Jack of Clubs (24 page)

“Fustian. Every girl dreams of her wedding.”

“Every pauper dreams of being a prince. That does not mean he knows how to govern. And dreams are for the young, my dear, not old maids like me.” Allie was lying, but her cousin did not have to know the truth. Dreams never faded, it seemed, no matter how hard a woman wished them away. Perhaps when she was old and gray she could forget a pair of laughing brown eyes. Or perhaps not. “Harriet, do not throw sticks for the dog. He will not chase them, and you might hit someone else by—Ouch!”

“Then…then you won't be my friend?”

The trembling lip, the tear-filled eyes, Allie had seen them all, heard all the pitiful, quavering notes a young girl could dredge from her soul. Still, she could not help herself. Margery was young, and her very own first cousin. She rubbed at her sore shin and said, “Of course I will be your friend, just not on your terms. I will see you occasionally, likely on excursions with Harriet or here in the square. You'll see that is for the best. I have no experience of high society, and no wardrobe suitable to take a place in it.”

But experience was meant to be learned, and clothes were meant to be bought. So Lady Margery went to Harold, who would move the moon for her if he could.

Harold spoke to Captain Endicott, who was teaching the lad the fine art of fisticuffs, and how not to be fleeced at games of chance.

Jack talked to Mary Crandall, Allie's supposed companion, who in turn visited Mr. Burquist, Harriet's supposed solicitor. The sooner Miss Silver's future was settled, old—but not too old—Mr. Burquist supposed, the sooner his own comfort with the cozy widow could be considered.

Somehow he found a clause in Lord Hildebrand's will. Somehow he convinced the trustees of Lady Hildebrand in Bath that her granddaughter's upkeep was part of their responsibility. How much easier to send some funds than see to a child. She already had a competent foster father, didn't she? Besides, no one wanted the murderous uncle to inherit more of the Hildebrand fortune than necessary.

Jack was guardian of Harriet, and now guardian of her inheritance.

Harriet had a more handsome dowry.

“I'd rather have a dove cote. We could have pigeons and you could send messages to your brother.”

Jack ignored her and invested the entire sum in the Funds, under Mr. Burquist's care.

Harriet had an allowance.

“Can I build an ant farm? Where else can they go in the winter?”

That money was designated for her books and her clothes, with a bit left over for sweets and such.

Harriet had a competence, a quarterly income for her education.

Jack redeemed his racing curricle. “No, you cannot take the reins.”

“I'd rather have a frog, then.”

Jack felt so good he bought her the frog and disappointed a hungry emigré French count. Now that the Hildebrand estate was paying for Harriet's governess and her nursemaid Patsy, he could put his own profits in the bank. With no more trouble at the club, he could send the hired guards onto his brother, to work at the estate in Cardington. Fedder the Pimp was not going to bother Patsy, not once Calloway made it known he had an interest there. And the card sharp Sir Jethro Stevens was still in the Fleet.

Jack left Hawkins and Lundy at the London town house to serve Harriet and the women, but with the men's room and board paid, their wages were not high. And someone had to help look after Harriet's menagerie, which was educational. The inheritance paid for the men, too.

Jack was solvent, above oars with the world, feeling far more optimistic about the future.

And Miss Silver had a raise in salary.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Harriet needs new clothes,” Jack began.

Allie knew that. Harriet had few frocks to start with after the fire at the school. She'd quickly outgrown them with the plentiful meals at The Red and the Black and Carde House, the clothes that she had not ripped, ruined, or stained beyond repair.

“I had not wanted to ask, with your circumstances so strained, and our needing the extra staff at the earl's residence.” Allie was going to purchase some fabric from her own savings to make Harriet new apparel.

“Ah, but we are in funds again. The Hildebrand trustees have decided that Harriet should have what her father would have inherited, a good education, a—”

“Will you be sending her to school, then?” Allie's breath caught in her throat, and not just because she was riding high in Jack's curricle, clutching the rail on her side as if that might keep the light vehicle from overturning.

Jack took his eyes off his horses for a moment. “What, can she not learn what she must here? I thought we were doing a superior job of it, you with your lessons and me with the guide books.”

Allie could breathe again. He wasn't sending her away. That is, Jack wasn't sending Harriet away, she told herself. And he was an excellent hand at the ribbons. They were not going all that fast, after all, not in Hyde Park. “No, that is, yes, we can teach her what a proper young female is expected to know, and more. I am proficient at French and Italian, with some German and Spanish, also the globes, the natural sciences, basic artwork, needlework, and a bit of music. And deportment, of course.”

“Of course. I never doubted you knew the perfect conduct for every situation.” He slowed the pair of chestnuts to a walk so he could organize his thoughts better—and look at his passenger, or what he could see of her beneath her ugly bonnet and blanketing cloak. “I was not asking for your qualifications. I swear you are the most competent woman I know.”

Competent was nice. Allie could think of a hundred things she'd rather be, though. Like beautiful, attractive, alluring. Like the women Jack saw every evening. She gripped the railing until her fingers grew numb.

