The Gamble (2 page)

I was horribly nervous about what I was going to do, however, and the distractions of the ghastly journey were actually rather welcome. Inevitably, though, our destination was finally reached and at midafternoon we entered the outskirts of London.

Maria’s eyes were bugging out of her head as we drove deeper and deeper into the city. I thought ruefully that I probably didn’t look any less astonished. We were, after all, both country girls and neither of us had ever seen so many people or so many carts and carriages in one place in all of our lives.

Maria and I took a hackney from the coaching inn where the London stage ended its journey to No. 7 Albemarle Street, the address of Grillon’s Hotel. I had sent ahead to book a room, so I was expected.

The hall of the hotel was as grand as the ballroom of a nobleman, with great crystal chandeliers and polished green marble floors. The clerk behind the desk did not look happy to see me. Obviously he did not think that I fitted the elegance of the surroundings.

He flicked his eyes quickly up and down my person, taking in my old mulberry pelisse and hat. “Miss . . . Newbury?” he said haughtily.

I gave him a return look that was even haughtier. I do not like to be sneered at. “I am Miss Newbury,” I announced, “and I require to be shown to my room immediately, if you please. I have had an excessively tiring journey.”

We stared at each other for a few more moments, and then his eyes dropped away from mine. I had won.

I have always found that perseverance pays off.

“Of course, Miss Newbury,” the desk clerk said in a more conciliatory tone. “I will have someone show you up immediately.” He motioned to a white-wigged lackey who was lurking close by. “Take Miss Newbury and her maid up to her room, Edward.” He twitched his lips in a semblance of a smile. “I hope your stay with us is a pleasant one, ma’am.”

I nodded graciously and swept off after the footman. Another lackey trailed after us, carrying my portmanteau.

* * *

I did not sleep very well that night. My whole body felt bruised and battered from the stagecoach ride, but I was so worried about my interview with the Earl of Winterdale that I felt wound tighter than a spring.

Over and over I rehearsed the coming scene in my mind.

He had to know that Papa was dead, and he must be wondering and worrying about what had happened to the evidence Papa had been holding against him. I thought that my appearance would not come as a complete shock to him.

I wondered what he looked like, this wealthy earl who was dishonest enough to cheat at faro. According to Papa’s file he was forty-eight years of age and he had one son and two daughters. The son was twenty-seven. The eldest daughter was twenty-three and married. The daughter who was being presented was my age, nineteen.

This was not the kind of man who wanted his world to know that he was a cheat. I thought that there was an excellent chance that he would agree to have me presented with his daughter.

But I would feel better when tomorrow’s interview was over.

CHAPTER
two

I
AWOKE TO THE UNACCUSTOMED NOISE OF TRAFFIC
on the street. The day outside my hotel window looked as bright and as clear as I supposed the morning ever got in London. I breakfasted in my room at eight, then paced the floor for several hours, waiting for eleven o’clock, which I judged to be a decent hour to pay a call on a town gentleman.

Maria helped me to dress carefully in the outfit I had bought for Papa’s funeral, a black broadcloth walking dress with a cape. My brown hair is as straight as rain, and there is little to be done with it except wear it on top of my head in a coronet of braids. My black straw bonnet with its black ribbons fit over it neatly, however, and my boots were well polished and my leather gloves immaculate. I took Maria with me for propriety’s sake and gave the hackney driver the address in Grosvenor Square, in which I had discovered Mansfield House was located.

I was so sick with nervousness as we drove through the London streets that I scarcely noticed the bustle of the city that was going on around me. Over and over again I practiced what it was that I was going to say to the earl. Over and over again I imagined his reply, imagined the various responses I might make.

I tried very hard not to think about how sinful was the act I was planning to do.

Grosvenor Square was a square of mostly brown-brick buildings with red dressings and stone cornices and a formal garden in the middle. Number 10, Mansfield House, was a large Palladian-style edifice, about twice as wide and consequently twice as imposing, as the other houses that surrounded it. I couldn’t help but wonder why someone who was wealthy enough to own such a house would cheat at cards.

Several steps led up to the front door, and my heart began to beat dangerously fast as I ascended the staircase and lifted the impressive brass knocker.

It was opened very quickly and a footman in green-velvet livery stood there, regarding me and Maria with obvious surprise. I supposed that in London, unknown ladies did not come calling at the home of a gentleman.

“Yes?” he said.

“I am here to see Lord Winterdale,” I said firmly.

The footman looked flustered. On the one hand, my obvious mourning made it pretty clear that I was neither a dancer nor an opera singer. On the other hand, what was a single young lady, accompanied only by a maid, doing on the doorstep of Lord Winterdale’s home?

A moment later another man in livery, who was clearly the butler, appeared behind the footman. “That will be all, Charles,” he said to his underling. The newcomer turned to me. “Lord Winterdale is not at home,” he said coldly, and began to close the door in my face.

