Chapter 4
J asper tamped down a smile as Cecelia paced the corridor outside the sitting room. He conducted his business affairs in his study, but since Cecelia had come to live with him, he had taken to writing his morning correspondence at a desk in the sitting room. Since no one was allowed in his study, he had found this gave Cecelia the opportunity to interact with him on her terms. She rarely chose to do so, but he made himself available all the same.
Today it seemed she had something to say, because she had been pacing the marble tiles outside the room for nearly half an hour. Jasper was hoping she would work up the courage to enter. He was curious to know how yesterday had gone with the odd new governess, Frankie, and if he asked Cecelia outright she would thwart him by purposely avoiding the question. Adolescent girls were a damnable curiosity, but Jasper was experienced in strategizing against his opponents, and he knew instinctively that if he wanted answers from Cecelia, the best course of action was to act as if he did not.
The sun shone brilliantly through the diamond-paned window over the desk, and Jasper would have liked to open the windows for fresh air, only there was no such thing to be found in London in the dead heat of summer. Lavender and honeysuckle were scattered in crystal vases about the room, but even those fragrant blooms were not enough to mask the pungent odor of sewage.
He finished his letter to Perdita’s requesting a new governess and used candle wax to seal it. He had moved on to writing a letter to his solicitor about funds for his wharf project when Cecelia entered the sitting room with a too-bright smile on her lips. She was outfitted in a horrid, shockingly orange gown that was entirely too short and probably hadn’t fit her in years. Jasper set aside his letter and wondered why Cecelia insisted on dressing in such a way, when a thought struck him. Did she have any other dresses? When was the last time his brother had updated her wardrobe?
“Cecelia,” he said before she could speak, “do you require a new wardrobe?”
Cecelia crossed her arms over her chest. “I do not require anything from you, Uncle Jasper.”
He bit back a sigh. Replace “Uncle Jasper” with “Brother,” and those words could have come straight from his brother’s mouth. Jasper had loved his brother and had given to him freely, but his brother had not felt the same toward him. Not wishing to be “indebted” to Jasper, his brother had always been just shy of hostile, and it had not mattered how many times Jasper told him the money was a gift. His brother had always resented him, and that hadn’t changed with their rise in society. Jasper couldn’t blame him. He’d done plenty in his lifetime to earn that resentment.
“Nevertheless, it is clear your gowns do not fit any longer so you shall have a new wardrobe.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. Her features, which had been anxious upon entering, hardened with resolve. “I have come to ask you if I can attend the Houndsbury house party in three weeks.”
“No.” There was no beating around the bush. Cecelia was far too young to attend one of the ton ’s frivolous and lengthy house parties. At fifteen she was practically still a baby and years away from coming out. Besides, he rubbed shoulders with enough nobility at his club to know exactly how men viewed a young woman with a hefty dowry, and he did not particularly feel like knocking out anyone’s teeth in the next month.
“I thought you might say that, so I have come with a proposition.”
Jasper lifted a brow. He crossed one booted ankle over his knee and gestured with his hand for her to continue. The black insignia ring he wore on his middle finger caught a ray of sunlight from the window and glinted.
“I will play you for the opportunity. Ten games of Vingt et Un. If I win six out of the ten, you will allow me to attend.”
“Cecelia.” Jasper said her name as gently as he could. “You cannot win. We both know that.”
She lifted her chin. “Then what do you have to lose?”
He shrugged and rummaged in the desk for a pack of playing cards, which he always had on hand. If she wanted to play it would give him time to subtly probe about Miss Turner. “My terms are that if I win, you will not scowl at me for one whole day.”
“Oh, Uncle Jasper, I do not think that is possible. Can you choose something else?”
He swallowed his exasperation. “Fine. You will not scowl at dinner.”
She wrinkled her nose but nodded. Jasper shuffled the pack and dealt the first round, which he won. He swiped the cards away and dealt again. “What did you think of Miss Turner?”
Cecelia was concentrating so hard her eyes were almost crossed. “She is wonderful,” she answered absently. “Deal me a card.” He did so, and then dealt himself a card. She had nineteen, he twenty.
“Deal me again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Do it.”
Jasper flipped the card over. It was a two. Cecelia crowed with delight and Jasper smiled. Everyone deserved to get lucky once in a while.
“Did she teach you your lessons? Did she appear competent?”
“She called you a toad, so she’s more intelligent than most.”
A toad! Miss Turner was hardly a princess herself. Her hair may have been the color of sun-struck wheat, and her huge eyes were as blue as a summer sky, but she had the spectacles of a ninety-year-old spinster and appeared constantly frazzled. In their one brief meeting he had noticed she’d missed a button on her gown and her hair was falling down her back. She was an unorganized disaster.
“I imagine she would thank you for the compliment,” he said dryly. He dealt again.
The third time Cecelia won Jasper scented a scam. He had been gambling from the time he was four. He’d played dice in the street, winning trinkets from other boys, and then had moved on to card games with men. He’d slowly built enough savings to invest in a gaming tavern with Jimmy “Bird Eyes” Parson. Their partnership had dissolved with a bloody fistfight, but Jasper had limped away with even more money to his name. He now owned the most exclusive gaming hell in London, but he still walked the floor every night, smiling and shaking hands, his presence subtly reminding the patrons he was watching.
He could spot a cheat a mile away.
He dealt the cards and watched Cecelia closely. Her lips moved as she tallied a number, and he slammed a fist on the table. She jumped in surprise.
“Cecelia! Are you counting cards?”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Are you using mathematics to figure out what cards should show next?”
“Yes. Are you all right, Uncle Jasper? Your face is turning awfully red.”
Jasper took two deep breaths. “Cecelia, if you were in Rockford’s right now, I’d throw you out on your ar—ear.”
“Is it not allowed?”
“ No .”
“Do you not do it?”
That was a less clear-cut answer. He had certainly counted cards to work his way up the ladder, but he did not tolerate it in his own club. He ignored the question. “How did you learn to do that?”
“A book,” she answered quickly. Too quickly.
Jasper stared her down. Cecelia was a tough nut to crack, but Jasper Jones had earned his reputation as the devil incarnate fairly. He may appear civilized on the outside, but when it came down to it, the only moral code he abided by was personal. When he wanted something, he got it.
And right now he wanted a name.
Cecelia squirmed and looked at the ceiling, then her nails, and finally blurted, “It was Miss Turner! But you musn’t be cross. She was only teaching me my mathematics lesson and—”
Jasper’s blood began to simmer. “Cecelia, go to your chamber.”
“I do not want to.”
“Then go to the library or the larder for all I care.”
Cecelia stuck her tongue out at him and raced from the room.
The moment she was gone Jasper stomped to the door of the sitting room, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if every person in Mayfair heard him roar, “MISS TURNER!”