She saw him in the afternoons, with Harriet, at some exhibition or other, or at Carde House, where he inspected the progress of the renovations, with Harriet. The captain took his ward to riding lessons at the indoor ring at a nearby livery stable, and took her to war with his old lead soldiers, unearthed from the nursery. He was teaching her archery and cricket and croquet in the rear gardens of the earl's town house, being a far more competent guardian than Allie had imagined possible. Now he had noticed the child was in too-small tatters. Of course. He noticed the lowered necklines of the women he employed. He'd even briefly ogled Lady Margery's décolletage in the dratted museum.

“Allie? Miss Silver?”

“Oh. I beg your pardon. I must have been wool gathering.” No, she had been wool smoothing, trying to tug down the collar of her gray wool gown under her cloak with her free hand. Not that pulling would make much of a difference in the prudishly cut gown, or that she had much to ogle, beneath it. At least her gloves were new, if they did not rip under the strain of her death grip on the side of the curricle.

She turned to face Jack to show she was paying attention, but that was a mistake. He was so handsome, driving hatless, with the capes of his coat fluttering around his broad shoulders, that she wished she were better at painting, so she could have this image to cherish forever. Jack with the sky behind him and a pleased smile on his lips, above the common ground, all power and pride and manly confidence. Watercolors would never do to capture that strength of body, strength of purpose.

“Oils,” she said, unfortunately out loud.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. That is, Harriet is not ready to learn oil painting, thank goodness, for I am not as capable at that medium as I might wish. If she shows aptitude, you might consider hiring a—”

“Harriet does not need another instructor. But as I was saying, the Hildebrand estate is going to be paying your salary now, a larger one than I could afford.”

“Truly?” Allie was so happy she could have kissed hi—his dog, who was riding at their feet, his ears flapping as the carriage traveled.

Now she could save more of her income, for when she could no longer bear to work for Jack. She was already half-jealous of Harriet, of all the foolish things! The dealers at the club dealt her the green sickness, and the women who came to the club to gamble, or who smiled suggestively at him while viewing statues at the museums, tied her innards in tight knots. She could not live like this forever, or even the ten years or so before Harriet was grown.

Why, the captain might marry before then, to start a nursery of his own. Allie thought she might die rather than teach a tiny child with his nose and his eyes—and another woman's blood in him or her.

He'd select a lady like her cousin, Allie decided, smarter than Lady Margery but fashionable and as richly dowered. Perhaps the taint of the gambling parlor would eliminate the most finicky of tonnish families from his consideration, but Jack could choose a bride from the wealthy merchant class too. Allie chose not to be around when he did.

“And a clothing allowance.”

“I beg your pardon. I was not paying attention.”

He frowned. “Are you feeling quite the thing? Should we turn back?”

“What, and disappoint Harriet?”

Harriet was riding her pony for the first time outside of the stable training ring, with Samuel from the Carde House stables mounted on a sturdy cob on one side of her and a groom on foot on the other. The surgeon had declared Miss Hildebrand fit for gentle riding, since Harriet had only used the sling to tie the kitten onto Joker, so her so-far unnamed cat could learn to ride, too. Now Samuel reprimanded her for waving to Jack, instead of paying attention to her mount. Allie could understand the child's distraction, too. “I am fine. I shall try to keep my wits from going begging again. Harriet has an allowance, you say? Oh no, she will fill the house up with bats and badgers and budgie birds.”

“Her personal allowance is for minor incidentals. She has a quarterly sum set aside for her books and her clothes, which is what I have been trying to tell you. There are now ample funds for her to dress like the officer's daughter she is. I wish you to see to her wardrobe.”

“That will be my pleasure. Lady Margery will know where we can have frocks made up for her, and the best places to purchase fabrics. Shopping appears to be my cousin's greatest pleasure in London, aside from being with Harold, naturally.”

Jack clucked to the horses, to step up their gait to follow the pony and its entourage. “And your own.”

“And my own? No, I do not enjoy shopping. Finding the best gloves at the best price was altogether too time-consuming.”

“I was speaking of your wardrobe. I wish you to dress like a gentleman's daughter also.”

“I do not understand, and I know I have been paying attention this time. You cannot think that I would let you pay for my clothes?” She used her free hand, the one not clutching the rail, to grab at her bonnet as he set the chestnuts to a trot, leaving Harriet and the others behind.

Jack concentrated on his horses, but he spoke to her anyway. “No, but I cannot have one of my employees traveling about London looking worse than a charwoman.”

He meant for her to spend her earnings on fancy dress rather than squirreling it away for a rainy day, or leaving after his wedding. “Shall I don a uniform in your colors, then? Red and black, so people know where I am truly employed?” She could not keep the bitter sarcasm out of her voice. To dress in his colors would be announcing to the town that she was no better than she ought to be. Riding alone with him in his sporting equipage was forward enough, even if the park was empty of fashionable strollers. In an hour or two the place would be full of the gossips and gadabouts, although many of the elite had left town to spend the Christmas holidays at their country residences. “I refuse.”

