The Grace of a Duke (15 page)

“He said he did a big job for a gentleman. He was hired to set dynamite – to blow up a house – near Kirdford,” she whispered to the Runner. With every blink of her eyes, pain radiated from where she’d been punched. She placed the ice pack back over her purpling eye.

Leonarde’s brows furrowed and he dared a glance in the direction of McFarland, who was slowly coming to consciousness. “Did he say who his ... employer was?”

“Nicholas Bingham,” she replied as she nodded, glad that the pain from simple head movements wasn’t as severe as when she’d first awakened.

The Runner cocked an eyebrow. “And do you know this ... Bingham?” he wondered, the name a bit too familiar given what had occurred at Ellsworth House just a week earlier.

Jane considered her response before saying, “Well, he has been here to gamble, of course, but I have not been formally introduced to him.” She found herself clutching her skirt in her free hand and forced herself to stop, instead smoothing down the fabric and then resting her arm across her waist.

“And the house that was to be blown up?”

Jane gave the Runner a look of confusion. “He said somewhere near Kirdford. I do not know whose house it was. He did not say, but the blast was meant to kill Bingham’s cousin,” she explained as she indicated McFarland. A low moaning was coming from the brute as his eyes fluttered open. Jane stepped back so that she wouldn’t be in his line of sight.

Marcus noted her apparent fright and nodded to her. “Thank you for your help, Miss. You may go back to work now,” he said off-handedly as he turned his suddenly steely gaze onto the scoundrel.

Jane nodded, wondering what would happen to Angus McFarland. And she wondered if, because of McFarland’s character, Nicholas Bingham would remain free. If it was true that Bingham was about to become an earl, then he was a member of the
ton
– he would most likely be untouchable, she considered. He could plead he was being set up by McFarland. The coins in the bulging purse couldn’t be traced back to him. It was his word against that of a disreputable bloke intent on stirring up trouble.

Disappointed, she was about to head back to the gaming floor when Frank’s hand caught her at the elbow. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said quietly, instead leading her toward the back stairs. “You’re going up to your room, and you’re going to get some rest,” he ordered as he escorted her up the stairs.

“But it’s not even nine ...”

“Shh,” Frank replied, patting her arm as he led her down the hall to her rooms. He didn’t want to tell her that her eye was bruising. His patrons would not appreciate that someone had hurt their favorite faro dealer, and he certainly didn’t want them thinking
he
had punched her.
I am being rather selfish,
he thought as he considered his motives. He was right, though, in that Jane shouldn’t be made to finish her shift after what had been done to her. He had someone else in mind to make her debut, and Jane’s situation made this the perfect time to try out the new girl.

Jane fished her key out of a pocket in her gown and unlocked the door, aware that Frank seemed to want to say more. But the gaming hell owner just shook his head until the door was open. “I am very sorry this happened to you in my place.”

Jane’s breath caught before she answered. “There is no need for you to apologize, Frank. You cannot be everywhere.”

“Good night, Jane,” he said quietly, deciding it best not to argue the point. At least she was a level-headed woman, he thought with relief.

“Good night, Frank,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light.
Am I being let go?
she found herself wondering as she entered her parlor and regarded the small but comfortable space.
I am too old,
she thought suddenly, glancing in the mirror about the fireplace and cringing when she saw the evidence of McFarland’s punch.
Six-and-twenty.
Some would consider her a spinster.
Most would call me a spinster,
she corrected herself.

After eight years of working at The Jack of Spades, she’d managed to save a good deal of money, most of it from tips, while she used her earnings to build her wardrobe, making sure she had dinner gowns, morning dresses, a riding habit (although she had not ridden in several years), and day gowns for life in London or in the country. More importantly, she had spent money to furnish and decorate her three rooms into an elegant parlor, a bedchamber that was feminine but not frilly, and a bath and dressing room. Although she rarely had callers, she had grown up in a house that had many, and she looked forward to a day when she would be the mistress of a house of her own. Until then, these three little rooms were her world.

Now, she found herself wondering just how long these rooms would continue to be her world.

