Gambling on a Scoundrel

by Sheridan Jeane

  She smiled politely at him. The older man's eyes seemed to dance with delight as he smiled back.

  "It isn't often that I get the opportunity to talk with such an attractive young woman," Squire Conner said. "Most of the people I see every day are closer to my own age." He glanced at Lucien and a confused look crossed his face. "Do I know you? You seem familiar to me."

  "We met when I was a boy," Lucien replied. "My father was the youngest of Lord Cavendish's three sons."

  "Ah, yes. You helped with the swaling. I remember you now." His gaze flicked to Tempy before returning to Lucien. "And is this lovely young lady your fiancée?"

  "No. This is Miss Temperance Bliss," Lucien said, without elaborating further.

  Squire Conner smiled broadly and opened his mouth to speak, but he never had a chance to say anything. Instead, a younger man who had been standing on the fringe of the group, holding a glass of whiskey, spoke up.

  "Lucien. It's been years. I doubt you'll remember me. I'm Charles Conner, Henry's brother."

  Squire Conner shot his younger son a stony glare, and the Judge and his wife used the opportunity to excuse themselves to speak with some other guests.

  Lucien arched his eyebrows in surprise. "Charles. I wouldn't have recognized you. The last time I saw you, you had blond hair and were about four feet tall."

  Charles ran his hand through his wavy light brown hair. "That was years ago. But you look much the same." He glanced at his father, and then back at Lucien again.

  Lucien shrugged. "I'll always remember how conscientious and hardworking you were as you hauled all of those pails of water."

  Charles grimaced. "I always hated that job. By the end of the day, my clothes were soaked and my shoes squirted water with every step."

  Squire Conner snorted as he slid his monocle in place over his eye.

  Tempy sensed an odd undercurrent between father and son that she couldn't quite identify.

  Squire Conner turned his attention back to Tempy and Lucien with a delighted expression. "It's nice to see some fresh new faces here tonight," he said. He smiled up at Lucien. "You look familiar, young man. Have we met before?"

  Charles tensed.

  Lucien looked confused for a moment and glanced at Charles, apparently looking for some sort of cue before replying. "Yes. We met many years ago when I was here with my father to help with the swaling."

  Squire Conner's monocle dropped from his eye again. "You're the Earl's grandson? Henry will be so pleased you could come tonight." He turned and walked a few paces toward Judge Conner.

  Charles grimaced. "Please excuse my father. He tends to forget things, including people he's only just met. You get used to it. Gatherings like this one seem to make it worse, but he loves this sort of thing."

  Tempy watched as Squire Conner plucked at his eldest son's sleeve. The two men spoke briefly, and then returned to their group. Squire Conner grinned broadly as he rejoined them. It was obvious he was enjoying himself immensely. "Henry, do you recall that the old earl had a grandson? Here he is."

  "Actually, I had business with the earl earlier today and invited him to join us for dinner this evening," the judge said. He glanced at his brother sharply. "Do you have everything in hand?"

  Charles shrugged, lifting his glass in a gesture that resembled a toast. "I do what I can."

  Henry narrowed his eyes. "See that you do everything you can."

  Mrs. Conner returned to their group. "Henry, please come greet our neighbors. They've only just arrived," she said. She wrapped her arm around her husband's and shot Tempy a dismissive glance. Squire Conner followed them, leaving Tempy with Lucien and Charles.

  "What was that all about?" Lucien asked.

  Charles shrugged. "With the state of my father's memory, Henry asked me to keep an eye on him tonight. Just to make sure he stays out of mischief."

  "Mischief?" Tempy asked.

  Charles shrugged. "Sometimes when he gets muddled he also gets a bit angry. He doesn't like being confused, and he hates what's happening to him."

  Tempy remembered another of Mme Le Clair's lessons. A light touch to the arm or hand was supposed to help forge a connection with a man. Charles struck her as someone who needed some emotional support. She reached out and rested her hand on Charles's forearm, giving it a squeeze. "You're a good son to be so supportive."

