Ten
Once she’d parted ways with Lord Ashton, Della requested the coachman drop her off at Jane’s town house on the way to take Annabelle home. This was no hardship, as they lived on the same street and popped in on each other unannounced most mornings. Or at least, they’d used to. As the carriage approached their destination, Della was startled by the realization that she hadn’t been here in weeks.
Nor had Jane called on her. Since Gloria was born, it sometimes felt like they only saw each other at the club.
Don’t be silly. She’s at Bishop’s nearly every day. It was normal to have less free time when one had a new baby. Besides, Della had been so busy with her book these past three weeks, she’d scarcely had time to call anyway.
Even now, her outing with Lord Ashton this morning had set her arrival back hours later than she’d planned. She hadn’t seen the time go by. He was so different with her now that she’d broken through his initial reserve. He talked to her without his former hesitation, offering glimpses of his true thoughts and feelings where there had once been only clipped reproofs. He treated her as an equal, despite the obvious advantage his peerage and experience bestowed. If they continued on this way, she might yet call him a friend.
And if Jane and Eli could do without her tonight at Bishop’s, she intended to show Lord Ashton just how friendly she could be.
The carriage lurched to a halt, and she bid goodbye to Annabelle. The maid of all work answered her rap on the front door and showed Della into the receiving room. When this house still belonged to Jane’s uncle, he’d kept a butler, but Jane had slashed her household expenses to devote all her resources to the club.
If my book brings in new members, maybe she’ll be able to afford to live a bit more comfortably again.
It was Eli’s sister, Hannah Williams, who finally came in to welcome her. The wailing from upstairs indicated Jane was occupied.
Della rose to return her greeting. Miss Williams was closer in age to Annabelle than to herself, but she was a sensible, good-natured sort of girl. She couldn’t be called pretty, exactly, though she shared her brother’s expressive face. Her nose was a touch too long, and she carried herself awkwardly, as if forever unsure where to put her body. Hopefully she would grow into some confidence soon.
“When did you get into town?” Della asked her.
“Only yesterday. And we’ve brought you some paintings for your club like Eli asked. Come and see!” Miss Williams led Della to the corner of the room, where two framed canvases had been tucked into the space between the sideboard and the wall. “I helped pick them,” she announced proudly. “Mama wanted to give you an old portrait of some dead ancestor none of us could remember, but I said you needed something more colorful.”
The pieces she’d chosen were a still life of some exotic fruits and a painting of the Durdle Door at sunset. Della rather liked the pinks in the sky.
“Thank you. These are perfect.”
“I could help you decide where to hang them,” Miss Williams continued eagerly. “I should love to see what the club looks like. Eli told us how much you’ve done to fix it up since you moved in.”
“Absolutely not.” It was Jane who interrupted them. She’d materialized in the doorway while they were distracted, as if summoned by the threat of mischief. “You know your mother will kill me if I let you set foot in Bishop’s.”
“She doesn’t need to know!” Miss Williams dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I didn’t come all the way to London just to be dragged to her friends’ house parties every evening.”
“She’s only trying to protect your reputation.”
“You and Miss Danby built a whole gambling club by yourselves, and it didn’t hurt your reputations!” Miss Williams was so indignant, her cheeks had grown red.
“That depends on whom you ask.” Jane finally came over to greet Della properly, and they all sat down together. The maid returned with some tea and sandwiches a moment later, which Jane fell upon as though she hadn’t eaten all day. Perhaps she hadn’t.
“How are you?” Della asked, after she’d given her friend a moment to chew and swallow.
“Quite out of sorts, to be honest,” Jane replied. “Gloria has a fever and hasn’t stopped crying all morning. The doctor thinks it’s only colic again, but she won’t settle for anyone but me when she’d like this.” She massaged her temples. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to the club tonight, but I hate to ask you to handle things all alone again…”
Oh dear. Della could hardly reply that she’d come here to ask for the evening off, with Jane looked so worn out. And what was she supposed to tell her—that she’d invited a strange man to sneak into her bedroom window this evening for a few hours of bawdy amusement?
Della heaved a regretful sigh. Taking care of a sick infant trumped an indecent liaison. She would just have to write Lord Ashton a note asking him to postpone.
