Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Annabelle Winthrop prayed her sister fared well in her marriage to the Baron, because Elizabeth’s hastily penned letter had revealed altogether little of her new life.
Lizzie had sacrificed enough on Annabelle’s account, certainly enough to not be burdened more.
Which was why Annabelle had written back expressing the usual worries only—Papa’s spending and Cook’s health—not the worry that now plagued her every waking thought.
That plague was a certain Mr. Finch, who’d shown up three days after Elizabeth’s marriage and now called on Annabelle every day since.
She more than disliked her new admirer; in truth, the man repulsed.
He looked as old as Papa, with an unkempt, squat form and wheezing, lowly speech.
What’s more, he had a rotten tooth at the bottom of his mouth that he plied with his tongue, clicking it back and forth in the most revolting, obnoxious manner.
There was something off about the way Papa tolerated Mr. Finch, not to mention the way the man’s eyes perused her person. And unlike Lizzie’s Baron, Mr. Finch did not send tokens of affection or bouquets to the house. Apparently, he knew Papa too well to need to court her properly.
He was also her sole caller.
Annabelle feared what Finch’s visits foretold, but she was old enough to solve her own problems rather than run to her sister for help.
She would shortly come of age, even if Papa continued to lie about that all-important fact.
She could be just as strong as Elizabeth.
She simply needed to muster her courage and don thick armor. Very thick.
She pulled Mr. Harris’s card from her pocket and traced the raised lettering with her finger.
Arthur Harris, proprietor
The Gilded Leaf
16 Surrey Lane, London
She would ask this gentleman for help, for if he knew a thing or two about her father’s situation, he might be understanding of her own. And if Mr. Harris truly did own a gaming house, Annabelle might turn the tables for once and win her freedom from both Papa and Mr. Finch.
She knew better, of course, than to blindly trust a stranger, but compared to Finch, Mr. Harris was a veritable pillar of propriety who had comported himself at Lizzie’s wedding most honorably.
She’d take her chances with him, rather than with Papa’s odious new acquaintance.
“A lady, Arty, brunette with sweet thrupney bits. Says y’ gave ’er yer card?”
Harris frowned at his man. He hated the fact his childhood moniker had stuck with staff. Moreover, it was a quarter to one, The Leaf wouldn’t open till eight, and he had a mountain of accounts to run through with his bookkeeper who was, as usual, late. He didn’t need some buxom chit interrupting.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fine, show her in, but be ready t’ show her out, Tom. I’ve enough girls workin’ me floor; we’re not in need o’ more.”
“Right-o, Arty.”
Two minutes later, Tom opened the door to a young woman who … Double fuck!
“Miss Winthrop.” Harris immediately stood. “To what do I owe this great pleasure?” He shot Tom a get-the-hell-out glance, and his man did. Fast.
Harris rounded his desk and pulled out a chair for the lady, who blushed a becoming pink. She began to pluck at her gloves, then removed them entirely, only to place them awkwardly upon his desk.
She needed steadying. As did he.
He poured her a brandy, though the sap was strong, but he didn’t have a bloody tea service waiting. He’d not seen hide nor tail of her father at his club since Jasper’s wedding, and for Miss Winthrop to have kept his card rather than toss it surprised him not a little.
He placed the drink before her, which she downed in one gulp, surprising him only more. She boldly looked him in the eye. “May I have another, sir?”
Arthur was rattled, for her eyes, the color of lit amber, matched her auburn hair so perfectly she looked more fawn than human: a gorgeous, woodland creature.
“Of course, Miss Winthrop.” He poured them each a second healthy portion, and this time she sipped more delicately.
“Mr. Harris, I must apologize for visiting you unannounced.” Her gaze fell to the receipts strewn across his desk. “Have I interrupted your accounting?”
Jasper had dubbed his new sister-in-law an innocent, but the girl held her liquor and knew a ledger from a shopping list.
“I’m afraid my bookkeeper fails again to show, Miss Winthrop.”
“I keep my father’s books,” she stated calmly, “and would be happy to assist, sir.”
She was too much. “I rather doubt your bookkeeping is on the level required of a business like mine, miss.” He tried not to stare at her bodice.
Her brow creased.
“But I appreciate the offer.” He topped off his glass once more, taking another swig. “Now, how may I be of service to you?” He made a point to meet her ridiculously soft, doe eyes. “You do realize, that should anyone see you entering or leaving my establishment your reputation would be—”
“Ruined, yes. I’m aware.” Her hand shook slightly as she stared down into her drink.
“Mr. Harris, I seek assistance in a matter regarding my father’s finances and thus my very future.
” Her hand steadied. “Now that my sister is newly married, my father is—for the moment, at least—flush with cash.” She made a face.
“But as you may surmise, sir, those funds will not last. Already there is a man my father entertains whom I…”
Harris leaned forward as her voice faltered.
“I fear expresses an interest in my person which I do not at all reciprocate.”
Ah, he thought, the very thing Jasp feared would happen had, and soon. Damnation.
“I shall reach majority in but a month’s time, sir, and should very much like to avoid being sold off before I am of age to reject this unwelcome marriage suit.”
Harris admired the lady’s pluck; she was also older than Jasp thought.
“In fact, I should like to amass enough cash of my own to secure my future without the need to marry at all.”
He leaned back in his chair. Not nearly so meek, either. “And just how might I assist in this, miss? If you are not asking me to marry you myself, I don’t see how I am to thwart your repugnant suitor.”
Her face bloomed scarlet, but she held her ground. “Sir, you run a gaming house. I should like to place bets at your establishment to acquire enough funds to buy my way out of any marriage my father pressures me to accept.”
Buy her way out o’ marriage by gamblin’ like her pot an’ pan? Insane.
