Fourteen
“I don’t understand how this happened,” Della wailed, dabbing wretchedly at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I just d-don’t understand. She was scarcely out of my s-sight for ten minutes when her mother turned up! Why should she have th-thrown herself at Mr. Corbyn? She doesn’t even know the man!”
Della was on the divan in Jane’s sitting room, her friend pacing the floor in front of her. It had been too late to speak with her by the time she’d closed up Bishop’s last night amid the murmurs and speculation of their guests. Mrs. Williams had dragged her daughter out by the elbow, too livid to speak, leaving Della to sack a tight-lipped Mr. Corbyn and deal with the aftermath of the most devastating scandal their club had ever witnessed.
The only scandal, really. Even if there were plenty of people who didn’t like the idea of a ladies’ gaming hell, they’d always managed to avoid any real problems.
Until I ruined everything.
Jane would never have let Hannah fool her. Nor would she have given Mrs. Muller a second chance, nor gotten herself involved with a married man. Della was the one who created trouble, the one who seemed to ruin everything, no matter how hard she tried.
She’d hoped things would look better in the light of day, but the minute she presented herself to face Jane’s recriminations, Della had broken down in tears, unable to cope with the certainty that she’d destroyed everything they’d ever worked for.
“Why on earth did you let her in?” Jane asked. Though she looked nearly as upset as her mother-in-law had been last night, she kept her tone measured. It was probably hard to be cross with someone who couldn’t stop crying. “You knew I forbid her to go.”
“I’m s-sorry.” Della couldn’t stop hiccuping in between her words. “She said you’d ch-changed your mind and sent her to h-help me. I was so busy I didn’t really have t-time to think it through.”
“Della…” Jane trailed off, but her disappointment was written on her face. She probably wanted to tell Della what an idiot she was and was only holding herself back out of pity. Della couldn’t say she blamed her. Why hadn’t she thought to question Hannah’s story? She should have known Jane would never have relented.
Della gathered up her courage to ask, “What’s going to happen now?”
“That’s for Mrs. Williams and Hannah to sort out.” Jane shook her head sadly. “I doubt she’ll force her daughter to marry a disgraced serviceman. It’s more likely she’ll be sent away somewhere.”
For the rest of her life, or only until the ton forgets? Della wondered. Like as not, they were the same thing.
“And Bishop’s?”
Jane finally stopped her pacing. When she spoke, she sounded as if she were weighing each word. “We’ll stay open as usual and try to reassure our members that we’re still running an establishment of quality.”
Della winced at the word still .
Jane drew a long breath before she added, “You…might want to take a few nights off. Eli and I will ask his mother to watch Gloria in the evenings so we can handle things.”
“What? No!” Della couldn’t fight the panic that set her heart racing. “You need me. Jane, I know I made a hash of things, but I can fix this. Please don’t cut me out.”
Something about her own words triggered a sense of déjà vu. But that was ridiculous. She had never been excluded from her own club before. Then she realized what it was.
She sounded just like Mrs. Muller, pleading for another chance at cards despite the fact that it would only make things worse. Desperate and unlucky.
Is that what I look like to everyone?
“I’m not cutting you out,” Jane assured her. “I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But you’re tired and overwhelmed. I’ve probably been asking too much of you since Gloria—”
“You haven’t.” Della scrubbed the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand and tried to force herself to stop crying. She wasn’t entirely successful, as her breath kept coming in uneven gasps no matter what she did. It felt as though she were about to lose her dearest friend. “You can count on me. Y-yesterday evening was an exception, not—”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“It’s probably Eli,” Jane explained. “He went out to find Mr. Corbyn before you arrived.” Her tone grew flinty on the dealer’s name. Della suspected Eli would be in nearly as much trouble as she was over his decision to recommend his friend for the post, but it was different for him. He was family and would always be forgiven.
Except it wasn’t Jane’s husband who joined them a moment later, but her cousin. Cecily’s keen gaze took in Della’s tearstained face before she hurried across the room and swept her into an embrace. “So it’s true, then? Hannah compromised herself at your club last night with one of your dealers? How dreadful! I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered.”
Della tried to slip free of this tangle of arms without appearing rude. “Who told you that?”
“Miss Berry,” Cecily replied without missing a beat.
“Cecily, please don’t repeat the tale,” Jane said. “This has been hard enough on Hannah and her mother. We don’t need the whole ton talking about it.”
“Of course. You know I’m the soul of discretion. But I’d say the story is already out, at this point. Miss Berry made it sound like the most exciting thing to happen all season.”
All because of me.
Della was in real danger of crying again, but she couldn’t lose her head if she wanted to persuade Jane she was steady enough to return to the club.
Unfortunately, Cecily hadn’t even finished yet. “She also told me Mrs. Muller made a scene about her gambling debts, and that Hannah accused you of carrying on with a married man! Whom did she mean?”