“It’s no trouble at all,” Della said. “You should be with Gloria.”
“Are you sure? You’ve been taking on so much extra work lately. I hope it isn’t an imposition.”
“Don’t think of it.” True, she’d had to decline more invitations this season than she’d ever done before, and a few of her old friends had probably forgotten what she looked like by now, but Jane was the dearest friend of them all. That counted for something. And Gloria wouldn’t be a newborn forever. If they could just make it through this patch, things would get easier.
“I could help,” Miss Williams chimed in. Seeing Jane had parted her lips to object, she hurried on. “I wouldn’t wager any large sums! And I could do anything you need, just so long as I can have one evening without Mama watching over me.”
It wasn’t clear whether the girl’s plea was addressed more to Della or to Jane, for her dark eyes entreated them each in turn, but it was her sister-in-law who answered firmly. “I’m sorry, Hannah, but you know we can’t.”
“You’re as bad as she is!” Miss Williams leapt to her feet. “She’ll marry me off to some old man just to be rid of me, and you’ll all stand by and watch.” With that, she fled the room, leaving Jane to slump on the divan in defeat.
Was I that dramatic when I was younger? Della wondered. She could vaguely remember sobbing into her pillow for three days when the first gentleman she’d fancied proposed to Miss O’Hara, though she’d been sixteen at the time. Hannah was already twentysomething, if memory served. Shouldn’t she have grown out of this stage?
“I feel badly for her,” Jane confessed, unprompted, “but what am I supposed to do? Her mother is determined to see her married and thinks gambling will ruin her prospects.”
“Your uncle used to think the same thing about you,” Della reminded her friend. “And we didn’t let that stop us. Would it do any harm to let her attend for one night?”
It wasn’t only a sense of feminine solidarity that moved Della to speak in the girl’s defense. She recalled Lord Ashton’s comment that she would wear herself out, followed by Annabelle’s accusation that the problem was a lack of trust. Though she hadn’t wanted to admit it when they were united against her, she was tired. And Miss Williams seemed a more reliable choice than Annabelle. If she was serious in her offer to do anything, they could always find a task for willing hands.
It would finally give Della the chance to have a night off now and then for indecent liaisons or even—dare she hope—to make some real progress on her book.
“I can’t afford a row with Mrs. Williams right now.” Jane was massaging her temples again. She looked as though she had a headache. “She already thinks my house is too messy because we only have one maid, and that my baby is colicky because I didn’t hire a wet nurse. I don’t want to be accused of corrupting her only daughter as well.”
Della took a long sip of her tea to prevent herself from saying something uncharitable about Jane’s mother-in-law. Once her temper had cooled, she managed a more diplomatic suggestion. “Perhaps the elder Mrs. Williams would like to go back to her country house and leave her daughter here alone?”
That would solve everything, wouldn’t it?
“I don’t think she’s in any hurry to go back home. If anything, she might like to stay with Hannah to help her set up her own household, if she succeeds in finding her a husband this year. She’s a bit overprotective.” After a moment, the strain on Jane’s face eased. “I shouldn’t criticize. She truly means well. It’s just that she has such a narrow view of what a woman’s life should be. It can be…suffocating. Particularly for Hannah.”
“What if I took her out to show her the town once in a while?” Della suggested, struck by inspiration. At Jane’s look, she added, “Not to the club, of course. But I’ve been meaning to visit a few attractions for a project I’m working on, and it might give the poor girl a respite from matchmaking if I bring her with me. You could come along and we’ll make an outing of it!”
“Oh, yes, Eli said you were planning to write a guidebook to London?” Though she was good enough not to say anything critical, Jane’s eyebrows nevertheless conveyed a measure of doubt. “When did that happen?”
“It’s a recent endeavor. Remember that gentleman author we talked about, the Viscount Ashton? I couldn’t persuade him to put our club in his book, so I decided to write my own and now he’s helping me.”
Jane blinked. “You do manage to make the most unexpected things happen.”