Chapter 15

Mr. McElliott Pays a Call on Miss Wethersby

Garrett dipped a quill into the ink pot and pondered how to finish his missive to Joshua. He’d left White’s not more than an hour before, a bit surprised at finding the Earl of Torrington just exactly where Joshua said he would be. The man’s habits were so predictable they might be used against him, but they had certainly helped Garrett get a start in his search for information. And the earl was a fount of information. But what intrigued Garrett most about Lord Torrington’s comments had more to do with what he
hadn’t
said. His comment about Lady Charlotte’s relationship to him was a bit of a surprise, to be sure, but his insistence that there be an heir in short order implied something else. The Duke of Chichester was only twenty-five; why was it so imperative that Joshua father a child as soon as possible? To secure the succession, certainly. But why so quickly? Some dukes didn’t marry until their thirties and managed to populate their nurseries with plenty of time to spare. And why did Grandby seem especially pleased that Lady Charlotte was already at Wisborough Oaks? Other than a maid, she had no traveling companion or relative with her. Charlotte was still of an age (he guessed) where such conventions were necessary. She was the daughter of an earl and should certainly follow them. Since the deaths of the duke and his family, it was widely known that Wisborough Oaks was inhabited by single men, both of whom had reputations in town for being rakes.

At least, they’d had those reputations prior to the fire. Now neither one of them had done much to draw attention to themselves. Despite spending more time in London than Joshua, Garrett had limited his activities to visiting a few card rooms and making an occasional visit to an unattached faro dealer who lived at The Jack of Spades. Although they had never spoken of marriage, he thought that he might propose should the woman still be biddable in a few months’ time. She was certainly beddable.

Garrett shifted a bit in the desk chair, suddenly conscience of his tightening loins. The mere thought of Jane always seemed to illicit such a response; he wondered if she would allow him a visit this very evening. If she was working tonight, she would be on the main floor of the gaming hell. If not, she would be in her rooms on the second floor. He’d have to speak with the owner in order to gain admittance to that part of the building.

Suddenly impatient, he signed his name to the letter and proceeded to fold it into a neat square. Although it would be a few more minutes before the courier he’d sent for would arrive, he could entrust the butler to give it to the man. And given the fair weather, the courier could be on his way south before midnight and deliver the letter to Wisborough Oaks before daybreak.

As Garret gave the missive to the butler with his instructions and several coins, he looked out the front vestibule window to find his carriage still parked at the curb. “You know me too well,” he commented to Twickham, realizing the butler knew he would be leaving the terrace again. “I will probably not return before morning,” he said, more to himself than to the servant.

The tall butler nodded. “Very good, Mr. McElliott. Should I have Cook see to a breakfast in the morning?”

Garrett considered where he would need to go the following day. At least one bank, perhaps several, a solicitor or two. And to Lady’s Charlotte house, wherever that might be. “That would be capital, Twickham. Good night,” he said with a nod as he donned the top hat the butler gave him and threw his cape about his shoulders.

As Garrett made his way out to the carriage, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of seeing Jane again, he realized he didn’t have a gift for her. At least some shops would still be open, he considered, but getting flowers this late at night might prove difficult. He pulled out his gold watch, the chain clinking softly in the darkness.
Nine-forty-five
, he thought. His mother’s wedding ring, its only fob, was threaded on the chain, the gold band mounted with a single large sapphire and two smaller ones on either side. Once he was in the carriage, he removed the ring from the chain and regarded it in the dim light from the gas lamps that lined the road.

Having given the driver the address for The Jack of Spades and instructions to stop at a confectioner’s in Oxford Street, he revisited his earlier thought about Lady Charlotte. He wondered about her mother; the woman had apparently found her husband shortly after his accident.
Where was she now?
She must know something about the betrothal; perhaps she knew where documentation could be found. Certainly another copy of the arrangements had been made and kept for safekeeping. One never knew when an accidental fire or flood could wipe out important papers.

The carriage was making the turn onto Oxford Street when Garrett’s thoughts turned again to the original fire at Wisborough Oaks. If the fire hadn’t been accidental, were all the members of the Wainwright family meant to die in that fire? Or was someone supposed to live? And if they all died, who besides the Crown would benefit from their deaths?

