Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Milton quietly delighted in his sister-in-law’s ebullient company, for Annabelle Winthrop was not the cowering miss he remembered. In fact, she was the opposite of meek, though she was still no Elizabeth.
As they perused London’s bookshops, she chatted amicably about which novels Lizzie had loved growing up and which books her sister had yet to read.
Books Elizabeth had written in her youth (so she was a secret novelist) and which books her sister felt should never have seen light of day, making him laugh at quite a few Annabelle mentioned.
Milton began to think his wife had lived her entire life in books, and if he let her, she would in all likelihood continue to.
“Jasper.” Bella interrupted his thoughts, and not because she’d addressed him by his first name—he’d invited her to do so the moment they’d settled into his carriage. “How do you know Mr. Harris, the gentleman I met at your wedding luncheon?”
Milton was instantly all ears.
“We grew up together,” he told her. “Arthur’s like a brother to me.”
“But you are not … actual brothers?”
“No. My actual half-brothers would prefer I not exist. Arty is more brother to me than either of them will ever be.”
“And you’ve no other siblings?”
“I have a half-sister I have never met.”
She looked surprised. “Why?”
“Because I am illegitimate, Bella, by-blow.”
She sucked in her breath.
“For all I know, my father left me even more siblings sprinkled about London.”
She remained quiet after his pronouncement, slowly sipping her chocolate. Milton had brought her to the same locale he’d taken Lizzie, though Bella had not blinked when he’d ordered for her.
He watched her savor her drink, the mug cradled in her hands, and recalled whom else he knew had a sweet tooth: Arty.
“Jasper, is Mr. Harris’s gaming hall—I believe he called it The Gilded Leaf—a reputable one?”
And there it was.
“Why do you ask, Bella?”
She avoided his stare. “He knew my father at your wedding, and as Papa is known to frequent such places, I thought it prudent to ask if—
“Mr. Harris runs one of the more respectable gaming hells in our fair city, miss, and tolerates no funny business. In fact, he’s known to sniff out cheats.”
“Oh, Papa never cheats,” the lady neatly deflected. “It is why he loses so abysmally. Or rather, why he sadly suffers such bad luck.”
His new sister was up to something. And given what Harris had said of her abilities…
“So if The Gilded Leaf is more reputable than other establishments, I assume a gentleman like Papa would require more funds to enter than he would at other halls, correct?”
“Miss Winthrop, titled gentlemen like your father rightfully forgo the poor man’s gaming den, for not only are the fees and stakes less high in such hells, but the clientele decidedly less savory.
Rarely is a man gutted like a fish and left to carry his own entrails out the door at Arthur Harris’s fine establishment. ”
She blenched.
“Arty runs a safe business. And debts accrued are settled honorably, in private, rather than with fisticuffs.”
He watched her swallow, then extend her chin. “And what of ladies, sir? Are there no comparable halls for their amusement?”
This chit was altogether too obvious. “Ladies, Bella, only play games of chance in the safe confines of their drawing rooms, or at house parties. Pin money rarely pays enough to play the tables at The Leaf.”
Her lips pinched before she opened her mouth to—
“The only ladies you will find at Arthur Harris’s house, dear Bella, are the very willing sort.”
Her cheeks pinked.
Milton leaned back in his chair, pleased he’d dealt a blow to her none-too-clever plan. Though he’d best warn Arty the lady was not above scheming her way to his tables. And he’d best marry this girl off to some dull fellow fast.
“Had lunch with ’er, didya?”
Milton watched his friend’s lips thin; Arty looked displeased.
“An’ here I thought I were the man s’posed t’ court her.”
“Who the hell was that lout I just saw leave, Arty?” Milton had knocked shoulders with a rough fellow exiting The Leaf’s office.
“None o’ yer beeswax, Jasp.” Arty grimaced. “Now, why’re you here—other than t’ vex me?”