“You know I like a little variety to my days,” Della returned. “In any event, I’d love to get your opinion on my opening chapters if you have the time for it.” She rummaged through her reticule, looking for the notes she’d brought, just in case. “We couldn’t agree on the introduction. Lord Ashton wants to write it himself, to bridge the two volumes together, but I’m not persuaded he understands the best tone—”
A knock at the door interrupted them before she could finish explaining. The elder Mrs. Williams crept in, an apologetic smile on her face and a fussing child in her arms. “I’m sorry to interrupt your call, girls, but I think this one is hungry again.”
Jane rose with a resigned sigh, Della’s story forgotten. “I really should get back to her. We’ll catch up more next time, all right?”
“Of course. I still have five weeks to finish—” But Jane wasn’t listening. She was already rocking Gloria gently upon her shoulder, focused on her cries. “Never mind, I’ll explain it all to you later. Take care.” Della stood awkwardly for a moment, then moved to show herself out.
“Oh!” Jane seemed to remember her again just as she neared the door, but it wasn’t to do with her book. “Eli told me to remind you that his friend is coming by about the dealer post next week.”
Oh yes, she’d nearly forgotten. Hopefully he would prove competent. She didn’t want to spend hours training someone with no knowledge of the game.
“And if you see Mrs. Muller—”
“Yes, yes,” Della assured her. “I’ll be sure to catch her this time, don’t you worry.”
***
Lyman walked up the approach to his lodgings with a spring in his step. Despite himself, he’d enjoyed his morning. Though it was hardly the first time he went sightseeing, it usually felt like a chore. Something he did out of obligation to keep his book up to date. But Della’s lively manner made everything look new again.
It made him forget all the troubles that weighed him down.
He walked up to the second floor and unlocked the door that divided the rented rooms from Mrs. Hirsch’s home below. There were voices coming from the common dining area the three men shared, but he didn’t hear Clarkson’s smooth baritone. Wood must have company then.
There’s a first time for everything.
He’d expected to be greeted by the sight of someone resembling Mr. Wood as he came inside—a cousin from the country who shared his doughy face and muttonchop sideburns, perhaps. But as his gaze fell upon their visitor, Lyman realized the man hadn’t come for his fellow lodger at all.
It was Michael, sitting at their dining table as if he belonged there. Lyman’s breath rushed out of him as swiftly as if he’d been punched in the gut.
“Hullo.” Wood greeted him with a genuine smile—a rare occurrence. “I was just getting acquainted with your brother-in-law.”
“Yes, I see that.” How long had Michael been here? Why had he come to his lodgings?
Michael said nothing, but watched Lyman impassively. Though it had been years since Lyman had seen him, he looked the same as ever. He was a slender man with black hair that gained a smattering of red as it progressed down his cheeks to end in a pointed beard. His thin lips were pressed together in silent judgment.
“We were just having the most illuminating discussion about judicial reform,” Wood continued. Judging by his enthusiasm, he hadn’t picked up on the subtle signs of Michael’s annoyance. “It’s so rare to meet someone who understands the complexities of the courts. Most people think it’s just like in The Pickwick Papers , which really doesn’t paint a fair picture. But of course, Lord de Villiers understands everything so well I almost feel as though he could teach me a thing or two about the law.”
Still, Michael didn’t speak. He raised an eyebrow slowly, but his gaze remained cold. What is this idiot on about? he seemed to be asking.
It was jarring to witness his brother-in-law sitting next to Wood. Like watching a raven glide down among a chattering flutter of sparrows. He seemed to belong to a superior world, one that should never have intermingled with this one. Though Lyman had long since grown used to his diminished circumstances, now he saw it all through fresh eyes, as it must appear to Michael. The little cracks in the plaster walls; the way the curtains had faded in the sun; the creaks and groans that escaped the ancient wooden chairs whenever one of the men shifted his weight. Every detail painted a sad picture.
Lyman cleared his throat. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. If you’d told me you were coming, I would have been home to receive you.”
“I wouldn’t want to interfere with your plans.” It was plain from his tone that Michael had already formed his own ideas of what Lyman’s “plans” might have been, and he didn’t think too highly of them.
Heat crept up the back of Lyman’s neck. He felt as exposed as if Michael had been watching him all day, stalking his path from Della’s house to the Waterloo Bridge to Fleet Street. As if he knew Lyman had spent the past twenty-four hours chasing after the promise of carnal pleasure with a woman who wasn’t his wife.
