled. “I lost my coin just as you.”
“I do hope the man doesn’t lack so many manners that he walks away without giving me the opportunity to relieve him of my funds.”
Drake spoke as if Harold wasn’t sitting across the table from him. Men of the ton were a peculiar breed. “I assure you, your lordship, that I have no other place to be this evening. I will continue our game until you’re ready to depart, or I lose all my funds and must beg more from Lord Haversham.”
“It’s good you know your place, boy,” the marquis said. He pushed his losing cards toward Brock, who gathered them to shuffle and start anew. “It’s difficult to find men nowadays who recognize their position in society. Is it not, Haversham?”
“Oh, Mr. Jakeston knows his place very well, indeed,” Brock said as he winked in Harold’s direction. “I have kept him on a tight rein since we were children.”
“See that you continue to do just that,” the elderly man huffed. “We cannot have these tuft hunters taking over our country.”
Harold wanted to laugh at the old man’s dated reference to social climbers. If a person could not trace back their lineage three hundred years, then they were obviously setting their sights too high in the marquis’ opinion.
“Shall I deal, gentlemen?”
“Very well.” Drake eyed Harold suspiciously, as if he expected cards to fall from his shirtsleeve.
Harold nodded his agreement, as well. As Brock shuffled the cards and dealt, Harold looked about the room. He’d hoped a few more men would join their game and increase his potential winnings, but the club was quiet for this time of the evening.
Picking up the two cards dealt to him thus far, Harold saw he held a mediocre set of cards, at best. A queen of hearts and an eight of clubs. He looked around the table to judge the first reactions of Drake and Brock before picking up his last three cards. He knew the difficulty of hiding one’s natural responses—whether good or bad—at first. True to form, a smirk crossed Drake’s face before his expression became passive. He most likely held a pair or a set of suited cards.
A round of betting ensued quickly, increasing the pot to more than Harold had in front of him. He picked up his remaining three cards, hoping they rounded out his hand. When he saw another queen and eight amongst the three, he wanted to raise his fist in triumph. Instead he took in the room again, as if his interest lay everywhere but on their game.
A flash of movement outside the front window caught his attention. The evening was late, and the streets of London were not safe for a lone pedestrian, though likely it was naught but a street urchin trying to get a glimpse of the goings-on inside such an exclusive club. Nothing moved outside the window for so long that he thought he’d imagined it.
Harold returned to the game, pushing in only enough to raise the pot without scaring Drake off.
Again, a movement caught his eye. Focusing on the front once more, he finally found what it was. A face was pressed firm to the glass, searching the room. There was very limited area to see into the club from that vantage point, and heavy drapes made it nearly impossible at times. A man leaving the club pushed the door wide, illuminating the dim walk outside the window and, with it, the person intently looking in.
Harold’s cards slid from his grip. He scrambled to right them before his opponents saw his superior hand. He’d know that dark hair and those green eyes anywhere.
Ruby, so preoccupied with her search of the room, didn’t notice Harold staring at her as she focused on each face in the room.
“Bloody hell,” Harold exclaimed.
