Chapter 1 #4
Silas was too stunned to reply. He’d thought he was done. More than thought it—he’d known it without any doubt. Why should they want to give him a second chance?
Even his own family hadn’t given him that.
“No cursing.” Williams was still talking. “You aren’t at sea anymore. Be polite and don’t make any sharp remarks. Don’t mention your service or your family or anything else that makes you angry. And most of all, smile more.”
“Smile?” Silas echoed. He couldn’t be serious.
“Yes. It puts people at ease. You scowl all the time and it isn’t helping you.”
Silas heaved an enormous sigh and forced his lips to turn upward. It felt like his face was wincing.
Williams recoiled. “That’s worse,” he said. “How is that worse?”
“So no smiling, then?”
“Let’s just get you over to your table and I’ll show you the ropes. I can’t stay long, though. My mother is visiting and she’s been suffering headaches lately. I promised to stop by the apothecary for her.”
“I’m sorry,” Silas replied automatically. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“No, no,” Eli reassured him. “I think she’s just overwrought.
Things have been a bit difficult with my sister lately.
But never mind that. I’ve put you at the vingt-et-un table just this way.
You remember the rules, don’t you? Tuesday nights usually aren’t too busy, so you should have an easy start. ”
Silas trailed after his friend somewhat reluctantly.
It still felt as though there must be some mistake, but the full implications of his turn of fortune were starting to sink in.
He’d found work. He would be able to pay rent at the extremely dodgy boardinghouse where he’d taken rooms. (He was fairly sure the other occupants were light-skirts and thieves, but a bed was a bed.) Most importantly, he would have something to keep him occupied.
To keep his thoughts fixed safely on wagers and sums instead of reliving every moment that had passed since the decision that had cost him his future.
Something to keep him from thinking about what his life would be like if he hadn’t set it all ablaze.
Shit. This means I’m going to have to talk to a bunch of highborn ladies all night.
Maybe he would have been better off if Miss Danby hadn’t forgiven him.
* * *
Hannah arrived at Bishop’s still riding high on her own triumph.
Though she’d been a little nervous walking alone at night, she’d made it here in one piece.
All that remained was to go inside, soak up a healthy dose of scandal from the surrounding games of chance, and exit a ruined woman, safe from matchmaking forever.
Unfortunately, her name wasn’t on the list.
“There’s a list?” she complained to the doorman, exasperated. She’d walked all the way from Berkeley Square for this! In her dancing slippers! She couldn’t turn back now.
“The club membership runs on subscription,” the doorman explained.
Of course it did. This was just Hannah’s luck. She would never get another chance like this, now that Mama would be on her guard. She had to find a way to talk herself through that door before her opportunity slipped away.
“Geórgios, you know me,” she pleaded. “I’m family.”
The doorman was an old friend of Eli’s and had been given his present employment on the strength of their connection. Surely that should count for something?
Hannah put on her most pleading face. She was not above begging, if it came to that.
Geórgios rolled his enormous shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I’ll ask Miss Danby.”
Oh dear. Her plan had been to slip in unnoticed. What would she do if Della sent her packing?
But no, she was overreacting. Della had been nothing but friendly to her since she’d arrived in town.
To be honest, she and Annabelle were the closest friends Hannah had now that Mama had dragged her away from everyone she knew.
The only reason that Della hadn’t already acquiesced to Hannah’s (numerous) requests to attend Bishop’s was because Jane had said no.
And the only reason Jane had said no was because Mama forbid it, so there you go.
All I have to do is tell her they agreed.
She didn’t like to lie, but what choice did she have? It would be just like her flight from Mrs. Anwar’s rout—it looked impossible at first, but it was nothing once she actually mustered the courage to do it. Nothing at all.
Hannah wiped her sweating palms on her skirts as she waited for Geórgios to fetch his mistress. She was already facing the punishment of her life once she was caught. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Geórgios returned with Della a moment later. Before the other woman could say a word, Hannah blurted out, “Jane and Eli said that I could come and help you tonight so you wouldn’t be all alone.”
The fib must have been convincing, for Della immediately swept her into a hug.
“That’s wonderful. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. I’m so glad Jane changed her mind!”
It was almost too easy. Hannah didn’t care for the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, but it was too late for misgivings.
“Er, yes. Me too.” It would be worth a little fib if she could make Mama give up her plans of matchmaking and take them back home. Just a few rounds of cards, a minor scandal, and this would all be over with. They might be packing their trunks by morning.
“Forgive me.” Della seemed to realize that her embrace was too tight and released Hannah. She’d always been a tad excitable. “I’m just so glad you’re here.”
“What can I do?” While the offer to help had made a convenient excuse for her presence here, Hannah was happy to follow through with it.
She wanted to see how everything worked!
And besides, if setting foot inside the club was enough to make her unmarriageable, how much better would it be to take an active role in running the place?
She wouldn’t mind using her impending spinsterhood for something useful.
But Della exposed the flaw in her plans almost immediately. “Have you ever been in charge of instructing your housekeeper or your butler about the service of drinks and meals at home?”
“Mama handles all of that,” Hannah was forced to admit. Oh no. Della was already frowning. She could practically see her chance slipping away from her. “B-But I could learn!”
Della mulled this over for a minute before she nodded.
“Keep an eye on how much the ladies are drinking and whether anyone appears to have overindulged, or whether anyone is hungry and hasn’t been offered enough food.
Check in on our cook and the wine cellar every so often to make sure we aren’t running low on anything, and send our errand boy over to the greengrocer’s if we need it.
Oh! And your brother hired a new dealer, Mr. Cooper?