“Would you like to come to my rooms?” Lyman asked. “We can speak privately there.”
Michael rose to his feet and took his leave of Mr. Wood with polite indifference. They removed to Lyman’s quarters and shut the door behind them. He had two adjacent rooms allotted to his use, one for writing and the other for his bed and clothes. There was a chair and desk near the window, as well as a threadbare settee in the corner. Lyman searched for a match and lit an oil lamp to brighten the space. When he turned back to Michael, he found his brother-in-law scanning absently through the notes spread on his desk.
Has he been reading through my draft?
“I’d proposed we meet at a public house,” Lyman observed quietly.
“I didn’t want to be seen with you.”
Hell. Michael couldn’t make anything easy, could he? Without Mr. Wood observing them, his careful manners had evaporated. He wrinkled his nose as he took in the state of the room. “I never thought you’d be caught dead in such a place.” He jerked his head toward the door to indicate the room from which they’d just retreated. “A solicitor , Ashton?”
“It was economical,” Lyman said simply. He didn’t want to talk about the state of his lodgings with Michael. “Is Ellen well?”
“None of us are well, since you ruined our family.”
Lyman winced, but forced himself onward. He had to know. “I mean, is she ill? When I saw your letter, I thought…”
“She’s as well as can be expected, though you might do something to improve her situation.”
“I’ve paid you the maintenance we agreed to each month,” Lyman reminded him. “I know it’s not much, but—”
“Not that,” Michael cut him off with an impatient swipe of his hand. “She wants a divorce.”
Lyman’s heart skipped a beat. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.
He didn’t feel anything for Ellen, save the hot shame of his own failure. But he’d grown so used to the obligations that bound them that it was hard to imagine any other way of living. The terms of their separation gave her what independence it was within his power to grant. For nine years, she’d been satisfied with that. Why now?
“Has she met someone?”
“My sister is a moral woman,” Michael snapped. “She would never betray her marriage vows.”
Lyman held his tongue. Michael seemed not to expect any comment from him, as he continued speaking. “It isn’t fair to keep her chained to you forever, when she might have the opportunity to meet someone if she were free. She’s still young enough. She should have the chance to have a happy home, children…everything you denied her.”
Lyman’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails biting into flesh. It wasn’t Michael he wanted to hurt, though. “I agree completely.”
“Good.” Michael crossed the narrow room to stand before the door, as though their discussion were at an end. “I trust you’ll cooperate when we bring the matter before Parliament. Only don’t be too eager—we don’t want it to look like a case of collaboration. It’s probably best if you don’t attend at all. Make it appear that you have no interest whatsoever in the outcome.”
“But how can you afford such a thing? You know I can’t pay for it.”
The proceedings would cost a small fortune, and no one in this room had another fortune to spare. It was precisely why he’d thought a divorce was impossible.
“A generous friend has offered to assist us. That part isn’t your concern.”
A friend.
Ellen had met someone then. A gentleman wealthy enough to shoulder the monumental burden of dissolving her prior vows. It was no surprise that Michael would want to seize the opportunity. They could only improve their circumstances by such an alliance.
“Money alone can’t buy us a divorce,” Lyman protested. “Ellen hasn’t been unfaithful to me.”
Perhaps that was no longer true, but none of them were going to admit otherwise before open Parliament, surely.
“We’ll say you’ve been unfaithful to her,” Michael replied easily, disdain in his voice. “If you’re willing to identify a woman or two who could confirm the tale, it would help speed things along. If you won’t do it yourself, we’ll find someone for you.”
The frank assessment stunned Lyman into silence. He hadn’t betrayed Ellen while they still shared a home—at least not in the way Michael meant. But there was no point in arguing. Not when he was willing to hire a witness to say otherwise.
“Here.” Michael pulled some papers from inside his coat, unfolded them, and set them on Lyman’s desk atop his writing. “It’s a citation and libel for Consistory Court, to pave the way for Parliament. We have a hearing date next month. Our proctor assures me that if you don’t contest the facts we should be able to move it through quickly.”
He’d evidently put significant thought into this, but he’d missed the most essential detail.