Jack's mouth was drawn in a fierce line as he maneuvered his horses off the tanbark and onto a grassy knoll where they would have more privacy. “You work at Carde House, not The Red and the Black, and of course I do not want you to dress like a footman or a parlor maid. Furthermore, I am no longer paying your salary, Hildebrand's estate is. I merely wish you to look like a well-born miss's companion.”

“I look like her governess, which I am.”

Jack set the brake. He wrapped the ribbons around the rail and turned to face her. “Your cousin would like to invite you and Harriet to go on calls with her. That is important for Harriet, so she meets other young girls, but also so she will be accepted when she comes of age. She has a decent dowry now, so her circumstances are not as dire as they would be were she a poor orphan from a scandal-ridden family, with a, um, an unlikely guardian, not to put too fine a point on it.”

“You mean a bachelor owner of a gambling parlor.”

He cleared his throat. “I mean that prospective bridegrooms can overlook a great deal in a well-dowered female, especially if she has their mamas' approval.”

“You are planning her wedding?”

“A good soldier looks beyond the current battle to the next campaign.”

“Very well, I can understand trying to pave Harriet's way, if Lady Margery is willing. But what has that to do with me?”

“You are a, ah, an embarrassment to your cousin. Not you, of course. She admires you greatly. But your clothes…”

“My cousin is a worse conniver than Harriet. I see her dainty hand in this. She wants me to act as her companion, thinking I will let her go off with Harold on her own more than her mother would. She also does not wish to have her cousin in service. That is a poor reflection on her own standing, she feels.”

“Can you not consider that she wishes better circumstances for you?”

Allie nodded. “She is a minx, but I suppose she has a good heart. Still, I shall not cater to her whims.”

Jack sighed. “I have another reason for wishing you to improve your wardrobe. The search for my sister is stalled again. A young woman who was called Queenie left no trace behind when she left Manchester. I believe she might be my half-sister, Charlotte. The mystery of Queenie's birth is simply too coincidental with Lottie's disappearance. On the other hand, if this female is not the one I have been seeking, I have to know that, too, so I can look elsewhere, or give up the quest.”

Allie was listening attentively now, but Joker jumped down and found a puddle to drink from. Jack frowned, whether at the hound or his failed hunt, Allie could not tell.

He was going on: “I think she might be a certain female who came to the club, perhaps twice. I do not know why she never called again. But that woman is here in London, and I need your help in finding her.”

“Mine? Of course I will lend what assistance I can, but what can I do?”

“You can go to the dressmakers. Every one you can locate, no matter how small or how unfashionable. The woman who raised this Queenie was a seamstress. We know she trained the girl in her craft, and Downs says the young female appeared stylishly dressed. It makes sense that if the woman came to London, she would seek a position at a modiste's shop. Don't you agree?”

“Unless she has friends to visit, or a beau in the city, or enough funds to be here on holiday. Then she might not be looking for work.”

He did not want to hear that. “But if she is seeking a position, she would look first at the mantua-makers.”

Allie had to concur. “Yes, she is too young and unknown to establish a business of her own. Patrons would not come to an untried dressmaker, so she would have to build a reputation first.”

“That is what I thought. Mr. Rourke from Bow Street is scouring the shops, but the women will not talk with him. They are suspicious of his red vest, I suppose, or a clumsy male in their midsts. Or else they simply do not wish to reveal the identity of a proficient needlewoman, lest they lose her services. She might be using another name, or selling her sewing piecemeal, without giving a name at all. I do not know. I only know that Bow Street cannot find her.”

“But you think I can?”

“I think that if you let your cousin take you and Harriet shopping, you can hear all the chatter in all the fitting rooms, where a man could never go. Rourke has never managed to get past the proprietress of any establishment. You can. You can ask about this Queenie of the assistants who pin up hems or take measurements or whatever they do.”

“But Harriet does not need a huge amount of clothes, merely some fresh pinafores and a pretty frock for dinners or visits. And the assistants will not speak without the lure of tips or the promise of larger orders, which I cannot afford.”

“That is what I have been trying to explain. You shall have a clothing allowance, the same as Harriet, as part of your increased salary. It is important for her future, and it is important to me.”

To have fashionable clothes in soft, silky fabrics and bright colors without spending her tiny hoard? To make a better place in the world for Harriet? To please Captain Endicott? How could she refuse?

“Yes, thank you.”

“Blue,” he said, getting down from the curricle and holding his arms out, to lift her down.

“Blue?” She looked at the distance from the ground, and then she looked at his strong shoulders and that lopsided smile, and stepped into his waiting arms.

“Yes,” he said, swinging her down but leaving his hands at her waist. “That is the color I have been imagining you in. Blue.”

He thought about her? Allie smiled from the inside out.

Then he said, “And I have imagined helping you out of it.”

He thought about her without her clothes? Oh my. Of course he must say that to all the women. But no, he could have any of those women, with or without their clothes on, so he need not imagine anything. Yet he was not paying afternoon calls on willing widows or high flyers; he was here, with her. Rather, she was here, in his embrace, where she'd never felt so desirable.