Never Gamble Your Heart (The Secret Society of Governess Spies #2)

Chapter 6

J asper’s eyes followed Frankie’s disappearing back and his brows drew together. Had her parting comment been a saucy reference to what she had taught Cecelia? And how the hell had he ended up granting Cecelia a party when he’d meant to be chastising the governess?

He flipped open his pocket watch. It was made of cheap tin and was dented and scratched from decades of use. Jasper could have afforded a watch of gold and rubies, but he refused to dispense with the one item he still possessed from his former life. The watch had belonged to his father, but that sure as hell wasn’t why Jasper prized it. He had meant less to his father than he had to his mother. On the wharf there had been no love, only hungry bellies to feed. No, Jasper kept the pocket watch because it was a tangible reminder of where he’d started. Whenever he spent the night mingling with a duke or flirting with a fine lady, he’d take out the watch to remind himself that he was not one of them and he never would be. They loved him because he fed them fine food and wine, because he held the deeds to their estates and the betting books to their secrets. Should he ever lose his edge and misstep, nary a one of them would be there to soften his fall. Rather, he thought they would gleefully crush him beneath their heels.

He should have been at Rockford’s a half hour ago, but now he needed to conference with Mrs. Hollendale about Cecelia’s party. Mrs. Hollendale was wonderfully efficient, and he did not want her taking over, so he would instruct her to give Cecelia full rein. Jasper reached for the letter he’d written to Perdita’s and rang for his butler.

“Sir?”

“Send this out,” Jasper said, handing him the correspondence. At his butler’s silent glance at the address and twitching lips Jasper demanded, “What?”

To his surprise, the butler’s eyes twinkled . “Miss Turner is a delightful addition to the household, sir.”

“How is that?”

“She opened all the windows on the second floor to ‘try and catch a breeze,’ and Mrs. Hollendale was severely put out.”

The butler had a long-standing rivalry with the head housekeeper, Mrs. Hollendale. Whatever irritated Mrs. Hollendale was sure to delight the butler.

“I am sure it reeked,” Jasper said.

“Indeed it did. Even Madam Margaret commented, and I do believe that is the first I have heard her speak. I will be sorry to see Miss Turner go.”

Jasper clapped his butler on the shoulder. “You shall have to find an alternative way to needle Mrs. Hollendale, my friend.”

Jasper tucked the watch into his coat and exited the house. Rockford’s was less than a mile from his residence; an easy walk no matter the weather or time of day—or night. Jasper had made the trek in the pouring rain, four drinks deep, and once with a nasty knife wound to his thigh. He knew the streets like the inside of his lip and could have made the trip blindfolded and backward.

St. James’s Street was easily the liveliest street in London. It had once been a mix of hatters, perfumers, grocers, and tailors but now hosted grand town houses—including his own—on the west side, as well as high-end shops, exclusive offices, and some of the most popular clubs and gaming hells London had to offer. The facades of some of the buildings boasted ornate white stonework, while others, having once belonged to the trades, were structured of simple brick.

The street was always bustling with activity, even in the quieter months of summer. Horses and carriages trundled past, men and women from all social classes patronized the shops, and at night there were the sounds of rolling dice and the convivial laughter of comrades deep in their cups.

Or maybe that was just at Rockford’s.

When Jasper reached his gaming hell he paused, as he did every time, and simply soaked in the grand building. His grand building. It was a monstrous hall constructed of white stone, gleaming windows, and a balustrade that ran the length of the roof. Imposing Corinthian columns decorated the front facade, and several balconies overlooked the bustling street. A neat row of polished marble steps led to the front door. It had been an added expense that many had turned an austere eye toward, but those steps said everything he’d wanted them to: We are exclusive. We are lavish. We are riche. Enter only for pleasure.

The interior was even more opulent.