The carriage suddenly stopped and Garrett looked out. A candy shop was directly across the street. He opened the door before his driver could get down from the seat, and Garrett dashed across the cobblestones.
Sugared plums,
he thought as he made his way into the confectioner’s shop. He could lick the sugar from Jane’s lips as she ate the sweet and spicy treats. His cock hardened at the thought, and he was thankful the night was cool enough to require a cape coat that hid his arousal. The proprietor filled his order promptly, assuring him the candies were freshly made and with the highest quality fruit and coriander. Garrett pulled a crown from the purse Joshua had given him and felt a bit of pride when the shop owner’s eyes widened. He took the box from the man, apologizing for his haste and left the shop before the man could make change. Not even two minutes had passed from the time he’d left the carriage to when he returned. The driver urged the horses forward and they were off for the turn onto Kingly Street. Garrett’s thoughts returned to their earlier focal point – Jane.

So deep was Garrett in his reverie that he didn’t notice the carriage coming to a stop in front of the gaming hell. In fact, a groom had to open the door and set down the steps before Garrett realized they had arrived at The Jack of Spades. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he exited the carriage and turned toward the building. “One moment,” he said to the groom, wanting to be sure Jane was not working and of a mind to receive him.
Ten o’ clock
, he thought, surprised at how quickly the evening had passed. He entered the hell and was greeted by the butler, a portly man dressed in black and white who immediately recognized him.

“Good evening, Mr. McElliott. May I take your coat and hat?” Parkham wondered when Garrett didn’t immediately offer them.

“That depends. Is Miss Wethersby working this evening?”

The butler did his best not to react, but Garrett caught the slight quirk at the edge of Parkham’s mouth. “She is no longer, sir.”

My lucky charm,
Garrett thought happily. “Then, is Mr. O’Laughlin available? I wish to speak with him if I might.”

Parkham obviously wasn’t expecting the request, but he nodded. “I will take you to his office,” he offered, turning and leading the way through the somewhat crowded gaming floor and to a hallway at the back. Although a few gamblers called out greetings to Garrett, he acknowledged them with only a nod as he continued to follow the butler. On his way past one faro table, though, he couldn’t help but notice a very young woman acting as banker. She was comely, with sable hair and a pale face, and she smiled easily with those who crowded about her table. Garrett wondered when Frank had hired her. A quick glance around the hell told him she was the only female banker at the faro tables.

Once inside Frank O’Laughlin’s office, he stood to the side as Parkham went to get the proprietor. Frank’s arrival was quicker than Garrett expected, and the man seemed not only surprised to see him, but very pleased. “I knew word spread quickly in this town, but I had no idea how quickly,” Frank said by way of greeting, his right hand held out even before he’d cleared the door jamb. “And I thought we were keeping everything mum until Bow Street could finish their investigation,” he added with a furrowed brow. “Bring us some scotch,” he said to the butler before closing the door.

Garrett wondered at Frank’s opening line. “And what word might that be?” he asked carefully, wondering if he should be on his guard.

Frank motioned to an upholstered chair near his desk. “Word about Jane,” he offered, and then seeing Garrett’s expression of horror, he realized Garrett probably knew nothing of what had just happened.

“What about Jane?” Garrett asked, his voice hoarse and his concern quite apparent as he leaned forward and nearly returned to his feet.

“She’ll be fine,” Frank said quickly, moving to take his own chair behind the desk. “She was in a bit of a scuffle with a belligerent client. I gave her the rest of the night off.”

Garrett’s face reddened in anger. “Damn it, Frank! Is she hurt? Did you kill the bastard?”

Frank inhaled and held his breath a moment, finally letting it out with a clipped, “Yes, and no.” Before Garrett could get out of his chair, Frank held out his hand. “She’ll be fine, Garrett. She’ll have a bit of a shiner for a day or two ...”

“The bastard
punched
her?” Garrett yelled in disbelief.

“... But the bastard is in custody with a Bow Street Runner. She’ll be fine,” he repeated in a very calm voice.

There was a knock at the door and Parkham entered with two glasses of scotch on a tray. Garrett reluctantly took one, suddenly not in the mood to drink. His concern was for Jane. If she’d been punched in the eye, she was no doubt in a good deal of pain. “Anyone I know?” he asked then, realizing he needed to keep his temper in check or risk being thrown out of the gaming hell before he’d had a chance to at least see Jane.

“Doubt it,” Frank replied with a shrug. “Low life scoundrel who had a fat purse and a mind to bed your future wife.” He watched Garrett’s reaction carefully, curious as to whether or not the man would admit to having feelings for the faro dealer.

He was not disappointed.

“I’ll kill him!” Garrett vowed, his hand jerking so that scotch nearly spilled. He took a quick drink in an effort to lessen the amount of liquid in the glass. The smoky scent filled his nostrils and burned as it went down his throat.

