Gambling on a Scoundrel

by Sheridan Jeane

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgement

  Pink's Tea Shop

  Poor Little Rich Girl

  Miss Lipscomb Begs That You Receive Her

  Spinning A Web

  Piles Of Luggage

  Stumble

  Mr. Dickens

  A Visit to Hamlin House

  Angels Rush In

  Goals Align

  Patron Problems

  Meet Boothby's Friend

  An Ernest Encounter

  More Lessons?

  A Spinning Head

  Millicent's Advice

  A Well-Timed Spot of Trouble

  Bath

  An Inauspicious Day

  News Travels Fast

  Dinner in the Conservatory

  A Trip Back In Time

  Cavendish Takes Stand

  Would You Like Some Chocolate Tart?

  A Restless Night

  Tempy Tries to Fix Things

  A Meeting On The Steps

  The Plan Comes Together

  Dream A Little Dream

  Lucien is Reluctant

  Tempy Seduces Ernest...

  ... While Lucien Distracts Clarisse

  On Second Thought

  A Few Hours Later

  Being Ernest

  Trains, Ephanies, and Roulette

  A Particular Shade of Blue Ink

  To Bath, To Bath

  Fire in the Ice

  Bliss

  If You Enjoyed the Book

  Historical Notes

  About the Author

  Gambling on a

  Scoundrel

  A novel by

  Sheridan Jeane

  Other Books by Sheridan Jeane

  It Takes A Spy (a novella)

  Lady Catherine's Secret

  Once Upon a Spy

  A Flowers and Fullerton Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright 2014 by Sheridan Edmondson

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms

  ISBN:978-1-63303-001-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.

  Produced by Sheridan Jeane

  at Flowers and Fullerton, LLC

  Cleveland, OH

  SheridanJeanAuthor@gmail.com

  www.SheridanJeane.com

  To my parents, Joe and Winnie Ferguson, who had the foresight to name me Sheridan Jean because they thought it would make a great author's name if I ever chose to become a writer. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank my husband, Bob, and our children for their help, their support, and their understanding. I couldn't have done this without you.

  In addition, I want to thank Christy Carlson, Sheila Larkin, and the members of Sunshine Critique Group for everything they did to help make this book a reality.

  1 - Pink's Tea Shop

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mayfair, London, 1861

  FRENCH TART STEALS BLISS'S BLISS

  The imaginary headline Temperance Bliss conjured from her fears mocked her as she hurried along the refined streets of Mayfair. Tempy brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her glove, hoping any passers-by would assume it was a drop of rain. Her other hand clutched a letter pressed tightly against her corseted waist.

  She needed to compose herself. One simply didn't comport oneself this way in Mayfair. It wasn't done. Lifting her chin, Tempy erased all signs of emotion from her face. The best way to regain her composure was to focus on honing her imaginary headline. Perfecting it always helped calm her.

  BLISS BETRAYED BY FRENCH TART

  Slightly better, but still not quite right. Still not catchy enough.

  How could Ernest undermine her in her moment of triumph? "I'll always be here for you," he'd said. But now...

  She lifted a handful of her full, bell-shaped skirt to keep it from dragging through any of the puddles that had the temerity to form on the otherwise pristine sidewalks of this exclusive section of London.

  Everything would be better once she reached Millicent. Her friend would know what to do. She always did. Millicent had the advantage of age and wisdom, although she probably wouldn't like hearing those qualities ascribed to her.

  Until then, Tempy'd keep working on that headline.

  FRENCH WENCH BANISHES BLISS

  That was more like it. Short and catchy. Plus, it worked with both meanings of "bliss."

  As Tempy rounded the street corner, she spied her destination, Pink's Tea Room. She glanced up at the clock tower overlooking the square. Her punctual friend would likely already be sitting at one of the cozy tables.

  She peered through the tea shop's large window with its overly cheerful red mullions dividing the panes of glass and quickly spotted Millicent Kidman. As usual, her friend wore an ostrich feather hat perched on her graying upswept hair. It made her look like some sort of species of exotic bird. Millicent was pouring the steaming liquid into her cup, and Tempy saw that a second pot sat before the empty chair across from her at the four-person table. Wasn't that just like Millicent, to mother her on the rare occasions they were able to meet?

  As she looked at the little white teapot that awaited her, a sense of comfort washed over Tempy. Her chest relaxed, and she was able to stand more upright. Millicent would help her make sense of all this.

  Tempy entered the building and spoke briefly with the man in charge of seating the guests before wending her way between the tables to join her friend. Millicent looked up at her with a welcoming smile, but it quickly froze when Tempy lowered herself into the chair facing her friend.

  "My dear, what's wrong? You don't look yourself," Millicent said, keeping her voice low as she glanced around for possible eavesdroppers.

  Tempy pressed her lips together, unable to bring herself to speak. What if some reporter saw how upset she'd become and decided to write about it? Even now, she could feel the pressure of fresh tears threatening to spill out, so she mutely handed over the letter.