  Charles patted her hand where it rested on his arm and looked into her eyes. "You are a very sympathetic young woman. Thank you." His smile was a few degrees warmer than it had been.

  When Tempy glanced over to where Squire Conner was standing with his older son, she noticed that the judge was glaring at his younger brother. She glanced up at Charles to see if he noticed the glare as well, and saw his jaw clench. Yes, he'd noticed, and it was obvious that he didn't like it. But that was often the way with brothers, wasn't it? They knew each other too well, judged each other too harshly, and jumped to conclusions too quickly.

  "If you'll excuse me," Charles said, giving her hand a pat, "I need to collect my charge." He sauntered toward Squire Conner and caught his attention with what must have been a witty comment or jest, because the squire laughed rather loudly and walked away with him. The next time she noticed father and son, they were holding drinks and chatting with another group of guests.

  Lucien introduced her to the man who ran the Porlock newspaper. He had kind eyes. During the course of their conversation, he mentioned that he'd attended Lucien's court case and had written an article about it for his paper.

  At dinner, Tempy didn't sit near Lucien. At an event such as this, it was customary to seat couples apart from one another so that they'd have the opportunity to socialize with others. Tempy found herself next to Charles and across from Squire Conner. She didn't recognize the gentleman sitting to her right, but he seemed engrossed in a conversation about horses and steadily ignored her.

  Charles handed his empty whiskey tumbler to one of the servers as he sat down, and then gestured for his wine glass to be filled.

  "What brings you here to Somerset?" Charles asked Tempy abruptly, fixing his gaze on her.

  Tempy sighed. "It's all rather complicated, and not very interesting, but suffice it to say that I'm mixing business with a little sight-seeing. Porlock is a gem of a village."

  Charles didn't comment, but simply shrugged. His bones seemed loosely jointed under his frock coat, giving Tempy the distinct impression that he'd imbibed too much.

  Dinner was excellent, and Tempy spent most of the meal chatting with Squire Conner. Charles remained silent on her left, drinking steadily. From time to time, she'd hear his silverware clatter noisily, or his arm would bump against hers. He seemed unaware of it, and she noticed that his eyes became more unfocused as the evening progressed.

  The man to Tempy's right moved on to a discussion of pheasant hunting, not bothering to engage Tempy in conversation. The only person interested in speaking with her was Squire Conner. Fortunately, he was entertaining, even if he did tend to repeat his witticisms.

  At the end of the meal, servants brought in individual chocolate-filled tarts for dessert. The golden crust was flaky and buttery, and the warm chocolate filling was thick and rich. Tempy finished hers rather quickly, and she distractedly slid her fork along her plate to chase down the last few flakes of crust that remained.

  Charles hadn't touched his tart, nor had he eaten much dinner at all. When she glanced over at him, his bleary eyes tried to focus on her and then on her plate. "Liked it, did you? My sister-in-law will be delighted. She's quite proud of that tart." He glanced at his own untouched dessert. "Have a bit of mine," he said, reaching for his fork and cutting off a morsel. "If I send it back uneaten, she'll be offended."

  Before Tempy could decline his offer, Charles leaned toward her, brushing his upper arm against her breast as he raised the fork toward her face. "Sweets for the sweet?" he murmured, trying to put a bite of his chocolate tart into her mouth.

  Tempy jerked her head back. What on e
arth was the man thinking? Why would he try to feed her?

  His fork wobbled, and Tempy felt a thick, warm blob of chocolate strike her on the chest and then drip down between her breasts.

  This couldn't be happening.

  "Oh, my," Charles said. "Sorry 'bout that." He looked confused for a moment, and then directed the tines of his fork toward her cleavage. "Let me just..."

  Good lord, the man wanted to poke his fork down her dress?