Then he realized what Frank had said.

He leaned back in his chair. “Did she tell you ..?” he started to ask, realizing Jane must have left Frank with the impression that she and Garrett would one day wed.

Frank struggled to keep his facial expression bland. “No,” he replied with a quick shake of his head, but he felt a huge sense of relief. Perhaps Garrett McElliott wouldn’t need a strong incentive to marry Jane. Perhaps he could even be convinced to marry the chit right away, if for no other reason than to provide her protection. “I admit I have rather hoped that you ... had feelings for my Jane. I would like to see her married  – you two married – as soon as is feasible,” he stated, deciding there was no need to offer explanations. “I will, of course, provide a generous dowry, say ... a thousand pounds, and Jane has some very nice things to bring to the marriage. Furniture, silver, crystal. You’ve no doubt seen her rooms upstairs. I can see to it you get a special license, and you can be married this week.”

Garrett stared at Frank in disbelief, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He knew that, one day, despite Jane being more than one-and-twenty, he might have to seek permission from this man to ask for Jane’s hand. And he had figured he would need to beg and plead and reason with Frank in order to gain that permission. And he figured that the permission would come with a timeline for the wedding to be very far in the future.

Being told he could marry her right away, though ...

Frank squirmed a bit. “Are you looking for a Smithfield bargain, then?” he accused with a cocked eyebrow.

Garrett’s eyes widened at the comment. “Of course, not!”

“Okay, two-thousand pounds, but that’s my final offer,” Frank stated firmly.

The estate manager stared at Frank for a very long time.
Two-thousand pounds?
He would have been satisfied with just Jane and no money at all! What ever could have possessed Frank to be so generous?

Garrett finished off his scotch. “I ... I accept,” he finally said, not sure what he was supposed to say to the odd proposition. “But,
why?
”

The gaming hell proprietor seemed taken aback by the question. “She’s been here eight years, Garrett. If I don’t get her married off soon, she won’t be biddable, and I’ll be stuck being responsible for her for the rest of my life!” Although he hadn’t meant the comment to come out so harsh, Frank realized it was a relief to finally admit he didn’t relish the notion of prolonged fatherhood. And, yes, he would lose his best faro and vingt-et-un dealer in the process, but he could find another. Maybe he already had, if Penelope Winthrop was still dealing at Jane’s station where he’d last left her.

Garrett nodded. “And who is the new chit?” he asked in a voice that suggested he was teasing the proprietor. “She has quite a busy table this evening.”

Frank colored up a bit as he opened a large ledger book. “That would be Penelope,” he said stiffly. He began to write out a bank note.

“Let me guess. Orphan. Nineteen, maybe twenty ...” Garret’s teasing manner still evident in his comment.

“That’s none of your concern,” Frank interrupted him as he signed his name to the cheque. He handed the draft to Garrett.
Two-thousand pounds
was written in an even script readable by anyone who’d been educated. And anyone who worked in a bank.

It was more money than Garrett had ever seen at one time in his entire life.

“Thank you,” Garrett said as he continued to look at the cheque.
I am about to be leg-shackled,
he thought suddenly. But he found the thought did not bother him in the least. He hadn’t been with another woman since he’d taken Jane’s virtue – he found he had no desire to
be
with another woman.
I am doing the right thing,
he assured himself. Besides, if he didn’t wed Jane soon, how much longer would she be employed at The Jack of Spades given what Frank had just said?

As if Frank could hear his thoughts, he said, “I figure Jane had maybe six months, perhaps a year left before I would need to find her an alternative in life.”

Garrett considered the timeline. He certainly would have asked for her hand before that, he thought, remembering how much Joshua planned to pay him for his first six months on the job at Wisborough Oaks. But with this dowry, he could marry Jane tomorrow. Or whenever a special license allowed. “May I see her?” he asked in a quiet voice, a hand fumbling into pockets in his top coat and waist coat. There was a ring in there somewhere, he knew. He’d tucked it into a pocket just before leaving in the coach. He hadn’t intended on presenting it as part of a marriage proposal exactly, but he’d wanted Jane to have the ring so she might know he was serious in his intent to eventually ask for her hand. A forefinger finally slipped through the loop of the ring, and he pulled it from his pocket. “I have a marriage proposal to make,” he said by way of explanation.