  Millicent peered at Tempy thoughtfully and then rummaged around in her reticule, extracting a small pair of reading glasses. She dropped her head a bit as she slid them on and turned away from the room so that the wide brim of her hat concealed her face from most of the other patrons. She'd only recently started using eyeglasses to read, and Tempy had noticed that she was still self-conscious about them. Millicent quickly scanned the letter, letting out a "humph" and frowning. Upon finishing it, she removed the glasses and peered at Tempy. "So, he's gone and found someone else, has he? And he can't be bothered to tell you in person?"

  "After all, he is in France. Telling me in person would be quite a challenge." She pressed her lips together. Why was she defending him?

  Millicent didn't even pretend to look forgiving and instead uttered another "humph."

  "He's bringing her back to London with him, along with her parents." She envisioned greeting him at the dock tomorrow only to have him rebuff her and introduce the French woman. How appalling. "At least his letter spared me the humiliation of meeting her as they disembarked the steamship."

  "You'll forgive me for being blunt, but the least he could have done was not ask someone to marry him while still being promised to you."

  Tempy felt the blood rush to her face. "It's not...I mean, we weren't officially engaged."

  "Don't be foolish. Everyone assumed
the two of you would marry, including him. And he couldn't be ignorant of the effect this news would have upon you. And yet, he has the gall to ask you to...Now let me get this straight." She slipped her glasses back on and glanced at the letter. "'...treat Clarisse like a sister and welcome her into your heart'?" Her voice ended with a squeak of outrage.

  Upon hearing those words, Tempy's chest began to tighten again and she glanced around to see if anyone was listening. They weren't.

  Perhaps she'd wake up and realize she'd accidentally stumbled into one of those opium dens she'd read about. An opium-induced hallucination would be vastly preferable to this.

  But no. This was reality.

  Tempy slumped back in her chair. Or at least, she slumped as much as her tight corset and the tiny chair would allow, which was very little. After a brief moment, she sat upright again to relieve the uncomfortable pressure on her ribcage. Then, she forced out the question she'd been agonizing over all morning. "Am I so unlovable? After all, Father never really cared about me and I have no friends other than you and Ernest. And now I don't even have him. Is there something wrong with me?"

  "Unlovable? You? That simply isn't possible," Millicent said, shaking her head vigorously. Her hat looked as though it were readying itself for flight with the way she sent its ostrich feather fluttering from side to side. "Please don't measure your worth based on your father's values. He was only interested in things, not people. His view of life was an extremely limited one."

  Tempy wanted to believe her. Really she did. But the evidence proved otherwise. Father had lavished his attention on Bliss Railways, on his employees, and even on other railroad men, but he'd been indifferent toward Tempy. He'd displayed the odd flash of interest in her at times, but it was always fleeting. She'd never fit in at home, and eventually she'd come to realize that she didn't fit anywhere in London society either.

  She shook her head. "I need to face the reality of my situation. The upper class might turn a blind eye to one or two eccentricities, but I have entirely too many of them to be accepted. Between my unwanted notoriety and my unfeminine interest in journalism, I'm a pariah."

  "You're wealthy. That will make up for any so-called eccentricities you have."

  Again, Tempy shook her head. "It's not as though I've suddenly been accepted since Father's death. He might have left me with a large inheritance, but he made no friends when he was still alive. He was brash and untitled and he thumbed his nose at the peerage. Even worse, he didn't even have the decency to inherit his wealth. He earned his money."

  Logically, therefore, Tempy should have been able to fit comfortably into the middle class, but her wealth and notoriety made her an outcast there as well. Who would risk associating with a woman whose name frequently could be found in the newspapers? They might find themselves mentioned there as well.

  "Then they are all idiots."

  Tempy's eyes widened for a moment at Millicent's choice of words, and then she smiled crookedly. She took a fortifying sip of Darjeeling oolong tea, breathing in its subtle floral and citrus notes. A proper cup of English tea served as an excellent tonic for low spirits, but even better was Millicent's staunch defense of her. The anger and hurt within Tempy began to ease.

  Millicent, still watching her carefully, gave a satisfied nod. "I'm glad to see you're recovering some of your aplomb. But I feel I must remind you that we arranged to meet today for an entirely different reason. We're supposed to be celebrating your triumph."

  "Triumph?" Tempy said, nearly swallowing her tea the wrong way. "I haven't even written the article yet." She cleared her throat. "I'm hardly triumphant."

  "Of course you are, my dear. How many other women did Charles Dickens ask to write an article for his newspaper? Hmm? My guess is none, so by rights, simply being offered the project is cause for celebration."

  A bubble of pride rose within her. "You're not far off the mark, but I'm sorry to disillusion you. He's also having Eliza Lynn Linton write an article. Hers will be on pauper girls and workhouses." Tempy set her teacup back on the saucer with a slight clatter of china.

  "That's why I've always liked Mr. Dickens. He's such a forward-thinking man who isn't at all afraid to give talented women an opportunity to write. I'm quite proud of you, dear. We should celebrate."