  On the other side of the table, the squire pushed his chair back with a clatter and bolted to his feet. "I think NOT. Have you no decency? Stop it this instant, Charles."

  Charles looked up from her cleavage and glanced down the length of the dining table. Tempy followed his gaze and saw the row of dumbstruck guests, their mouths gaping in shock. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. The only person who didn't look dumbstruck was Lucien. Judging by the grin on his face, he was tremendously entertained by the scene.

  "It seems I misjudged who needed a keeper tonight," Judge Conner said from his vantage point at the head of the table. "Father," he added, addressing the squire, "would you be so kind as to escort Charles from the room? I believe he needs a turn outside in the fresh air."

  The elderly gentleman darted around the table much more quickly than Tempy would ever have guessed possible. He took Charles by the elbow and hustled him through the door.

  Mrs. Conner tut-tutted. "Oh, my. And it's such a lovely dress, too. Come with me, dear." Apparently the woman's former feelings of rivalry had dissipated. Now she oozed concern as she escorted Tempy through the door and into the kitchen. There, she laid out some clean cloths Tempy could use to wipe away the chocolaty blob.

  The gooey mess had slid down the inside of Tempy's corset. Although she was able to wipe off her exposed skin, she could still feel the sticky wetness spreading against her chest. She wouldn't be able to clean off the rest of it until she was home and could remove her corset.

  "I've read about you in the papers, you know," Mrs. Conner said. Her gaze was cunning, and when Tempy flinched at her words, she gave a satisfied smile. "You're London's 'poor little rich girl.' People talk. People ask questions too."

  Tempy didn't trust herself to respond in a civil manner, so she ignored the comment and continued to work at removing the chocolate that had dripped down her cleavage.

  Mrs. Conner smirked. "I suppose it's a good thing your gown is so low cut. Otherwise the chocolate would have ended up all over it."

  Tempy tensed. "I suppose London's latest fashions haven't made their way here yet."

  The woman bristled. "Are you calling me provincial? I'll have you know I visit London every year during the Season."

  "Then I'm sure you know what I mean about the speed at which fashions change. Now, if you'll excuse me." Tempy didn't wait for a response, but stepped past the woman to return to the dining room.

  Mrs. Conner wrapped her fingers around Tempy's arm. Tempy ignored it at first, but Mrs. Conner tightened her grip.

  Tempy whirled on her. "Let go of me."

  Mrs. Conner's mouth was pinched. "Did the 'poor little rich girl' decide that she wanted to buy herself a title? The 'Countess of Cavendish' is a rather impressive one, isn't it?"

  The words stung. "You don't know what you're talking about," Tempy said hotly. "You would do best to keep such ridiculous conjectures to yourself."

  "Ridiculous?" Mrs. Conner seemed to puff up, like an annoyed pigeon with ruffled feathers. "Are you calling me ridiculous? You dare to say that after behaving like a common tart?" She snorted derisively. "Chocolate tart for the London tart. It suits you."

  Tempy pressed her lips together, biting back a scathing retort, and instead tried to keep her voice calm. "I've been confronted by people like you for the past year, Mrs. Conner. People who believe that because they've read about me in the newspaper, they have the right to invade my privacy and comment on my life. I'll tell you now, you are not. And unless you wish to have me turn my critical eye upon you in turn, you'll keep your opinions to yourself."

  This time, when Tempy tried to break free from the woman's grip, she succeeded. Tempy turned her back on Mrs. Conner and walked back in the dining room.

  Lucien waited there for her, sitting alone at the dining table. Tempy'd never been more relieved to see him than at that moment. The other guests must have retired to the drawing room.

  Mrs. Conner burst through the door behind Tempy, apparently intending to continue berating her, but when she saw Lucien there, she paused. Then she gave Tempy a look of contempt and, without a word, changed course to hurry on through the door and into the adjoining drawing room.

  Lucien rose to his feet to stare at the woman through the open door. "What was that about?"

