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

Chapter 22

F rankie did not sleep well. She tossed and turned the remainder of the night, her eagerness to begin the ruse alternating with confusing thoughts about Jasper. He pretended to be an arrogant spendthrift and rake, but that seemed to be a carefully cultivated image. In actuality, he was kind and patient, and not only with Cecelia but also with his staff and with Frankie. He had even been willing to repeal the terms of their bet because he had not wanted to press his advantage. For a man who’d risen to his current position in life through cheating, he was paradoxically honorable when it came to certain values. He did not play by society’s rule book, but he had his own moral code by which he abided. That was more than she could say for the supposedly noble Dowry Thieves.

When the fingers of dawn crept beneath her shutters, she gave up on sleep and dressed in the only non-governess dress she’d packed in her valise other than the evening gown she’d worn to Cecelia’s soirée. It was pale yellow with panels of sheer fabric that overlaid a stiff cotton skirt. It would not win her any envious glances from the ton , but it was more her style, and for the first time in Jasper’s house she truly felt herself.

As she combed and pinned her hair she thought of the logistics of her plan. She would need a new wardrobe if she was going to attend balls and other ton events—except she did not have the funds. Frankie stabbed a pin in her hair and watched as it immediately slid several inches out of place. No wonder her hairstyles were always so dismal, she thought with resignation. Her hair had the texture of glass. She fixed the pin the best she could and studied the purple shadows under her eyes. Perhaps she could borrow money against her real, meager dowry. It was not as if she were ever going to need it.

Frankie wondered if the Dove would be pleased with her new plan, and then remembered she had yet to write that she had cleared Jasper’s name. With no better time than the present, Frankie sat down at her desk and hastily penned a letter that included the details of her scheme to act as bait, with Jasper for security.

Once she finished, Frankie sealed the letter and had her hand on the doorknob when she noticed a note had been slipped under her door. Frankie unfolded the half sheet of paper and immediately recognized Cecelia’s forceful scrawl.

Dear Miss Turner,

I want to apologize for telling Uncle Jasper you were in his study. That was not my plan when I gave you the key, and I do not want you to think I am a liar, but rather an opportunist who seized upon a good idea.

Good intentioned-ly yours,

Cecelia

Frankie grinned as she laid the note on the washstand. Cecelia had clearly hoped to pair her off with Jasper, and if Jasper had won the card game, she just might have been successful.

Frankie tried not to dwell on Jasper having wagered marriage. It was not as if he cared for her or had declared his love. He’d essentially proposed it as a business deal because he thought they would get along “splendidly” and it would save him from more of Cecelia’s scheming. It meant nothing, and now that he had lost the game, the topic would not come up again. Jasper was going to help her expose the Dowry Thieves, and then he would find some other woman to propose the business of marriage to. She was certain that if he did not, Cecelia would see to it herself.

Frankie pushed down an unwelcome feeling of disappointment at the thought, and hurried to mail her letter. Once sent, she entered the sunny morning room to break her fast. A generous buffet was already laid out: thinly sliced cold ham and beef on a silver platter, a tray of quail eggs, a rasher of bacon, stewed tomatoes, sweet jams and pastries, and coffee and tea. Madam Margaret was already stationed by the window, her fingers trembling as she took a bite of toast.

“Good morning, Madam Margaret,” Frankie said.

Madam Margaret, who was hard of hearing, did not look up from her toast.

“GOOD MORNING, MADAM MARGARET!” Frankie shouted.

Madam Margaret jolted, startled by Frankie’s presence, and gave her a trembling smile. “Good morning, Miss Turner.”

Frankie turned to collect a plate, but her stomach was too filled with nerves for her to enjoy the food properly that morning. She was staring contemplatively into her cup of coffee when Jasper entered. He looked at her twice, no doubt surprised that she was already awake, and veered from his course to pull out the chair across from her.

He was freshly shaved and smelled of his signature shaving cream: pine, cloves, and coffee. Frankie knew for the rest of her life she would associate those scents with the dark-eyed man across from her. His hair was styled, and his cravat was starched crisp, contrasting with a dove-gray morning jacket that fit expertly across the planes of his broad shoulders. Jasper adjusted one of his cuffs, the ring on his middle finger flashing in the morning sunlight as he did so. For the first time Frankie noticed that it was the black-engraved crest of Rockford’s.

Jasper finished with his cuff and reached across the table for her teacup. “Coffee? Lovely.” He took a healthy swallow. “Is Cecelia still sleeping?”

“I do not think so,” she said, retrieving her cup from his hand. “Isn’t the master of the house supposed to sit at the end of the table in a high-backed, kingly chair?”

Jasper crossed one booted ankle over his knee. “A king is a king no matter where he sits.”

“I am astonished this room is large enough to fit all three of us and your ego.”

His face split into a grin. “Is that any way to talk to the charitable patron donating a dowry large enough to make half the ton drool?”

“I am sure my charitable patron is well aware of his flaws. What are your plans for this morning, Mr. Jones?”