“It won’t be enough. I consulted my solicitor after she broke ties with me, you know. He said a man could divorce his wife for adultery, but a woman couldn’t do the same. There’s no way out of this, Michael.”
No way that would leave Ellen’s reputation intact, at least. And he wouldn’t bring any more grief down on her head.
“You don’t need to explain this to me.” Michael’s voice dripped with scorn. “You think we haven’t spent enough time trying to figure out how we could be rid of you? She can divorce you if we show both adultery and intolerable cruelty, so that’s what we’ll do. It’s all right there in the libel.”
Intolerable cruelty? It was a description reserved for the worst type of men. The ones whose brutality nearly crossed the line into murder.
“I never raised a hand to Ellen,” Lyman said. “I know I failed her, but I never hurt her. Not like that.”
“You cost her everything, left her destitute, and you haven’t lived under the same roof in nine years. If that isn’t cruelty, I don’t know what is.” Michael let the accusation hang in the air a long moment before he continued. “The courts have shown some flexibility in their interpretation for exceptional circumstances. I think we can make a case, if the adultery is proven and you don’t dispute any of it. We have a good proctor.”
Lyman didn’t get the chance to learn what he would have replied to that. Before he could imagine what it might mean for him, a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Lord Ashton?” Mr. Wood’s voice called from the other side. Lyman hoped he hadn’t been listening at the keyhole. “There’s an errand boy here with a message for you. He says it’s from a lady.”
The look in Michael’s eye was one of bitter triumph. You see? he seemed to say. I know what you are.
“It’s not what you think,” Lyman began, but his brother-in-law already had his hand on the doorknob.
“I hope you’ll do the right thing,” Michael said, with a faint motion toward the documents he’d left. “I’ll be in touch.”
Then he was gone, slipping past the obsequious platitudes of Mr. Wood and down the stairs with the silent tread of a jungle cat.
Lyman was scarcely aware of his path to the entryway to meet the errand boy, who stood breathless as if he’d run across town. He probably had. Lyman recognized him at once, for he’d often seen him scurrying around Armstrong’s office.
“A footman brought it to the office, m’lord,” the youth said, producing a rumpled envelope from his pocket. Lyman tore it open and read.
I’m sorry, but they need me at the club tonight and I won’t be at home after all. You might meet me there after closing if you’d like. I should be free by 2 a.m.
—D.
A message from a lady, indeed. She’d actually dared to put her invitation in an envelope addressed to his publisher. What a foolish risk. She couldn’t have known that Armstrong wouldn’t snoop.
Lyman couldn’t think of Della now without a creeping sense of dread, the thrill of the morning withered up by the astringent of Michael’s visit.
She wanted him to come to her club, of all places. Of course she did. Gambling was her whole life. Hadn’t she said as much this morning? Hadn’t she shown him that plainly a hundred times over? And yet he insisted on seeing only what he wanted to see.
He’d let his desires guide him, and this was the result. Mixed up with the proprietress of a gaming hell. There could be no question what Michael and Ellen would think if they learned of it—they would assume he was running with the same fast crowd as before, still chasing his own ruination.
They’d be right.
He’d been lost in a fantasy today, but his brother-in-law’s visit had brought him crashing back to earth. The idea of any romantic connection with Miss Danby was ludicrous. They were both flirting with disaster.
If they were caught together, they couldn’t salvage her reputation with a hasty marriage. Even if Ellen succeeded in divorcing him, it would take months, maybe even years before he was free. And once he was, his name would be further tarnished by the stories Michael intended to spread to get what he wanted. No family with any affection for their daughter would want him darkening their door.
Della was completely exposed, with everything to lose and nothing to gain from their dalliance.
And he would fare no better. Even if his own reputation was already in tatters, there were other things Lyman could lose. His good judgment, for one.
As much as he feared he might destroy her, he was selfish enough to save the greater portion of fear for himself: that she would destroy him.
He knew how it would begin—the nagging temptation to go and visit her club, just as she’d invited him to do tonight. And then he would grow nostalgic for the days when he’d spent his time at White’s, in the company of all his old friends. He might get the urge to look in on them—just to say hello, of course, not to wager anything. Then perhaps it would just be one little wager, nothing too serious. And before he knew it, he would be spinning excuses and taking advantage of anyone foolish enough to place their trust in him, be it his friends, Della, or himself.