No, Corbyn! That was it. He’s a bit rough around the edges.
Could you keep an eye out that he doesn’t offend any of our members and fetch me straightaway if there’s a problem?
He’s the tall, blond one with a scar on his chin. You can’t miss him.”
She was speaking so quickly that Hannah wasn’t sure she’d understood half of this, but one part certainly made an impression.
Mr. Corbyn. I know him. That was the friend of Eli’s who’d come by the house the other day. The extremely handsome one. She’d fled from the room to avoid giving Mama any ideas, but not before she’d had a good look.
Hannah wasn’t sure she could face him again. Much as she hated talking to the thoroughly unattractive gentlemen that were trotted out for her, the attractive ones were far worse. Her tongue turned to pudding in her mouth. Only nonsense fell out, if words came to her at all.
It was all well and good for scaring suitors off, but it was also humiliating.
“Right.” Hannah had to say something. “You can count on me.”
Then she was inside and Della was gone.
It was dark in the club at this hour of the night, despite the gaslights that threw gold reflections onto everyone.
The walls were decorated with various objects that caught the light: a large mirror here, a mounted clock there.
Hannah recognized a painting that she’d gifted Della when she’d first arrived in London—a pretty landscape at sunset.
It gave her a flush of pleasure to think that she’d already contributed something to the place.
She peered around as she inched her way forward, trying to take everything in. A quartet in the corner played a lively tune that was partly lost amid the bubbling of women’s voices. There were more of them than she’d expected. Were all of these ladies ruined? When did the ruining start?
Maybe she needed to make her involvement known. It wouldn’t serve much purpose to come all the way here if no one noticed her.
An extremely well-dressed lady glided by and Hannah squeaked out, “Excuse me,” but her words were too quiet to reach the woman’s ear. She was already gone, off to play at one of the tables with her friends.
If Hannah was going to have any hope of ruining herself, she would have to be more forceful.
She cleared her throat and tried again, selecting a patron at random.
“Excuse me.” This time the words sounded more confident.
“My name is Hannah Williams and I’m helping to manage the gambling club this evening.
That’s Miss Hannah Williams, by the way.
I don’t have a husband, but that didn’t stop me from coming here.
Is there, er, anything you need? Would you like something to eat? ”
There! She’d done it. Exactly one other person knew that she’d immersed herself in a den of depravity, as Mama sometimes termed it. And this lady was only the first among many.
It turned out that the woman didn’t need anything, but she lingered a moment to introduce herself before she went about her way.
The ease of the exchange gave Hannah the courage to try again with other guests, and soon she’d amassed a dozen witnesses to her downfall.
The only problem was that none of them reacted with anything more than a polite smile (and one request for a cucumber sandwich).
Cucumber sandwiches did not fit neatly into Hannah’s idea of a life of ruin.
Why doesn’t anyone seem scandalized by me?
She was young and unmarried, two qualities that Mama had assured her would mark her instantly as an interloper. But after a half hour spent circling the room, Hannah was beginning to suspect something was wrong.
There were plenty of unmarried ladies here.
Why, the well-dressed one who’d passed her earlier was none other than Lady Eleanor Grosvenor, daughter of the Marquess of Westminster.
How could she be in attendance, if the place was so dangerous?
Surely a marquess wouldn’t let his own daughter be ruined!
But if she’s not ruined, then how can I be?
Hannah’s stomach sank so deep that it landed somewhere about her feet.
So, this was another lie that Mama had fed her.
The ladies who frequented Bishop’s were no more a threat to her reputation than her own sister-in-law, and coming here wouldn’t make one jot of difference to the future that had been planned out for her. It had all been for nothing!
Hannah could have screamed. She felt as if a steam locomotive were bearing down on her and all she could do was wait on the tracks. What was she supposed to do now?
She might try another location. Something that would be certain to condemn her to the ranks of hopelessly ruined women. A brothel, perhaps. Or a public house.
But it stood to reason that she might need to walk more than ten minutes to get there, and through a far more dangerous neighborhood. Hannah wasn’t quite ready to risk her life to sabotage her mother. Not yet, at least.
Maybe I can still find a way to ruin myself right here at Bishop’s.
What if she tried wagering a large sum? That might do more to shock people than fetching sandwiches.
Hannah scanned the room, trying to decide which of the tables looked the most risqué. She was familiar with the games one saw at house parties, of course, but she wasn’t sure she knew the rules to everything on offer tonight. Which table should she choose?
Wait, she realized belatedly, I don’t need to know the rules. The point is to make a spectacle of myself.
Once this obstacle was dispensed with, she recalled Mr. Corbyn was dealing at the table on the far edge of the room. She had promised Della she would keep an eye on him. If she made herself useful, she might feel a bit less guilty about the lie she’d told to get herself in the door.
Hannah observed him from a distance, trying to work up the nerve to go over.
He was ridiculously handsome. He looked just like a drawing of Poseidon she’d once seen in a book, except that the Greek god had been covered only by some strategically placed seafoam and Mr. Corbyn was fully clothed, thank goodness.
But the features were the same. Perpetually windswept hair, piercing blue eyes, angled cheekbones, a slightly downturned nose, and an expression of fierce defiance.
It was a very compelling face. Hannah had been so moved by the drawing that she’d kept that book hidden under her bed to look at from time to time when no one else was around.
Oh goodness, how embarrassing. Why did I think of that now?
If she kept staring this way, she would waste the rest of the evening. She had more important things to do than be dazzled by this man. Better to just force one foot in front of the other and put herself at his table before she could talk herself out of it.
She was doing this. Ruination was still possible.