Jasper snitched a blackberry off her plate. “Is it ‘Mr. Jones’ now? I thought we discussed that.”

“Jasper,” Frankie hissed, her cheeks heating when she remembered why he had insisted she call him by his given name. She glanced pointedly at Madam Margaret, who was nodding off over her toast. “Have a care with what you say. And why are you so cheerful and awake? It is the crack of dawn. ’Tis offensive.”

“Darling, it is nearly nine o’clock in the morning.”

Frankie groaned. “Exactly.”

Jasper’s smile deepened, his teeth white against a tanned jaw, and Frankie’s skin tingled in memory of the gentle scrape of those beautiful teeth on her bottom lip. He truly was the most sinfully handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

“Trouble sleeping?” The look in his eye told her he suspected she’d tossed and turned the entire night and that he thought he was the reason why.

Frankie paused with the coffee halfway to her mouth. “Slept like a babe.”

“You have a wicked side to you, did you know that, Miss Turner?” Jasper reached for a slice of her bacon and Frankie slapped his hand.

“Get your own plate.”

Jasper sighed and stood. A moment later he returned with a heaping plate that put hers to shame.

“I need to visit the modiste this morning,” Frankie said, “but I shall need to wait until you’ve spread the word about my dowry so that she will be willing to see me quickly and on credit.”

Jasper’s teeth sank into a piece of bacon. “I’ll do you one better,” he said after he swallowed. “I will personally escort you to the modiste and tell her to put everything on my account. Then I shall leave you and spend the morning making calls.”

“Oh, Jasper, I could not ask you to—”

He lifted a hand. “Consider the wardrobe your severance pay.”

“I shall need suitable attire. It will be expensive.”

“As long as I no longer have to lay eyes on those hideous governess garments, I will consider it money well spent.”

Frankie lifted a slice of toast and nibbled around the edge. “We need to speak with Cecelia. She will very quickly hear of what is happening, and it is not fair that she be kept in the dark. And Madam Margaret, too.”

At that moment Cecelia entered the morning room with the energy of a tornado, spotted Jasper and Frankie dining together, and broke into a wide grin. “Good morning, Uncle Jasper, Miss Turner.”

Jasper waved her over. “Cecelia, we need to speak with you.”

She bounded over to the table and pulled out a chair before the footman could reach it. Then she interlaced her fingers together and looked between them with slyly innocent eyes. “Yes?”

Jasper quietly dismissed the servants, and once the room was clear except for the dozing lady in the sun, he said, “I am going to share something with you, but it is imperative that it is kept an absolute secret. No one can know, and I do mean no one . If the secret got out it could have severe consequences for Miss Turner and someone she cares deeply for.”

Cecelia’s smile faded. “Do you mean her sister?”

Jasper raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, it is about my sister.” Frankie said. She took a deep breath, and for the second time within twenty-four hours explained about the Dowry Thieves and her impulsive sister.

When Frankie finished, Cecelia slammed her fist on the table. “Those rats! Good for you, Miss Turner. I want you and Uncle Jasper to make them pay for what they’ve done. But does this mean you will no longer be my governess?” Before Frankie could answer her eyes took on a gleam. “Can I go with you to the balls? I am nearly old enough to come out.”

“No,” Jasper said immediately. Before Cecelia could protest, he gentled his tone. “Cecelia, it would divide my attention to have to keep preying men away from both of you, and I must be on my guard so that Frankie does not fall victim to the Dowry Thieves.”

Cecelia pouted for a moment but then gave a sharp nod. “I understand. Mum’s the word.” She lifted a fork and tapped the tines on the tablecloth. “Can I at least visit the modiste with you?”

Frankie smiled. “I was going to ask if you would.”

Cecelia pointed her fork at Jasper. “Uncle Jasper, did you not receive an invitation to the Coswold literary reception taking place this afternoon?”

Jasper paled. “Is that one of those tedious affairs where earnest young men read terrible poetry and discuss the latest published books as if they’ve actually read them?”

Cecelia shrugged. “That sounds right. I am certain I saw an invitation. It stood out because it was so pretty with gold embossing and thick paper.”

“I know of the Coswold literary events,” Frankie said. Each summer Lady Jane Coswold returned from the countryside for two weeks to host her literary receptions, and they were always heavily attended. She fancied herself an art benefactor, and sweltering in the city was a small price to pay for doing her duty to elevate the arts, never mind that the majority of the “artists” who shared literary discussion and read poetry at her receptions were of the upper class and hardly required elevating. “If you have an invitation, that would be the perfect place to introduce me as your beneficiary.”

Jasper groaned something about poorly made bets and shoved his plate aside. “I suppose we had better start spreading the news then. I would not want to miss an evening of the ton ’s finest poetry. Come along, ladies. We have a modiste to visit.”

Before he exited, he paused behind Frankie’s chair and lowered his head to her ear. “When you are selecting gowns this morning, my dear beneficiary, remember how many teeth there are in the human mouth.”