Chapter 7
Seven
Hannah spent the next month confined to her guest room in Jane and Eli’s house, counting the petals on the floral motif on the wallpaper and generally trying not to expire from boredom.
True to her word, Mama hadn’t brought another gentleman caller to the house since the disastrous proposal from Sir Richard.
She also hadn’t let Hannah entertain any of her friends, or attend any social events, or even leave the house except under the watch of immediate family.
Annabelle Danby had tried to come and see her early in her imprisonment, followed by an inconsistent smattering of the other young debutantes she’d gotten to know since arriving in town, but Mama had turned them all away.
“You wanted to be ruined?” she’d asked Hannah with a cool glare. “Ruined girls aren’t welcome in polite society. Respectable married women are welcome at any place you’d like to go, if you change your mind about Sir Richard.”
“No, thank you.” Hannah had pursed her lips and returned to counting petals.
She was allowed to emerge from her prison only to attend Bishop’s with Jane in the mornings, which proved far less exciting than Hannah might have hoped.
She was given a long list of chores to accomplish to atone for her sins, and she was always whisked to safety before they opened their doors to guests in the evenings.
She’d first been assigned to take an inventory of all the champagne in the cellar, then of all the preserves in the kitchens, and then finally, making sure none of the decks were missing a card.
Hannah was fairly certain that last one had no real purpose but to keep her occupied.
“How are you?” Jane asked over tea and currant buns, sometime toward the end of the fourth week, as they took a short break from their work. Hannah would say this much: Even if bishop’s was nothing more than a variation on her prison cell, at least Jane brought treats.
“Fine,” Hannah said. “Though I miss Mr. Corbyn dreadfully.”
“Hmm.” Jane took a bite of her bun, unwilling to comment on this.
Everyone seemed to harbor their doubts about the sincerity of Hannah’s love affair—which was really quite rude of them, seeing as she’d gone to so much trouble to produce solid evidence—but they couldn’t prove she was lying if she didn’t admit it.
Though Jane didn’t seem to be hunting for inconsistencies in her story as Mama did, one could never be too careful.
“Do you expect that your, uh, devotion to this gentleman will last much longer?” Jane asked delicately.
A trap! Hadn’t she just been thinking she was safer here than at home? Jane might seem kind enough, but she’d already proven that she wouldn’t keep secrets from Eli. And once Eli knew the truth, he couldn’t be trusted not to share it with Mama.
I can’t let my guard down with any of them.
“It will last for as long as I live,” Hannah said tartly.
Jane’s shoulders sank as she let out a long sigh. “All right, all right. I was only asking because my uncle Bertie has been wanting to come and visit, and I wondered how much longer the guest bedrooms would be occupied.”
“You could turn us out if you like,” Hannah suggested, trying not to sound too eager.
She’d expected that Mama would have admitted defeat and taken them back to Devonshire by now.
After all, with her dreams of matchmaking up in smoke, there was nothing to keep them in London.
But whenever Hannah tried to broach the subject, Mama stared her dead in the eye and asked, “Won’t you miss your true love if we leave?
” which made it utterly impossible to press the point any further.
Besides which, her mother seemed to be entrenching herself into Eli and Jane’s life here in town.
Della had reduced the amount of time she spent at Bishop’s since that fateful kiss, meaning Jane and Eli spent more of their evenings there.
Mama and Hannah generally watched Gloria now that they were no longer gallivanting across half the ballrooms of London in search of a suitor.
At this rate, it would take some external pressure to drive them from Jane’s house.
But Jane retreated from the suggestion immediately. “Of course I wouldn’t do that. You and your mother are welcome to stay for as long as you like. Please, forget I said anything.”
“What if you gave your uncle Mama’s room and put her in the nursery with Gloria? I’m sure she’d love to be closer to her grandchild.”
Maybe the nighttime cries would finally do the trick.
“Don’t be silly,” Jane admonished. “Bertie can stay with Cecily. She has more room anyway. Really, I shouldn’t even have brought it up.”
Drat. But the nursery idea was rather inspired, if Hannah did say so herself.
Was there some other way she could make the house intolerable for her mother?
