Jane Feather - [V Series] (21 page)

“W
ell, what do you think, Judith? Could you do it?”

As Cornelia leaned forward eagerly, the spindle-legged chair tilted precariously beneath her. She grabbed at the side table, sending it rocking.

Judith automatically put out a hand to steady the table. “You’re asking me to teach you to be gamesters?” There was a bubble of laughter in her voice as she contemplated this delicious prospect and glanced around the room at her three friends.

“It’s a wonderful idea,” Isobel said, sipping ratafia. “We all have difficulties about money. Sally because of Jeremy; and Cornelia has to supplement her mother’s jointure out of her own allowance; and as for me …” Her mouth tightened and a shadow of distaste crossed her expression. “Henley doles out money to me as if he’s
doing me the most immense favor, and only after I’ve asked prettily at least three times. I put off asking for as long as possible because it’s so humiliating.”

“I could teach you some things,” Judith reflected. “The techniques with the cards … strategies of wagering … things like that. But you have to have nerve, and some natural talent to be really successful.”

“I can’t believe I have less talent than Jeremy,” Sally said with a resigned chuckle. “He only ever plays hazard, and how can you possibly win with the dice?”

“You can’t,” Judith said. “At least, you can’t rely upon it. Macao, piquet, quinze, unlimited loo, and whist—although the stakes there are often not high enough to be really satisfying—are the only games to play for winning rather than pure entertainment.”

“I don’t think I’m brave enough to play in the hells,” Sally went on thoughtfully. “If Jack found out …” She shuddered. “He’d pack me off to the country with the children indefinitely.” She glanced at her sister-in-law over the rim of her sherry glass. “Marcus would decide it was the only sensible decision.”

“And Jack always does as his elder brother suggests,” Judith agreed dryly. “Marcus has that effect on his nearest and dearest.”

“What happened when he gave you the rubies? I forgot to ask. I was so relieved when I handed them over to Jack, I didn’t think I ever wanted to see them again.”

Judith chuckled. “Oh, I expressed suitable astonishment and delight at such a magnificent heirloom, and then told Marcus that actually they would suit your coloring better than mine, so perhaps he should give them back to you.”

“Judith, you didn’t!” exclaimed Sally, her eyes widening as the others began to laugh.

“I did,” Judith insisted, laughing too. “It seemed
such a delicious little twist. However,” she added, “he wouldn’t. It wasn’t appropriate, or something.” She shrugged.

“We don’t
have
to play in gambling hells to make money, do we?” Isobel returned to the original subject.

“No,” Judith agreed. “One can do quite well at the high-stakes tables at balls and soirees. I do think it’s unfair that women can’t go into White’s or Watier’s or Brooks’s though,” she grumbled. “Did you know the stakes at the Nonesuch almost always start at fifty guineas?” Her voice had a yearning note to it.

“So you’ll teach us?” Cornelia asked.

“Oh, yes,” Judith said. “With the greatest pleasure. We will have a school for gamesters.” She refilled their glasses. “A toast, my friends: to women of independent means.”

The door opened on their delighted laughter.

“Oh, Judith, I beg your pardon.” Charlie hovered on the threshold. “I’m intruding.”

Judith took in his hangdog expression, the white shade around his mouth, and immediately held out her hand in invitation. “No, of course you’re not, Charlie. Come in. You know everyone, don’t you?”

“How are you, Charlie?” Sally greeted him with a motherly smile, patting the sofa beside her.

He flung himself down and sighed, gazing morosely into the distance. Judith poured him a glass of sherry. “You’ve just come from Marcus’s book room,” she stated.

Charlie took the glass and drained its contents in one gulp. “I feel as if I’ve been flayed.”

Sally winced and shot Judith another comprehending glance. Judith raised her eyebrows. “He told me yesterday he knew you were in debt.”

“I had a sure thing at Newmarket—” Charlie began in aggrieved accents.

“Only of course it wasn’t,” Judith broke in. It was a familiar story.

Charlie shook his head. “The cursed screw came in last. I couldn’t believe it, Judith.”

“Horses are notoriously unreliable when one’s counting upon them. I assume you were?” She leaned back in her deep armchair and sipped her sherry. She’d never been able to understand why anyone would bet tomorrow’s dinner on a horse over which one had no control.

He nodded. “I put my shirt on it. I’ve had a run of bad luck at the tables, and I was convinced Merry Dancer would help me come about.” He hunched over his knees, twisting his hands together, pulling at the fingers until the knuckles cracked.

Judith frowned. She knew Charlie would come into a princely inheritance when he came of age. “Surely Marcus didn’t refuse to advance you enough to cover your debts of honor?” That was an inconceivable thought.

Charlie stared moodily at the carpet. “After he’d reduced me to the size of a worm, he said he would give me an advance on next quarter’s allowance. And I’d have to manage on next to nothing next quarter, but at least I wouldn’t find myself obliged to resign from my clubs.” He laughed bitterly. “Some comfort that is. I can’t possibly
eat
on what’s left. But when I said that, he told me I could go into Berkshire and make myself useful on the estate, and that way I could manage with no expenses.”

“It seems to me wives and wards have much in common,” Judith observed, resting her chin on her elbow-propped palm on the arm of her chair.

“How’s that?”

“Both live under someone else’s thumb,” she explained aridly.

“But for a male ward, at least there’s an end to the sentence,” Cornelia pointed out.

“I never know whether you’re funning or not when you talk in such fashion,” Charlie said, sighing.