No. He couldn’t risk this. He would put a stop to it now, before he was lost.
Lyman bid the errand boy to wait at the door and carry his reply back to Della’s house for an extra tuppence. Fetching a scrap of paper from his writing desk, he jotted down a short line.
I regret that I cannot.
—A.
There was nothing else to say, at least nothing that he would trust to a letter that might fall into the wrong hands. He took her note back to his rooms once the boy had gone and burned it in the flame of his lamp, lest Mr. Wood or anyone else see such damning evidence of her indiscretion.
One day, this woman would get herself into some real trouble, but it wouldn’t be with him.
Unbidden, his mind conjured an image of Della receiving his reply, a half hour or so from now. A footman would bring it in to her with more formality than its contents warranted. Her eyes would light with unbridled excitement as she tore the seal—the same spark that he’d seen a dozen times already when she spoke of a new idea for her book or tried to persuade him of the rightness of something she felt strongly about. That light would snuff out a moment later as she saw his curt refusal. The corners of her lips would fall, her smile extinguished. Anyone who looked at her would be able to spot the hurt in her eyes, the emotions she never managed to conceal.
Lyman could’ve done with a stiff drink, if he’d still indulged.
There’s no sense in feeling guilty. It’s for her own good.
He’d lost his head last night, but he was back in possession of his reason. He would do what needed to be done to keep them both safe. If that made him unfeeling, so be it.
***
Della was, in fact, put out by the rejection, but her temperament was such that she couldn’t linger on it for too long. She allowed herself about an hour to mope before she put on a brave face and set out to pay a few quick calls she’d been neglecting before it grew too late in the day for them. She wanted to look in on Lady Eleanor and some other connections to make sure she stayed in their good graces. It was important to maintain friendships with the right people to keep everyone talking about her club—something she hadn’t done enough of lately. After that, she jotted down some notes on the views she’d seen earlier while she ate a sandwich Cook had made for her and then got changed to go to Bishop’s for the evening. She’d been hoping to finish a chapter today, but when all was said and done, there’d been barely half an hour left to scribble a few paragraphs.
Ah, well. I’ll write twice as much tomorrow to make up for it. Though this wasn’t the first time she’d made such a promise to herself, things were still quite manageable. Five weeks was plenty of time.
Della found her thoughts wandering back to Lord Ashton as she slipped through the last hours of daylight. Had he changed his mind about meeting her because of something she’d done? Had she been too forward with him in the drawing room this morning and frightened him off?
If I did, he wasn’t worthy of me , she reassured herself. There were plenty of men in the world. If the viscount didn’t appreciate her as she was, then it was his loss.
Despite these encouraging thoughts, she couldn’t entirely shake off a feeling of regret—or perhaps it was hope. The viscount had some originality to him, after all—an independence of thought that she admired. Shouldn’t he be capable of defying convention? His reaction at the casino last night and in her drawing room this morning showed great promise.
This was enough to make Della consider the second possibility: that he had not run in fear of her wantonness, but actually had a good reason for not coming. One that was too personal to confide in a letter. After all, they hadn’t had much time alone to talk about anything properly. Perhaps he’d been forced to cancel their plans due to an urgent obligation, just as she had, and would make it up to her later. Though she had her doubts, Della much preferred this explanation and made a conscious decision to adopt it until it was disproven. She was nothing if not an optimist.
Besides, she was far too busy to feel sad. She’d promised Jane she would handle the club by herself tonight. Best of all, Annabelle didn’t yet know she would be there to observe what was sure to be an embarrassing evening for her. Bishop’s didn’t track wagers outside of card play, but if it did, Della would have offered five-to-one odds that Annabelle couldn’t win over Miss Greenwood. -to-one odds there would be sonnets involved.
I can’t wait.
Tragically, she had no choice but to wait, for she arrived at the club to learn that the greengrocer’s delivery hadn’t come as planned and she had to spend the next hour adjusting the menu with their cook. Soon after that, the first group of ladies arrived, a cluster of regulars she knew well, and Della hurried out to greet them.