“He will be at home to me,” I said grimly, and stuck my foot in the door. “Please have the goodness to inform his lordship that Miss Newbury, the daughter of Lord Weldon, wishes to speak to him.”

The absolute certainty in my voice, not to mention my foot in the door, shook the butler for a moment.

I took advantage of his indecision, and said haughtily, “I would prefer to wait indoors, and not on the doorstep, while you inform Lord Winterdale of my presence.”

After another moment, the butler opened the door a fraction wider. I stalked in, with Maria creeping after me.

Directly inside the door was a grand entrance hall, which opened up into a magnificent circular staircase. The butler did not take us farther into the house, however, but ushered us into a small anteroom set off by round columns that opened off the entrance hall to the right.

“Wait here, and I will see if his lordship desires to see you,” he said abruptly.

I watched as he moved in a stately fashion across the black-and-white marble tiles of the anteroom. Once he had left, I felt some of the tension drain out of me.

“Lor’,” Maria breathed, “this is certain a grand house, Miss Georgiana.” She looked around the room, with its huge portrait of an elegant eighteenth-century gentleman hung over the alabaster fireplace, its pale green walls, and its marble floor, and once more her eyes were bugging out of her head.

The only furniture in the room was a gilt table under the large front window. There were no chairs.

I took a long breath and went to stand beside the fireplace, which was not lit.

I waited for almost half an hour and I can tell you that my temper was quite hot enough to keep me warm by the time the butler returned and informed me that Lord Winterdale would see me. I didn’t say anything about the wait, however, just left Maria behind in the anteroom and followed the butler down the passageway, past the magnificent staircase. Another anteroom was directly at the end of the passageway, and I caught a glimpse of a huge glass portico opening off it to the back of the house. Before we reached the anteroom, however, we halted at a door to the right of the passage.

The butler pushed open the door and announced, “Miss Newbury, my lord,” and I walked into what was obviously the library.

A thin, black-haired young man, standing next to a shelf with a book in his hand, half turned to glance at me. I looked around the room for the earl and saw no one. I looked again, but there was no one else present.

A dreadful suspicion rocked me. “Surely you can’t be the Earl of Winterdale!” I blurted. “The Earl of Winterdale is old!”

The black-haired young man came across to the big mahogany desk and put down his book.

“I assure you, Miss Newbury, that I am indeed the Earl of Winterdale,” he said in a cool, contained voice. “I have been the earl for the last fourteen months, ever since my uncle and my cousin were killed in a sailing accident off the coast of Scotland.”

“Oh no!” I wailed, not believing my bad luck.

“I apologize if my succession to the title has caused you any distress, but I assure you that it was quite out of my control,” this new earl said, finally lifting his head to look at me fully. I detected a tinge of amusement in his cool voice and I looked at him more closely, trying to see if it might be possible after all for me to salvage something from this unexpected development.

How blue his eyes were! It was the first thought that struck me as I looked into his face. Next I noticed his eyebrows. These were not level and steady like Frank’s, but arched and reckless.

This, I thought positively, was the face of a gambler. How unfortunate that I didn’t have any evidence against
him
.

I did still have the evidence against his uncle, however. Perhaps, I thought, this new Lord Winterdale would have enough family feeling not to wish to see his name dragged through the mud that my revelations would inevitably produce.

I clasped my gloved hands tensely in front of me and decided that it was worth a try.

I straightened my shoulders, and said, “I have come to tell you, my lord, that upon going through my father’s papers after his death, I discovered that he had been blackmailing a number of gentleman of the
ton
whom he had discovered cheating at cards.”

As you can see, I believe in being blunt.

The reckless black eyebrows lifted slightly higher.

“As I have not been cheating at cards, Miss Newbury,” he said mildly, “of what possible interest can such a revelation be to me?”

I frowned. He was not making this any easier for me.

“One of the men Papa was blackmailing was your uncle,” I said baldly.

Lord Winterdale pulled out the chair behind his desk and sat down, regarding me steadily with those brilliant blue eyes of his. He did not invite me to take a chair, which I thought was excessively rude.

I scowled at him. “This is a very serious matter, my lord. Your uncle paid my father a great deal of money to keep his mouth shut about this matter.”

“What a delightful man your father must have been,” the earl said lightly. “However, I still fail to see what my uncle’s peccadilloes have to do with me.”

I was furious about his comments about Papa. “Your uncle wasn’t any better than my father!” I said hotly.

He shrugged as if the matter was of supreme disinterest to him.

I took a few steps toward the desk where he was so rudely sitting. “I have come to see you because I have read in the paper that Lady Winterdale is presenting her daughter Catherine this Season. When I read the notice I thought that Catherine was the earl’s daughter. Am I correct in assuming that Lady Winterdale is your aunt and that Catherine is your cousin?”

He nodded gravely. “You would be correct in assuming that, Miss Newbury.”