Oh no. Della buried her face in her hands. She’d hoped that part of the evening would have been forgotten in the face of the greater crisis that had followed.
“What?” Jane whirled on Della with horror in her eyes.
She couldn’t explain herself. Despite Cecily’s promise not to spread gossip, she was sure to repeat every word of this conversation to a half dozen intimate friends who would likewise be sworn to secrecy except for a half dozen of their intimate friends.
“I’m sorry about Mrs. Muller,” Della began. “She wasn’t supposed to be gambling but she got away from me in the crowd, and Mr. Corbyn didn’t know he was supposed to turn her away because he was new.” She drew a large breath. “As to the other matter, Hannah misunderstood me. She didn’t know what she was saying.”
She didn’t like to shift the blame for her mistake, but there was no help for it. If anyone learned of her connection to Lord Ashton, Della would face the same fate as Hannah—a swift marriage being impossible, her only option would be exile.
Hannah hadn’t actually mentioned Ashton by name when she lost her temper. As long as no one gave anything else away, the rumor was too vague to pose a serious threat.
Jane was back to pacing. This latest blow seemed too much for her.
“Let me come tonight and help you put things right again,” Della pleaded. “You’re going to be shorthanded without Mr. Corbyn to deal.”
“No.” Jane shook her head. “It’s best you stay away for now and let things cool off. This is my responsibility. I shouldn’t have taken so much time away.”
I shouldn’t have trusted you. The unspoken recrimination pierced Della’s heart. If she couldn’t attend the club, she would never have a chance to put things right. All of this was her mess, but Jane would be the one to clean it up.
“Go home and rest,” Jane said gently. “You probably didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’ll have my hands full here sorting out what to do with Hannah. We can talk again later.”
Della rose to her feet at this dismissal, weighed down by the knowledge that there would be no coming back from this, either for Hannah or herself.
***
Lyman was about to set out for the house of the young gentleman he tutored on Wednesday mornings when a cryptic note arrived.
Come soon, please. There’s been some trouble and my sister needs you.
—A.D.
Lyman would have said that he didn’t know any A.D.s, but for the reference to her sister. Hell must have frozen over if Miss Annabelle was writing to him. Imagining an increasingly worrisome list of possibilities, he sent a message to his pupil’s house to apologize for his absence and hurried to the Danby residence.
Della might be terribly ill. No, they would send for a doctor, not a disgraced viscount.
Our trip to Laurent’s Casino has been discovered . This possibility was somewhat more likely, though once again, why would Miss Annabelle send for him? Unless their father was waiting at home with a dueling pistol and this was her way of luring him into the trap.
When Lyman arrived, the butler bade him wait a moment until Miss Annabelle came downstairs to greet him.
“Where’s Della?” he asked as she led him into the drawing room.
“Miss Danby,” she corrected, “needs a minute to fix her face.”
“What’s happened to her face?” This got worse and worse.
“Oh no,” Annabelle added quickly. “I only meant she’s freshening up. I don’t think she slept a wink last night, and she’ll want to look pretty for you or some such nonsense.”
“Is she all right?” Lyman was relieved both at the fact that Della had apparently not suffered any disfiguring injury and that no one had challenged him to a duel yet, but he wouldn’t mind knowing what was going on.
“I gather there was some trouble at her club and she’s had a row with her friend over it. She was in hysterics this morning. I thought you might do a better job of calming her down than I could.”
Lyman paused, letting the significance of this statement sink in. For all their bickering, the Danby sisters looked out for each other when it counted. He wasn’t sure when he’d earned Annabelle’s trust, but he appreciated it all the same.
“Thank you, Miss Annabelle.”
Della came in just then, and Annabelle excused herself with a parting curtsy in his direction. Lyman rose to his feet to guide Della gently to the divan. It was obvious that she’d been crying, despite her efforts to hide the evidence. Her face had been scrubbed pink and clean, but her eyes were swollen and dull, with no sign of their usual sparkling mischief.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Your sister summoned me.”
“Really?” Della glanced toward the door where Annabelle had just made her exit. “I must be a sorry sight indeed.”
“What happened?”
“I’ve ruined everything, that’s what.” Della brought a hand to her face as she recounted the tale. Her hands were bare—she must have forgotten to put on gloves in her distracted state. “Miss Williams lied to me about gaining her family’s permission to attend Bishop’s so that I’d let her in, and then she ruined herself by kissing one of our dealers in front of her mother and half our members.”
Lyman had trouble digesting all of this. How did the girl’s mother get there just in time to catch her with a dealer, and what had any of that to do with Della?
“I’m not sure I understand how her behavior is your fault. Surely you didn’t force her to kiss this fellow?”
“But I was in charge!” Della replied, as if this were sufficient reason to spend the morning in utter misery. “I was supposed to watch out for her.”
“It sounds as if Miss Williams did everything possible to prevent you from watching out for her,” Lyman noted. “And I imagine you had other things to attend to. Were you all alone again?”