Unlike Arthur Harris, Milton chose not to converse in the language of their youth except when necessary—or when his emotions got the better of him. Which they did not. Arty, on the other hand, only spoke like a toff when he had to.
“Miss Winthrop is up to new tricks. She asked one too many questions of you over lunch.”
“Well, well.” Arty propped his feet on his desk. “The miss done likes me after all.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, man. She was asking about The Leaf and about other gaming hells where ladies might play. She also had me drop her near a pawnshop owned by a ruthless fence. If that’s the Lombard the Winthrop girls have been using all these years, no wonder they—”
“Fuck,” Arty ground out. “I thought I warned ’er off that scheme.”
“The lady appears impatient.” Milton was himself impatient to get home. “I need to step up my search for an appropriate suitor, Arty. The Denbigh ball this weekend should be an ideal excuse to parade her about.”
“Aren’t the Denbighs—?”
“Wellesley’s in-laws, yes. I’ll get you an invitation.”
“Jasper, why the devil would I want to—?”
“You will attend, Arty, and fawn all over Miss Winthrop so that other men take notice. A woman pursued is a woman desirous. You know how things work.”
Arty scowled. “Y’ ask much, Jasp.”
“You owe me much, and it’s not as if I require you to seduce the chit, not that she isn’t pretty enough to turn your voracious head.”
“She’s too pretty…” he grumbled.
“Then it should be no feat of heroism on your part to charm her. You’ve danced and flirted with enough women to—”
“But them twists an’ twirls weren’t ladies.”
Milton took pause. “Arty, you are not falling for Miss Annabelle, are you?”
“God no!”
“Good.” Milton grabbed his hat and cane.
“I’ll clue Wells in. He might even know an earl or viscount eager to wed.
I’ll need names and information if I’m to have influence.
And Arty…” He halted at the door. “Pay attention to which fools are getting fleeced at your tables, ones that might be nudged. Annabelle Winthrop would make any man an agreeable wife.”
“Jasp, wait.”
Milton stopped.
“We’ve trouble.”
“Oh?”
Arty looked nervous. Arty rarely looked nervous. Milton was now nervous himself.
“I know whose suit she’s so eager t’ escape.”
Milton met his gaze. “Whose?”
“Ronny Finch.”
His gut wrenched before it began its familiar, curling squeeze. “Tell me you did not just utter that man’s name.”
“Jasp, I’ll not lie. We crossed paths this morn at ’er house, and th’ girl confirmed it. Finch is courtin’ her, ’tis why she’s so desperate.”
Milton’s heart began to pound in his ears. “And you were going to tell me this when?”
“Today, guv, soon as I’d concluded business with yon lout y’ saw leave.”
It was taking everything in Milton’s willpower to keep from throwing a chair across the room. “Fuck,” he spat.
Arty met his gaze. “Complicates matters, don’t it?”
Milton would not crack. He could not.
“How much time do we have, Arty?”
“A bit, I think.”
“Be at the Denbigh ball. Until then, do whatever you must to protect her. As will I.”
That evening Milton readied himself for battle. He’d relegated all thought of Finch to the dark dungeon of his soul where he kept his horrors chained. He’d let the beast out tomorrow, but not today.
Today he’d eschewed dinner to prepare for the apology he must offer his wife.
But not before he’d tipped off staff to Elizabeth’s birthday.
If she was angry with him for spilling the news, he could always blame her sister.
Besides, his cook baked delicious cakes. Lizzie could hardly be upset by that.
Already, sounds of merriment came from below stairs; he hoped they were fêting his wife well and good. He grabbed the gift he’d purchased and the other item he’d need, then headed to his bedchamber, to ready himself.
Because Li, blast her, had been right. He did not wish to spend his married life in misery. Détente must be reached—peaceful coexistence a requirement for the rearing of children at least.
Elizabeth needn’t grow to love or even like him, but he needed her respect. And she clearly needed to feel respected by him in order for their marriage to work. That much he aimed to give her this night.