“Miss Winthrop.” He resisted the urge to shake sense into her bouncing, brown curls. “That is a very bad idea.”
Her lips pursed with displeasure.
“I am frankly surprised you’d wish to engage in the very same activity that keeps your father in waters so perilously deep.”
She tipped back the rest of her glass and clanked it on his desk. “Mr. Harris, with all due respect, I am no fool.”
The chit may as well have slapped him with her words.
“My sense of numbers is astute.” Her eyes were now sharp as glass.
Crikey, Harris thought. “Shall we play a round of vingt-et-un then, miss?” He pulled out a deck from his top desk drawer, sliding it across to her.
“Yes, let’s, Mr. Harris.”
He won the first round neatly, as expected. But Miss Winthrop won the second and third, and every round thereafter. He did not need to test her further; she possessed the same uncanny knack for counting that Jasper Audrey did.
Harris swore under his breath. “You did not jest when you offered to help reckon my accounts, Miss Winthrop.”
“I did not, sir.”
He considered the lady anew. She must be desperate to come here on her own, to a gaming hell owner little better than a stranger, all to ask if she might cheat at cards to buy herself out of marriage.
“You do realize what you are asking, miss.” He met her gaze.
Miss Winthrop’s grip on her empty brandy fumbled so that the glass rolled clear across his desktop. He righted it.
“Mr. Harris, were women not barred from entering establishments such as your own, I would have gambled my family out of misfortune years ago.”
“No doubt you would have.” He poured her a spot more drink and shoved the glass back. “Tell me how you learned to play.”
“Papa dealt me cards when I was a child; he called me his lucky little girl.”
“And your sister? Is she aware of your … gift?”
“Lizzie has no interest in games of chance, sir. She remains our resident playwright, writing dramas we perform to amuse Papa. Her head remains buried squarely in her books, though she knows that I excel with numbers.” A shadow crossed the lady’s face.
“My sister and I have managed our father’s moods and finances without his knowledge our entire lives, Mr. Harris. ”
These Winthrop girls were no lightweights.
“But alas, as man of the house he somehow manages to squander every farthing we so diligently save.”
Sharp words coming from such tempting lips… Harris leaned back in his seat. “It is indeed unfortunate to—”
“Be born a woman, sir?” Her doe eyes sparked. “Yet I can remedy this, you see, by earning enough at your establishment to free myself from Papa for good. And I can do this without involving my sister, who has sacrificed enough on my behalf.”
A single, sparkling tear tumbled down her flawless cheek, making Harris’s bloody loins ache. “Miss Winthrop…” he began.
“Sir.” She leaned forward, tear brushed aside and bosom all too deliciously close. “You are a man of business, of course. I am prepared to split my earnings with you, sixty-forty.”
“But Miss Winthrop you’re a—”
“I am aware I am a woman,” she snapped. “But if I dress as a young man, and you introduce me as your cousin, or some lord’s ward even, I might play without danger of discovery.”
Harris violently shook his head.
“Fifty-fifty then.”
“And just how much do you have to start, eh?” He scowled as the minx reached into her bodice—Lord have mercy!—to pull out a pouch of coin, emptying this upon his desk.
He snorted at the pathetic heap. “You’d need more’n that to even enter me establishment.”
“How much?” She remained undeterred. “How much, at minimum, is required for entry?”
“Fifty pounds, miss.”
She looked crestfallen.
“But even with that much coin, I’d not grant yer entry. I don’t allow no inexperienced, unchaperoned ladies into The Leaf, for their own good, much as mine.”
“Then I shall have to take my offer elsewhere.” She stuck out her chin. “And you will lose out on my substantial profits.”
Damn blast her!
“No, Miss Winthrop.” Harris came to his senses fast. “You’ll desist with yer mad plan an’ instead seek yer brother-in-law’s assistance.” He was done with this conversation. “I’ll drive yer to the Baron meself, right now in fact.” He rose from his desk. “I’m sure he can resolve this in—”
“You will not, sir.” She stood from her seat, shaking with visible anger. “I was quite clear I do not wish to involve my sister in this, and as a gentleman you will respect my wishes.”
Lord help her, she thought him honorable.
“I’m sorry t’ disappoint, luv, but as I own a gamin’ hell, I’d hardly call meself a gentleman.”
“But you were so gallant at the wedding! You gave me your card. You said you’d assist me.”
She was again the chit Jasp had described.
“Well sure, miss, I can be charmin’ when it suits.” He crassly allowed his eyes to peruse her person, leaving no doubt as to why he’d behaved so politely before.
“Why, you are as insufferable as the Baron!” She scraped back her chair. “I am sorry I kept your card.” She reached into her pocket to toss it on his desk. “Good day, sir.”
Harris was pleased with himself until he—
“Wait!” He caught her about the waist just as she was about to exit. “You’ll not endanger yerself by now visitin’ some other gamin’ den.”
“Unhand me.” Her eyes skewered him. “I may do as I wish.”
She struggled in his grip but was unable to dislodge him. Harris had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and deliver her to Jasper direct, pain-in-the-arse miss.
And then it hit him.
“O’ course I can’t keep you.” He released her waist and took her hand, pretending again to ‘gentleman.’ “But I can, perhaps, offer a solution to your lack of funds.”
“Oh?” Tiny freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. How’d he missed those?
He shook off her spell. “I am in need of a bookkeeper, it seems, and as you’re in need of cash, why don’t we discuss employment instead, over a glass of port perhaps?” He prayed she would accept; Jasp would flay him alive if she came to harm visiting some other den.
“Very well,” she answered. “But no port, Mr. Harris. I’ve had enough to drink today.”
With relief, Harris watched the lady sit back down. He allowed his eyes to devour her.