After another hour or so, Annabelle finally appeared with a pale siren on her arm. Della caught a glimpse of them from across the room and hung back, making her way slowly through the edges of the crowd to better trap her unsuspecting prey.
She eavesdropped shamelessly once she drew within earshot. After enduring Annabelle as a chaperone these past few weeks, it was the least she could do.
“…certain you’ll love it. You have such a free spirit, you’re meant for a place like this.”
“It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside.” Miss Greenwood was taking in the club with something like awe. Della liked her already. “How long ago did you say your sister and her friend founded it?”
“Two years, more or less.”
It was three years! Doesn’t Annabelle know anything?
“And they couldn’t have done it without me,” she continued. “It takes a keen mind to get a business off the ground. Not everyone is up for the challenge.”
Not even Della’s curiosity could force her to hold her tongue at this outrage.
“Annabelle,” Della exclaimed from behind her sister’s back. “You made it!”
“What are you doing here?” Annabelle wore a look of utter horror as she whirled around.
“You do recall that I own the place?” She managed to keep the sarcasm from her tone.
“I–I thought you were meant to be at home tonight.”
“Change of plans.” Della smiled and turned her attention to the gorgeous blonde by Annabelle’s side. “And you must be Miss Greenwood. I believe we were introduced at Ascot last year, weren’t we? How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you. You have a lovely establishment.”
“Why thank you . You’re so sweet. I can see why Annabelle wanted to bring you here.”
“I was just going to show Miss Greenwood the retiring room,” Annabelle blurted out. “So, um, we’ll go do that now.”
“What’s the hurry? I think you were just about to tell your friend all about your business skills, weren’t you?” She arched one eyebrow, watching Annabelle squirm. Ah, sweet justice. “Would you like to tell the story of how we found the premises? I’m sure she’d love to hear that one. You remember it, don’t you?”
Annabelle was giving her such a ferocious glare that she was liable to wrinkle that way. It was delightful.
Wait, who was that a few yards behind her sister at the faro table? Della craned her neck to get a better look, hoping her eyes deceived her. Oh no. She recognized the little woman with the pink gown and graying hair. Mrs. Muller had already placed a wager, though Della had been watching the door for her all night except for this one little break. Couldn’t she torture Annabelle in peace for even a minute? Surely she’d earned the right!
“Will you two excuse me for a moment?” Della turned back to the girls. “I’ve seen someone I have to—”
But they were already gone, having escaped into the crowd the second Della’s attention was elsewhere. How dare she avoid my teasing, when I’ve dealt with her comments about Lord Ashton for weeks now! Ah well, she’d had enough fun to make it worthwhile, at least.
It was time to face Mrs. Muller.
She crossed the room with a reluctant step, wishing Jane were here to handle this task. She always managed to deliver bad news without any hand-wringing, while Della hated making people upset with her.
That’s a selfish wish. Jane shouldn’t have to do all the unpleasant work herself. But as Della slipped through the crowd, her sense of dread only grew.
She had planned out the first part. She waited until Mrs. Muller had finished her play (another loss, for a sum that made Della wince), and then she invited her guest to provide her opinion on which of the paintings they should hang in the entryway. She had the two pieces Hannah Williams had brought with her from Devon in their office, along with a large china vase Della had pilfered from her own parents without their noticing. The art made the perfect excuse to get Mrs. Muller alone. It wouldn’t do to embarrass a patron publicly.
But once they were safely ensconced in the office and Mrs. Muller had pronounced herself in favor of the still life with the pineapple, Della’s orderly plan ran out. When she’d written herself a mental script for this moment, she’d never managed to find the right words to devastate Mrs. Muller. The other woman cut a timid figure, with her mournful eyes and a high voice that would’ve suited someone half her age.
She made Della feel like the villain of the story.
“Don’t you like the still life, Miss Danby?” Mrs. Muller was watching her expectantly, unaware of the ax about to descend upon her neck.
“Yes, that’s a lovely choice,” Della took the painting from her arms and set it upon the desk, where they could both view it from a distance. “You have a good eye. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.” She drew herself up, her eyes flitting to the exit. “Shall we go back out?”