Judith smiled. “Then you must guess.”

Charlie jumped to his feet and began to pace the salon. “A man’s got to play, for God’s sake.”

“Yes, but does he have to play as badly as you?” Judith asked with brutal frankness. “Perhaps you should join our school.”

Chagrin warred with curiosity. The latter won. “What school?”

Judith explained, watching Charlie’s face with ill-concealed merriment.

“Good God,” he said. “You can’t be serious. What a scandalous idea.”

“Oh, but we are,” Isobel declared, rising to her feet. “Very serious. We have every intention of earning ourselves a degree of financial independence.” She drew on her lacy mittens. “I must go, Judith. It’s been a most enlivening morning. Can I take you up as far as Mount Street, Cornelia?” She drifted to the door in a waft of filmy muslin.

“Thank you.” Cornelia rose, tripped over her shawl, and sat down again with a thump. “Oh, dear.”

Gregson announced the arrival of Sebastian just as Judith and Isobel bent to untangle Cornelia.

“Oh, Sebastian, I wasn’t expecting you to call.” Judith straightened as her brother entered.

“Well, I think you might have,” he said, “since you’re forever giving me commissions to execute for you.”

“Now, what in the world do you mean?” Judith frowned.

Sebastian grinned. “I hope I haven’t just bought Grantham’s breakdowns for nothing. I could have sworn you asked—”

“Oh, Sebastian, you have them!” She kissed him soundly. “I didn’t think you’d be able to do it so quickly.”

“I have ’em right and tight.” He was clearly very pleased with himself. “Only just did it, though. Steffington and Broughton were both after them.”

“You’re very clever, love,” she said. “Where are they?”

“I put them up with my own for the moment, since I wasn’t quite sure how or when you intended to spring ’em upon Carrington.”

Judith pursed her lips. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll have to work that one out.”

“What is this, Judith?” Sally refastened the ribbons of her chip-straw hat.

“Oh, I’m going to drive a perch phaeton and a pair of match-geldings,” Judith announced. “Sebastian has procured them for me.”

“That’s very dashing,” Cornelia said, steady on her feet again. “And I insist on being the first person to drive with you.”

“The pleasure will be all mine.” Judith kept to herself the alarming images of Cornelia combined with a high-axled perch phaeton. It didn’t bear thinking about. She accompanied her friends down to the hall.

Sebastian poured himself a glass of sherry while a still slightly scandalized Charlie regaled him with the story of the gaming school. It occurred to him that his sister’s philanthropic, educational zeal would have done them great disservice in the days when the more fools there
were at the card tables, the better it suited them. But the edge of desperate need was blunted for both of them now. And once Bernard Melville, third Earl of Gracemere, had been constrained to return what he’d stolen, the need would be gone forever. His long fingers tightened around the delicate stem of his glass, then deliberately he loosened his grip, let the mental door drop over the turbulent emotions that would muddle cool thinking.

Judith, her head full of match geldings, bumped into her husband as she hurried back up the stairs.

“You seem a trifle distracted,” he observed, taking hold of the banister. “What’s on your mind?”

To her annoyance, Judith felt her cheeks warm with a guilty flush. “Oh, nothing,” she said airily. “I’m in a hurry because I’m going to ride with Sebastian. It’s such a beautiful day.”

It had been rather gray and overcast when Marcus had last looked out the window. He raised his eyebrows. “The weather is, of course, very changeable at this time of year.”

Judith chewed her lip, and her husband’s eyes narrowed. “What mischief do you brew, lynx?”

“Mischief? Whatever can you mean?”

“I can read it in your eyes. You’re up to something.”

“Of course I’m not.” She changed the subject abruptly and to good purpose. “Why must you be so horrid to Charlie? He does no more than most young men in his position.”

Her husband’s face closed. “As you, of course, know so well, ma’am. Such naiveté has its advantages.”

Judith drew breath sharply at this well-placed dart as Marcus continued in clipped tones, “How I handle Charlie is my business and has nothing to do with you.
He’s been my ward since he was little more than a baby, and in general we deal extremely well together.”

“Yes, I know you do.” Judith persisted, despite the snub. “And he’s very fond of you and respects you. But he’s young.…”

“If he were not, Judith, I would have no need to hold the reins, and we wouldn’t be having this discussion.” He drew his fob watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. “As I said, it is not your affair. I have an appointment. I must ask you to excuse me.”

Discussion was hardly the word for it, Judith thought, standing aside as he moved past her on the stairs. She’d been most effectively put in her place when all she’d been trying to do was offer him a slant on Charlie’s view of the situation. But then, Marcus Devlin had had no youth, so probably couldn’t be expected to understand the ups and downs of that state. His father had died when he was a boy and his mother had been a semi-invalid ever since. Marcus had somehow jumped full-grown into adulthood, with the immense responsibility of an ancient title and an enormous estate. As far as she could tell, he’d assumed the whole without blinking an eye.

But then, she and Sebastian hadn’t had much in the way of childhood either. Judith resolutely pushed aside her somber reflections as she returned to the drawing room.

T
he atmosphere in Sebastian’s sitting room in his lodgings on Albemarle Street was relaxed and good-humored. The six men sitting around the card table were lounging back in their chairs, goblets of claret at their elbows, all exuding the well-fed complacence of satisfied dinner guests.

Sebastian was an attentive host, and none of his guests was aware that his single-minded concentration was on only one of their number—Bernard Melville, Earl of Gracemere.