Chapter 9
R ockford’s was having a particularly slow night. Since it had opened, it had been at full capacity most evenings, unless there was an important ball, and then it always picked up in the wee hours of the morning when the gamblers finally escaped the dance floor.
Jasper adjusted his cuffs, which were pinned with diamond cuff links, and frowned at Guy. “I know it is summer, but I do not believe we have ever had so few patrons. What do you think could be the cause?”
Guy tipped his hat to a customer and shrugged. “New moon?”
A lone lord stumbled near, deep in his cups and prepared to lose an extraordinary amount of money. Jasper owned a gaming hell to make money, not hold leading strings, but he had a limit to what he would take off a drunk man: enough to make it sting, but not enough to bankrupt him. Jasper was keenly aware that a man’s fortunes supported a number of dependents, even if many of the men in his hell did not acknowledge the same.
“That ith an easy one,” the lord said, stumbling to his knees. He stood again as if the fall had not happened. “They are all at your house.”
Jasper stared at him. “What?”
The lord lifted his glass in the air and snickered. “Crush of the summer, that.”
The man was not making any sense. Jasper did not hold functions at his house. Ever. He was not a part of the ton. He took their money, they looked down their noses at him, and they all coexisted in harmony because he never breached that class barrier. Jasper had no interest in fraternizing with the elite. He was aware there were titled men who would gladly sacrifice their daughters in marriage to Jasper in order to have their debts to Rockford’s cleared, but the last thing Jasper wanted was an unwilling wife of noble blood. Why would he? So that she could be pitied and told she had married down her entire life? No thank you. He was much happier playing up his image as an arrogant rake while quietly bedding lonely widows eager to test out the rumors.
Or, at least he used to be happy doing that. Even before Cecelia had come to live with him, he had begun to find that part of his life rather tiresome. Jasper did not intend to marry, nor did he yearn for love. Why would he wish for something he’d never had, but that he’d seen ruin countless lives and marriages? Jasper did not need anyone or anything other than his gaming hell and his wits.
Why then had he begun to feel like they weren’t enough anymore?
“He is drunk,” Guy said. “He knows not of what he speaks.”
But something was nagging at the back of Jasper’s mind, some piece of information he’d misplaced. He was counting dice at the counter when the hell’s butler approached him bearing a silver platter. Atop it was a single, creamy envelope with exquisitely slanted handwriting.
“Mr. Jones,” the butler said stiffly, “I am terribly sorry to interrupt, and you know I would not under usual circumstances, however—”
Jasper lifted a brow. “However?”
“The housekeeper at your residence delivered this by hand several hours ago and asked that I give it to you. I told her you have very strict working conditions, but she was really quite insistent.” The man blinked, as if he was still rattled by Mrs. Hollendale’s fearsome bearing. “I chose to wait until you had a free moment, Mr. Jones, but I did give her my word and—”
“It is all right,” Jasper said, hoping to ease some of the butler’s distress at breaking protocol. He plucked the thick invitation from the silver tray, his skin humming with foreboding. He broke the wax seal and his eyes raced across the handwritten invitation. It was addressed to him personally, requesting his presence at Cecelia’s soirée tonight.
His head snapped up. He’d completely forgotten that tonight was Cecelia’s modest gathering with her friends.
Jasper took another sweep of his dead club, and dread skittered down his spine. “I need to go,” he shouted to Guy as he sprinted out of the club, and Jasper Jones did not sprint.
Even before he reached the front door of his house a thrill of horror shot down his fingertips. Carriages choked the street so that nary a vehicle could pass. As he approached, Lord and Lady Somerville stepped down from their carriage and greeted him as if he were a part of their set.
“Splendid evening for a soirée, Jones,” Lord Somerville said. His muttonchops fluttered with the gentle summer breeze. “I have to hand it to you; the urgent invitation and off-Season timing was a gamble, but you piqued the interest of the entire ton . Who would pass over the chance to peek into the legendary home of Mr. Jasper Jones?”
Jasper nodded and smiled and gestured them indoors, all while he thought that he was going to do it: he was going to commit murder.
He entered his home and was immediately struck by the immense size of the crowd. Every room was packed with nobility in their best evening wear and jewels, eager to break up the boredom of a long, hot summer. Music was playing from a hired quartet of strings, and a woman dressed as a Roman was plucking a scrolled golden harp. The air smelled of tobacco smoke and mingled perfumes and roasted meat. Jasper walked past the banquet room and then took two steps backward to gawk at what he saw. A dozen linen-draped tables were stacked with every type of confection, punch, and entrée one might desire: pickled oysters, deviled kidneys, delicately sliced braised beef, Angels on Horseback, Yorkshire pudding, Neapolitan cakes, crepes, soufflé, éclairs, and meringue. There were imported oranges and grapes, candy confections, and plates of olives that looked as if they’d come straight from Greece.