Really, it was outrageous of him to keep me standing here like this. As if I were a servant or something! I said nastily, “I do not think that either Lady Winterdale or Catherine would care for the
ton
to discover that Catherine’s father had been a cheat, particularly at a time when Lady Winterdale is trying to find a husband for her.”

His eyes narrowed, and for the first time I noticed how hard his mouth was. “Are you now threating to blackmail
me
, Miss Newbury?” he asked in a voice that was downright scary.

I thought of Anna and forced myself to meet that dangerous blue stare. I lifted my chin. “Yes,” I said. “I am.”

An exceedingly uncomfortable silence fell between us. I shifted from one foot to the other and tried to keep my chin in the air.

Finally he said silkily, “May I ask if you are squeezing the rest of your father’s victims or am I the only unfortunate soul to find myself the object of your attention?”

I could feel myself flush. “I am not blackmailing anyone else. I only chose you because I saw in the paper that you were presenting your daughter—at least, I thought she was your daughter—and I thought I might convince you to present me as well.”

He looked amazed. “Present you? I cannot present a young lady, Miss Newbury.”

“I know that,” I said crossly. “I was hoping you might persuade your wife—or rather your aunt—to present me along with your cousin. It wouldn’t be that onerous a task, after all. All she would have to do would be to include me in the schemes she has already arranged for Catherine.”

A little silence fell as he drummed his fingers on his desk and looked at me. The sun slanting in the window behind him fell on hair that was as black as a raven’s wing.

“Why do you wish to have a Season, Miss Newbury?” he said at last.

I replied with dignity, “For the usual reason, my lord. I need to find a husband.”

He leaned back in his chair. “And you have no female relative of your own who might be persuaded to perform this service for you?”

I said regretfully, “Every Newbury I know is poor, and it costs money to have a London Season. You see, Weldon Hall is entailed and Papa had only two daughters, so Anna and I have found ourselves without a home. Consequently, I need to marry, and it seemed to me that my best chance of doing that was to come to London and have a Season.”

He said, “In short, Miss Newbury, you are a fortune hunter.”

I corrected him. “I am a husband hunter, my lord. I don’t need a fortune; a respectable man with a respectable home will suit me very well.”

“Respectable men do not marry blackmailers,” he said.

I flinched.

He continued remorselessly, “Moreover, as I said before,
I
am not the one who is presenting my cousin. Her mother is doing that, and I rather doubt that my aunt will wish to bring you out alongside Catherine. The comparison between the two of you would not be to Catherine’s advantage.”

I bit my lip and wondered if I could possibly blackmail
Lady
Winterdale. She certainly would not like the truth about her late husband to come out at such a delicate time.

When I lifted my eyes again to Lord Winterdale, I was amazed to see that he had a completely different expression on his face. The hardness was gone and those reckless eyebrows were slightly drawn together. He got up from his chair and came over to stand in front of me. As he approached I had to restrain myself from backing up. He was not an exceptionally large man, but he was certainly intimidating.

“Take off your hat,” he commanded me.

I stared up at him in bewilderment.

He lifted his hands as if he would do it himself, and I hastened to untie the ribbons and lift my bonnet from my head.

He lifted my chin and stared down into my face.

I looked back unwillingly, caught in the intense blue of his eyes.

“Hmmm,” he said. Then he grinned. Not pleasantly. He turned my face to the left and then to the right, his eyes narrowed with calculation.

All of my life I have been called a pretty girl, but believe me, mine was not the sort of face that would launch a thousand ships. It is heart-shaped, not oval, and my hair and eyes are brown. My sister is the one who is truly beautiful, not I.

Lord Winterdale said, “By George, I believe I’ll do it.”

By now his eyebrows were looking positively dangerous.

“Do what?” I asked in bewilderment. “Bring me out?”

“Make a push to have my aunt bring you out, at any rate,” he said.

I looked at him suspiciously. “What has changed your mind? A minute ago you were making nasty comments about my being a blackmailer and making me stand while you sat there like a sultan looking at a harem candidate.”

“My, my, my,” he murmured. “A blackmailer who wants to be treated politely. That is certainly something new.”

“Have you had much experience with blackmailers, my lord?” I asked sarcastically.

“Don’t be unpleasant, Miss Newbury,” he said. He tapped my cheek with his finger. “It doesn’t become you.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but a knock came on the library door and the butler opened it and looked in.

“Lady Winterdale has arrived and wishes to speak to you, my lord. I just thought I would let you know in case the young person was still with you.”

“Thank you, Mason.”

“Shall I ask Lady Winterdale to wait, my lord?”

“Not at all,” Lord Winterdale said blandly. “Show her along to the library.”

The butler’s face was impassive as he backed out of the room.

The earl put his hand on my arm. “Now, Miss Newbury, if you will come over here, I think we can successfully hide you behind this drapery,” he said.