Jasper had taken a gamble when he’d opened Rockford’s; he’d spent every last shilling to his name. He’d known deep down, in that instinctive place that whispered to him when he gambled, that if he wanted to engage the membership of the ton , he had to offer the absolute height of glamor and luxury. So when it came time to decide on how many chandeliers, he chose one more than he already thought was outrageous. When it came to employment, he paid an astronomical salary for a premier French chef to serve courses that would make the staid meat-and-potatoes dishes the other hells served looked like dog food. That Persian carpet copy had been nearly identical, and yet Jasper had dismissed it with scorn. He would absorb the exorbitant expense for the real thing. If it wasn’t the best, it would not pass through the doors of Rockford’s.

It was a gamble that had paid off handsomely.

He knocked at the door and it was opened by Toby, one of the muscular men who monitored admittance. Toby dipped his chin and stepped aside.

“How are you today, Toby?”

“Fine. An’ you, sir?”

“I am well. Has your wife had the babe yet?”

Toby’s quagmire of a face split into a grin. “Any day, sir. I’ll keep ye updated, sir.”

Jasper slapped the man on the back and crossed the black-and-white marble tiles, nodding at maids and servants in livery who bustled about, readying the hall for the evening. Railings and silver needed to be polished, windows washed, the velvet curtains brushed, and the wallpaper cleaned with paste to remove smoke stains. The kitchens would be in a roar as the team chopped vegetables and prepped for the mackerel roe baked in clarified butter that Bizet, the chef, served only once a month and to great fanfare.

Jasper greeted most of his staff by name. He made it a point to acknowledge them all, even the delivery boys. He had been a fishmonger’s son, and he knew what it was to feel invisible. Loyalty was tied with luxury for Rockford’s top priority. Jasper paid well and he cared for his team, and in return, he demanded the highest-quality service and their complete and utter loyalty.

Jasper found his inspector and right-hand man counting decks of cards and jotting the numbers in a small leather book.

“Guy,” Jasper said in greeting, leaning against the lacquered counter.

“Jasper,” Guy returned. He was a slight man with small, bright eyes and a head of thinning brown hair. His attire was proper and crisp and his manners impeccable, and yet he had the most astounding quality of being almost completely forgettable. Sometimes Jasper struggled to remember what he looked like when he was not standing in front of him.

One of Guy’s most important duties was sitting in a tall chair in the corner of the gaming room floor and overseeing the gambling and collecting of Rockford’s debts. He handled drunks with the same finesse and firmness as a stable hand with a skittish mount, and he never once lost his temper while doing so. He was invaluable to Jasper, and Jasper trusted him implicitly.

“What would you say if your fifteen-year-old niece challenged you to a game of Vingt et Un, the stakes being the chance to attend a ton house party?”

Guy tucked the notebook inside his jacket and gave Jasper his full attention. “Do not tell me you lost.”

Jasper twisted the silver-and-black insignia ring on his middle finger. More than one person had commented that it made him look indulgent and rakish, an image Jasper not only encouraged, but also actively cultivated. “Not at first, but by the fourth game I realized the little rabbit was counting cards.”

Guy’s placid expression cracked into one of merriment. “It must run in the blood.”

“Not entirely. It wasn’t she who took it upon herself to learn. It was the governess who taught her.”

“One would never accuse you of living a dull life. I assume you dismissed the governess?”

“No! When I called her in to speak with her, I somehow ended up agreeing to allow Cecelia to host a small gathering in lieu of attending the house party. I never had a chance to address the matter.”

Guy pressed a hand to his heart and said with complete sincerity, “I would be honored to meet this woman. The King of Cards, twisted about by a governess. And one who counts cards!”

Spoken aloud, the words sparked a whisper of warning in the back of Jasper’s mind. “Is that not odd?” he asked. “What are the chances a governess like that joins my household?”

Guy’s finger tapped on the counter. He too wore a ring, but unlike Jasper’s, his held a lethal surprise within. “It does seem unlikely. Governesses are not generally known for their gambling prowess. What do you suspect? That she is a plant from another hell?”

Jasper slowly shook his head. “I do not know. She has not even been in my employ twenty-four hours and she has already turned my house upside down. I shall have to make it a point to become better acquainted with her. By the time she leaves I will know more about Miss Francis Turner than she knows about herself.”