Jasper shook his head and kept moving. Cecelia had taken his offer to spend as much as she pleased and she’d run so far amok she wasn’t even on this continent anymore. What on earth had she been thinking?
He at last found his darling niece in the formal sitting room, where tables had been set up for the ladies to play whist and for the gentlemen to play whatever card game they pleased. Even Madam Margaret was present, her gray head tipped back to enjoy the music of the young lady tinkering at the piano in the corner, or perhaps she was asleep. The atmosphere in the room was one of excitement and convivial camaraderie. Everyone was pleased to be back in London for such an unprecedented event.
Cecelia was wearing one of her new altered gowns, a sober gray that seemed to age her by a decade. Jasper frowned as he approached her. When had she grown up? Had she always been so old? He could have sworn when she’d arrived in his care she’d been at least five years younger.
She was chatting animatedly with a woman whose name he struggled to place for a moment, and then it came to him: Lady Evelyn Barker. Her father, the Earl of Elmsdale, was a member of his club, although he was of the conservative set and never gambled.
Lady Evelyn was resplendent, dressed in a pale-lavender gown that brought out the honey color of her eyes, and her chestnut tresses were artfully pinned so that several soft strands escaped and curled at her neck. She had been considered the catch of the Season for three years now, with a dowry large enough to make even the most levelheaded of men green with greed. She suffered no lack of suitors, and yet she remained unwed. A handful of men had lost bets over that. He would know; Rockford’s kept the betting book.
Many people seemed to think she was holding out for one gentleman in particular, whoever he might be, but Jasper suspected her father was the true reason she remained unwed. From his observations of Elmsdale at his club, the man was demanding and would accept nothing but the best for his only daughter.
“Uncle Jasper! Here you are!” Cecelia bounded up to him and patted his arm. “Did Mrs. Hollendale and I not pull off a splendid crush?”
“Cecelia, I said you could plan a small gathering,” he said through clenched teeth. He smiled and waved at a gentleman who’d won a fortune at Rockford’s a few weeks earlier.
“Small is a relative term, is it not? This soirée is smaller than a ball, for example.”
“You took advantage of my generosity.”
She seemed genuinely perplexed. “But, Uncle Jasper, this gathering is for you .”
“How do you figure that?”
“I am helping you enter society.” She beamed up at him, and he was not sure if she was playacting or if she truly believed this to be something he desired. “Uncle, have you met Lady Evelyn Barker?” she asked, drawing him toward Lady Evelyn, who had watched their exchange with feline interest.
Jasper pressed his hand to his chest and inclined his head. “My lady, I am pleased you could make Miss Cecelia’s soirée.”
“How quaint that you allowed a child to plan your soirée,” Lady Evelyn said archly.
Cecelia seemed uncertain whether Lady Evelyn was being snide or kind. Jasper was accustomed to the two-faced nature of society and smiled pleasantly even though he suspected the former. “She did a splendid job.”
“I must admit, I am stunned that a midsummer party drew so many guests.” Snide.
“The ton must have desired a brief visit to London.”
“Perhaps, but I think it is more that the proprietor of Rockford’s took the risk of sending an invitation to them!” Snide again.
Cecelia’s expression turned to one of alarm, and he did his best to suppress a bubble of anger. Cecelia knew they held a different standing in society, but she did not—and how could she?—understand how forward and presumptuous it had been for him to ostensibly invite the entire ton to his house, during the middle of summer, and with extremely short notice. For half his life he had worked tirelessly to entertain the ton while remaining in his “place,” and this soirée had just blurred the lines. If the lords and ladies of London’s upper crust thought he supposed himself on their level, it would affect his business at Rockford’s. The ton enjoyed nothing more than keeping everyone firmly in his or her place.
Jasper glanced around the room, noting the sprays of fresh-cut flowers, the fat cigars lined in rows on silver trays, the crystal decanters filled with liquors, and the stacks of unopened playing cards. He recalled the harpist and the quartet and the mountains of food, and he nearly groaned at the uncouth display of wealth. Luxury and opulence were all well and good when it was for the ton ’s benefit; it was not so well received when it showcased how wealthy he’d become taking their money.
In short, it was a disaster, but he had no choice but to smile and greet and pretend the abomination had his blessing.
“I hope everyone enjoys themselves at this one-time gathering.” Jasper nodded to Lady Evelyn and was about to depart, but Cecelia clung to his arm.
“Lady Evelyn has shared that she adores a challenging game of whist,” Cecelia said hastily. “I cannot imagine anyone giving her more of a challenge than you, Uncle.”
Lady Evelyn fluttered her eyelashes. “What a splendidly unrehearsed request.”
Snide.