Ugh, I wish someone would save me. Why didn’t I ask Eli to do this?
Oh, that’s right. Because she hardly deserved the title of co-owner if she couldn’t manage this task on her own. Jane had trusted her.
Della girded herself and forged ahead. “Actually, Mrs. Muller, I’m afraid we need to discuss your outstanding debts.”
The words had an immediate effect. Mrs. Muller stared at her hands, then at her shoes—anywhere to avoid Della’s gaze. She tittered nervously, the sound catching in her throat. “I–I know I’m a bit tardy settling up, but I’ll pay you straightaway once I get my pin money next month.”
Next month would be perfectly fine . That was what Della wanted to say, so they might forget this whole unpleasant business. Anything to put an end to the ugly flush creeping up Mrs. Muller’s neck.
But whatever her pin money might total, it wasn’t likely to be enough to cover what she owed. The lady was no heiress.
“I understand. You’ve always been a loyal patron.” Della felt so ashamed, she was blushing as well. “We appreciate your attendance, and we hope to see you with us again after your account is settled.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Muller looked as if she’d put her foot out to climb a stair and found only empty air. “Are you revoking my membership?”
Yes. The word was on the tip of Della’s tongue. Better for everyone that Mrs. Muller stop attending the club, before her losses could grow any larger. But then a tear snaked down the lady’s cheek.
Oh no.
“Nothing so final as that.” The reversal escaped Della’s lips of its own volition. She couldn’t abide crying. Not when she was responsible for it, at any rate. “I’m sure it will be of short duration. Just as soon as your pin money comes in and you’ve paid up in full, as you say.”
Maybe Mrs. Muller would take her exit gracefully, while her dignity was still intact.
But Della was not so fortunate. “Please, Miss Danby. I’ve just had a little string of bad luck, that’s all. There’s no need to overreact. I’ve supported you from the very beginning. Is this how you treat your friends?”
The words were laced with accusation, striking hard on Della’s conscience. It was true. She had been with them since the days when they were an intimate circle playing vingt-et-un in a drawing room. This seemed a poor reward for her loyalty.
“I’m sorry,” she tried, though it did nothing to relieve her sense of guilt. “I really wish there were some other way. But we can’t let your debts grow any higher.”
“Please,” Mrs. Muller repeated, rushing forward to clasp Della’s hand. Her grip was clammy. The tears were spilling freely down her cheeks now, her words interrupted by her hiccups. “What will my friends think when I have to explain why I can’t accompany them any longer? I can’t bear to be the subject of gossip. Couldn’t you make an exception? I promise I won’t place any large bets. I’ll just enjoy an evening out with the other ladies and play a few hands at the penny table. Then no one would have to know.”
Della felt her resolve weakening. She hated to be cruel, and banning Mrs. Muller outright would humiliate the poor woman. But she couldn’t let Jane down either.
“I want your word that you won’t play for high stakes,” Della relented. They had a “penny table,” as Mrs. Muller had called it, for the less adventurous among their guests, though it didn’t see much use compared to the other games. But if she was willing to stick to that, she couldn’t do further damage to her account. “If I see you anywhere else, I’ll have no choice but to cut you off.”
She would slip a word to the staff to keep a close eye on Mrs. Muller, in case she tried to break the terms of their agreement. Then there would be no real danger.
“You have it.” Mrs. Muller was still clutching her hand, and she shook on their deal with two rapid jerks, as if flinging the water from a dishcloth. “Oh, thank you, Miss Danby. This means the world to me.”
Della offered her companion a cup of tea to restore her composure before she saw her back out to the gaming rooms, feeling a bit better about the whole business. It was past midnight by now, and Annabelle and Miss Greenwood seemed to have disappeared. (Had they left together? She’d missed everything!) She found herself a glass of champagne and downed it in three large swallows.
That had been utterly horrid, but Della felt proud of the solution she’d found. A loyal patron would keep her dignity, and Bishop’s would keep its accounts in good standing. It likely wasn’t the option Jane would have chosen, but Jane wasn’t always as diplomatic as she should be. The last thing they needed was for Mrs. Muller to spread talk of ill-treatment. Far better if they could reach a solution that harmed no one.