“I wish you wouldn’t say it that way. You make it sound as though it’s Mr. and Mrs. Williams’s fault for not being there, when I really should have been able to handle things. They aren’t neglecting the club, you know. They have a family to look after!”
Lyman wasn’t entirely persuaded by this, but he wouldn’t criticize her friends. It would only upset her further. Besides, he had some experience with the sting of self-recrimination.
“You’re very understanding of your friends,” he said gently. “Is it possible they might be equally understanding of you? Surely they must see that this girl set out to give you the slip so she could get herself into some trouble, whatever her reasons for it might be.”
Della sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “You don’t understand. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to Bishop’s. If we gain a reputation for ruining young ladies, we might lose all our members.”
“In my experience, no gaming hell was ever harmed by a bit of scandal. Quite the opposite.”
This seemed to mollify Della somewhat, though she still protested, “For gentlemen, perhaps. Society holds ladies to a different standard.”
“Are the ladies who frequent Bishop’s particularly rule-abiding, or do they tend to be a more rebellious lot?”
“Stop being so rational! You’re starting to make me feel silly for crying so much.” Della swatted his shoulder lightly. A second later, her expression transformed into one of mild horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’ve been going on and on about my problems, and I didn’t stop to think about how you must feel. I shouldn’t be talking to you about my club, when it—I mean, you must not like to be reminded of all that…”
“It’s all right,” Lyman assured her. “I don’t enjoy being invited to play cards at parties, but this isn’t upsetting me.”
He studied Della a moment. She looked so downcast that Lyman’s instinct was to find a solution for her. Some way to save the young lady who’d been caught with their dealer or to suppress the rumors. But the truth was that there wasn’t an easy solution to this problem, and barging in with his own ideas might make things worse. Della knew the situation better than he did.
Instead, he asked softly, “What do you need now?”
Della blinked. She looked startled by the question, as if this were the first time she’d considered it. “I’m not sure,” she began. Then, tentatively, she added, “I need to do something to set things right again, but I don’t know how I can. Mrs. Williams asked me to stay away from the club tonight.”
She fell silent, dropping her gaze to her hands. This seemed to upset her more than anything else, though Lyman privately thought a little rest might do her good.
A moment later Della spoke again. Her voice was very quiet. “I think I’d like to finish up my guidebook so that I’d at least have done one thing right, but I’m afraid I haven’t made as much progress as I hoped. I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet the deadline we agreed to.”
She mumbled the words in the direction of her lap, as if ashamed of this confession.
I’m the one who should be ashamed. He’d imposed a two-month limit on their time together out of a selfish desire to get back to his own work, without any concern for how much pressure it might put on Della. He hadn’t known her then. He hadn’t been thinking of her well-being.
“It doesn’t matter if you meet our deadline,” he reassured her. “I shouldn’t have been so demanding with you. You can take more time if you need it.”
“But I don’t want more time. You might not be there soon! I should have been able to finish this already, if only I hadn’t been so distracted. I’ve had two months and I haven’t done anything of any value.”
“That’s not true,” he pointed out. “You saw the views with me, and you went to the shops and the theater. You were researching attractions so that you could write about them persuasively. I happen to think you could write a very engrossing section on the tableau vivant at Laurent’s Casino, if you like.”
Della smiled reluctantly. “It doesn’t amount to anything if I can’t finish the book and get more members for our club like I wanted.”
“Very well. What would help you write?”
This time, there was no hesitation. “A quiet place where no one will disturb me.”
“Shall I leave you to work now?” Lyman didn’t like to walk out while she was suffering, but he would go if his presence was a burden. At least Della seemed in better spirits now than she had when he’d first arrived.
“No,” she replied. “It’s impossible to get a moment’s peace here, with Annabelle and Peter bothering me all the time and guests popping by for morning calls. And I can’t bear to face the visitors who will turn up to sniff for gossip once word gets out. I might ask Miss Chatterjee or one of my other friends if I can hole up in their house, but then I’ll feel obliged to socialize instead of writing. What I really need is someone to keep me on task, without trying to talk to me for longer than five minutes at once.”
Lyman mulled all of this over. “Would you like to come to my rooms and try to write there?”
It wasn’t the most likely place to bring a woman of her status. She must be accustomed to the sprawling country houses of the landed gentry and town houses that made up for their constrained size with an abundance of decor.
“I’ll warn you, it’s not much,” he added quickly. “And there are two other gentlemen who let rooms from my landlady, but they shouldn’t be home at this hour of the day. They both have apprenticeships and don’t usually return until late evening.”
“I don’t mind what it looks like,” Della assured him. “Just so long as there’s nothing to distract me and we can work in peace. But are you sure I wouldn’t be a bother? I don’t want to impose.”
“Not at all. You can work on your book and I’ll work on mine. I’m nearly finished my guide to Bath.”
“That’s perfect!” Finally, Della’s smile had regained its usual spark.