Cecelia heard the sarcasm that time, but before she could say anything Lady Evelyn added, “I would be delighted; it is difficult to find a worthy whist player, do you not agree, Mr. Jones? We shall partner with my two friends.” She waved to a couple of women fluttering fans at their faces across the room. The women hurried over, and before Jasper knew it, he was seated with the three of them while one of the women expertly dealt the cards. Cecelia stood at the edge of the room and smiled brightly at him.
Lady Evelyn leaned toward him, a light floral scent clinging to her skin, and whispered, “Shall we devise a secret code?”
“That is cheating,” Jasper said flatly and nodded as another card was handed to him.
Taken aback by his tone, Lady Evelyn sniffed. “And here I was led to believe you were a touch wild. I should have thought if anyone knew how to have a good time it would be a gambler.”
Jasper altered his suspicions about why Lady Evelyn remained unmarried despite all the reports of suitors. Although she was objectively beautiful, there was something ugly about her personality. She may be clever and cunning, but he did not think she was particularly kind.
Jasper’s blood chilled at the thought. Good lord, when had he started caring about a woman’s personality ? What was happening to him? He was a man of brief affairs—when had a woman’s kindness or lack thereof ever mattered?
She laughed, mistaking the source of his horror. “Do not appear so aghast, Mr. Jones. I shall not divulge your great secret: that the powerful Mr. Jones is in fact rather docile.”
Jasper gave her such a feral smile that she shrank back. These people treated him as if he were a domesticated lapdog that had forgotten how to bite. “Excellent idea, Lady Evelyn. You have your reputation to uphold and I have mine. There is no cheating at Rockford’s and there will be no cheating here.”
“What shall we play for?” one of her friends asked with a sly giggle.
The last thing Jasper wanted was to part someone’s wife from her pin money. “No bets. Your company will lend this game all the exhilaration it needs.”
Jasper had his cards discreetly fanned in his hand when movement at the door caught his attention. A woman entered the sitting room with the hesitancy of someone who was not sure if she was supposed to be there. She was shrouded in a soft pink gown that accentuated her corseted waist, the dipping neckline baring a hint of cleavage so tantalizing his skin tingled. Her silky blond hair tumbled defiantly from atop her head, and her eyes were an angelic blue behind wide, round spectacle lenses.
No, it couldn’t be. Was that his governess ?
Jasper’s stomach clenched as pure, unexpected lust seared through him. After a lifetime of concealing his emotions, he was an expert in masking his appetites, but for once he found it difficult to bank the roar of undiluted desire that swept through his veins when Frankie looked his way. Her lashes dropped and she averted her eyes, but then she lifted them again to meet his stare. This time, he let the mask of indifference fall away, exposing all of his raw and primal need. Jasper gave her a slow smile, and she took a shuddering breath.
Lady Evelyn followed the direction of his gaze and her eyes sharpened. “Who is that?”
Jasper cleared his throat. “That is Miss Francis Turner, Cecelia’s governess.”
Lady Evelyn gave a brittle smile. “Yes, of course she is a governess. I can see it now in the quality of her gown. A lady would not wear so little ornamentation. And the hemline! My goodness. Did a seamstress stitch that in the dark?”
Her two companions giggled, and Jasper, who thought he would do anything to avoid burning bridges with potential clients and their families, discovered that he would not. He stood abruptly and gave a curt bow to Lady Evelyn.
“You must excuse me. I need to speak with Miss Turner about Cecelia.”
Lady Evelyn frowned and her friends squealed in dismay. Jasper turned his back on them and walked toward Frankie, who was generating an unacceptable amount of interest from a few of the younger gentlemen.
The fourth son of an earl had his lips on the back of her glove when Jasper approached and growled, “That is my niece’s governess.”
The man quickly straightened, and the stupidly adoring expression on his face faltered when he met Jasper’s stare. “Mr. Jones,” he said and waved to nobody in particular before adding, “I am needed; if you will please excuse me.” He hurried from the room. He owed Rockford’s more than he could afford to pay, and his eldest brother would once again need to settle the bill. The earl’s pockets were not Jasper’s problem, but his governess attracting the attention of destitute gamblers was.
“Did you know about this?” he demanded. He did not mean to sound so surly, but he was frustrated about the gathering, and Frankie seemed the perfect person to take it out on.
“I presume you speak of the soirée? Only after the invitations were sent out.”
“You did not think to apprise me?”
“No.”
Jasper waited, but Frankie did not seem to see the need to expound further. “May I remind you that you are employed by me, not Cecelia?”
Frankie tilted her head. “Why would you think to remind me of that? I am not addlepated, Mr. Jones.”
Jasper did not know if she was being deliberately dense or if she was really so socially awkward. If he had to guess, it was the latter. “Do you know why Cecelia felt the need to throw such a large and extraordinarily expensive soirée?”
“Oh my, I believe Cecelia is calling me over.” She went to step forward but Jasper settled his hand lightly on her wrist.
“Miss Turner,” he said, his mouth hovering over her rose-scented hair, “I know a bluff when I hear one.”