  "Celebrate?" Tempy tried to force a cheerful smile, but failed miserably. She let out a sigh. "I'll try. Of course I'm thrilled about this opportunity. It's what I've dreamt of for so long that I can hardly believe it's happening. It's just...well...," she swallowed, "I can't stop thinking about Ernest."

  Millicent covered Tempy's hand with her own and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Of course I sympathize with you, darling. And I don't mean to push you. But you must remember, you're hardly the first woman to have her heart broken by a man. In London alone, there must be thousands of hearts breaking even as we speak."

  Imagining all that pain welling up throughout the city caused the band around her heart to tighten, so she tried to focus on Millicent's voice.

  "The offer to write this article has placed you at an important crossroads in your career," Millicent continued. "You need to seize the rare opportunity Mr. Dickens is offering. You can't let your emotions keep you from completing your work. That would only serve to support all of those naysayers who believe that women aren't constitutionally suited to the workplace. Remember, there are other women who will follow in your footsteps, and you owe them your best work."

  "I wouldn't dream of abandoning the article." Did Millicent think she'd quit on writing the same way Ernest had quit on her? Never.

  But she wouldn't quit on Ernest either.

  "I will complete it. I promise." She shot her friend a look of grim determination. "But there is something you can do for me." And Millicent wouldn't like it.

  "Anything. Tell me what I can do."

  "Help me win back Ernest."

  Millicent's jaw dropped and then she quickly clamped her mouth shut with a clack of her teeth. "Win him back? But why?"

  "I can't bear to lose him." There it was. As simple as that. Even considering living without him made her chest tighten. The thought of being alone...

  "But my dear, after what he's done to you, he's hardly worth keeping. You deserve a man who values you for who you are. And Ernest Lipscomb is certainly not that man if he's willing to treat you so shabbily."

  Tempy twisted her dainty handkerchief into a ball. "It's not just Ernest," she said in a soft voice. "If I lose him, I'll be losing his entire family too."

  "Surely that's not so. The Lipscombs have been like a second family to you for years. They'd never cast you off."

  "But they'd have to if he marries her, don't you see? Imagine how awkward it would be to have me hanging about on the fringes of their family events: at Ernest's wedding, or as they announce that they are expecting their first...," her voice broke, "their first child. It would be terrible both for them and for me."

  "Then move on. You have other people in your life. Your happiness doesn't depend upon Ernest."

  "I do? Who? Of course, there's you, but you're gone most of the time, so who else?"

  "Surely your life isn't so restricted."

  "You aren't here often enough to know what my life has become, and I must admit, I haven't wanted to talk with you about it on those rare occasions that we've met. But think about it. What other decent woman is willing to befriend me? I'm beyond the pale with most of polite society. On those rare occasions when I'm invited to some ball or other event, it's painfully obvious that I'm welcome solely because of my money. The only women who dare speak to me are the mothers of desperate young men who absolutely must find a wealthy bride in order to save the family estate, or some such rot. Each of those mothers makes it painfully clear that I must stop writing as soon as I marry her darling son."

  "I hadn't realized," Millicent murmured, looking stricken.

  Tempy rolled the balled-up handkerchief between her palms so that it began to resemble a pale ciga
r. "I receive fewer and fewer invitations over time. At this point, only the most desperate mothers even consider me as marriage material. Don't you see?" she asked, looking directly into Millicent's eyes. "If I lose Ernest and his family, I won't have anyone left who cares for me rather than my money. I absolutely must win him back. He's the only one who accepts me for me. Writing and all."

  Millicent's brows dove into a deep V. "But Ernest says they're engaged. He's bringing back this Clarisse person along with her parents to meet his family."

  "I'm certain that once he sees me, he'll come to his senses. What Ernest and I share goes deep. This woman must have bewitched him somehow, and I refuse to simply whimper and let him go. I plan to fight for him. If that French woman knows what's good for her, she'll stay on her side of the English Channel."

  The corner of Millicent's mouth twitched. "Well, at least you're beginning to sound more like the Temperance Bliss I've always known. You're forever fighting lost causes and convincing the world to conform to your wishes. Your father called it stubbornness, but I call it passion. I don't want to give you false hope, but I must admit, if anyone could win a man back by sheer force of will, it would be you."

  Those words teased a smile from Tempy's lips. "You make me sound like Don Quixote. I don't know if I should be flattered or offended."

  Millicent's smile looked rueful. "I didn't mean any offense, so please, be flattered. If only for the sake of an old woman."

  "Stop that," Tempy said. "You're barely fifty. That's hardly 'old'. You're quite lovely."

  Millicent gave the smallest of shrugs. "Have it your way. But these reading glasses make me feel ancient," she said, nudging the offending bits of glass and wire with her index finger so that they slid under her saucer. She poured more tea into her cup. "Enough about me. In your note you mentioned wanting to interview people at a casino, but I'm still unclear as to why."

  "Yes. The article." She needed to learn more about how casinos operated. She'd had the seed of an idea when she'd first mentioned wanting to visit a casino to Millicent, but at the moment she couldn't seem to wrap her head around it.