What if she filled her bed with fleas? No, that would be too disgusting.
But Hannah resolved to think about it further.
There must be something less drastic she could try.
Having run out of menial tasks to assign Hannah several days ago, Jane had recently begun teaching her how to look over the club’s books and check that there were no errors in the calculations.
Though it probably wasn’t meant to be a reward, Hannah actually found the task far more satisfying than counting the inventory in the pantry.
It felt important. It also gave her enormous insight into the inner workings of the club.
She could see how much they spent on food and drink each month, how they split their profits or reinvested them, and how much they paid their employees.
Hannah’s gaze lingered on this last item, tallying up the monthly amounts.
“The dealers only make fourteen pounds a year?” she asked, dismayed. How could anyone live on such a sum? She was sure Mama must spend nearly that much outfitting her in new gowns every season.
This did a good deal to explain the shabby state of Mr. Corbyn’s lodgings. Hannah recalled the image with a trace of guilt.
“We’re far more generous than they are at White’s, I promise you,” Jane said earnestly. “And given that we’re only open in the evenings, many of the men find other work earlier in the day. It’s a good way for most of them to supplement their incomes.”
Had Mr. Corbyn needed that money? She hoped he’d found something else by now.
She still hadn’t contrived to get him the rest of his payment for sabotaging her engagement to Sir Richard.
Even if she could find a way to get her hands on the funds, she was never alone long enough to find a way to bribe the coachman again, and Mama was monitoring all her letters.
Hannah was sure to find a chance eventually, but she wasn’t optimistic that it would be soon.
She hoped he wouldn’t think that she’d forgotten him.
“Do you suppose there’s any way you might hire Mr. Corbyn back?” It was probably hopeless, but she had to ask. “It was really my fault that he kissed me, and it’s not as though he’s likely to repeat the incident. There wouldn’t be any harm in it.”
Jane studied her carefully, her eyes kind but firm. “I’m sorry, Hannah, but we really can’t allow him back after something like this. The ladies wouldn’t trust that they’re safe around him.”
Not safe? Mr. Corbyn wasn’t a danger to anyone, unless one counted the danger he occasionally posed to Hannah’s thoughts. She returned glumly to the figures on the page, trying not to imagine his fate written among them.
Anyway, she didn’t need to be poking around these records.
Jane had only asked her to check over the tallies for the previous night’s profits, not review their expenses.
It was mostly Hannah’s curiosity that had set her to snooping.
That, and a desire to prove that she could be entrusted with a more important role than counting jam jars.
She finished reviewing Jane’s calculations while her sister-in-law was still busy writing out the instructions she intended to give Cook for the coming week’s menu. As usual, there were no mistakes in the careful sums. So much for my chance to prove myself. Jane never made an error.
With nothing else to do to pass the time until they returned to the house, Hannah returned to snooping, this time in the tallies for each of the game tables. She wanted to see where they made the greatest profit.
After a few minutes’ study, she ventured a question. “Why do you offer baccarat and faro when they don’t make you as much money as vingt-et-un or bridge?”
“Hmm?” Jane looked up from her notes. “Oh. Because even if they don’t bring in as much, plenty of ladies like those and they’re easy to learn. Running this place is as much about keeping everyone happy so that they’ll want to come back as it is about earning the most profit.”
“But you have three tables for baccarat when it’s the least profitable. Couldn’t you reduce it to two? If people had to wait a little to get a seat, they might try another game in the meantime and earn you more income.”
Jane rose from her chair to peer over Hannah’s shoulder at the figures on the page. “I suppose you might have a point,” she admitted, sounding faintly surprised. “I’ll talk it over with Della. I didn’t realize you had an eye for business, Hannah. Thank you.”
It was all she could do not to preen at this acknowledgment. Why couldn’t Mama ever see that there were other options for her besides marriage, especially when they had a perfectly good example right here in their own family?
“I’m sure I could think of some other suggestions if you’d let me help out in the evenings,” Hannah suggested.
Jane shot her a regretful look. “You must know it’s impossible. It was all I could do to convince your mother that you’d be safe under my supervision here in the mornings. She’d never allow it after dark.”
“You mean to say that you made Mama let me come?”