  "I don't think Mrs. Conner likes me."

  Lucien chuckled. "From what I recall, she doesn't like most people."

  "What?"

  "I remember her as a little girl. She was always trying to order people around and make them do her bidding. Henry was her closest neighbor, but he never catered to her the way the others did."

  The tension in Tempy's shoulders eased. At least she hadn't been singled out by the woman. That made her feel slightly better. "Is that why she married him? Because he stood up to her?"

  Lucien shrugged. "Who knows? Her parents died when she was just a girl and she married Henry as soon as she was able. It was an arranged marriage, and they were both rather young at the time."

  Tempy watched Mrs. Conner though the open door. If Lucien had known her as a boy then she must be around his age, but the woman wore a pinched expression that added years to her face. She certainly didn't appear very happy. "She has no other family?"

  "No. She was an only child," Lucien said. "I recall that she had a baby brother, but he died as an infant."

  The woman's story was similar to her own. They'd both lost their parents. And Mrs. Conner had married into a family. Now she had a husband, a brother-in-law, and a father-in-law. "Do they have any children?"

  "No."

  Tempy watched Mrs. Conner for a moment and then suddenly didn't want to look at the woman any longer. She seemed like a warped reflection of Tempy, and the woman's unhappiness made her uneasy. Instead, she smiled as she turned to face Lucien.

  "Shall we rejoin the others?" she asked, gesturing toward the other room.

  He nodded.

  Tempy rested her hand on his arm and they passed through the drawing room door. Despite being nervous about how she'd be received after the incident at the dinner table, not to mention Mrs. Conner's rude comments, nobody looked at her twice. She didn't sense resentment from anyone except her hostess. Tempy and Lucien joined another group of guests as far away from Mrs. Conner as possible.

  Lucien became embroiled in a conversation about some local issues, and Tempy slipped away, chatting with various guests as she wandered through the room. The gentleman who had been sitting to the right of Tempy and had ignored her throughout dinner now smiled warmly in greeting as he approached her. Tempy could see Lucien on the far side of the room, still deep in conversation with Judge Conner.

  The man introduced himself as Major Payne. Despite having ignored her all through dinner in favor of discussing horses and hunting, he now seemed eager to talk with her. Major Payne explained that he was a local landowner and a former military man.

  "Do you ride, Miss Bliss?" he asked. "You have the bearing of a rider."

  "I'm a writer, not a rider," she quipped. When he looked at her blankly, she explained. "I write newspaper articles. I'm currently working on one for All the Year Round, and if it's successful, I hope Mr. Dickens will ask me to write for him again."

  Major Payne waved his hand dismissively. "That seems like quite a lot of bother. I never understood writers. All pensive and solitary. I'd take a good fox hunt any time over sitting inside all day and scribbling on paper. But it takes all kinds."

  "Yes, it does. From writers, to industrialists, to fox hunters, and everything in between."
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  "Still, do you think you'll continue writing once you're married? After all, won't being a wife and mother take up most of your time?"

  "Not necessarily. Lady Harwarden has ten children, but that doesn't stop her from being a photographer. She set up her own studio in her home in South Kensington."

  The man frowned, but didn't comment. "How are you enjoying your visit to Porlock?"

  "It's a lovely village. Have you lived here all your life?"

  "Except for my time in the military, yes. The place seeps into your bones and it makes it hard to leave. I was exceedingly grateful when I was able to return."

  Tempy glanced at the bowl of punch sitting on a table along the wall.

  "Can I offer you some punch?" the major asked.

  "Thank you. I'd be exceedingly grateful. It's rather warm in here."

  He returned shortly with two glasses and handed one to her. "Would you care to take a brief turn outside?" he asked. "It should be much cooler there."

  Tempy glanced toward the open door leading onto the lawn and nodded. She could see a number of torches lighting the way along a path leading to a flower garden a short distance away.

  When they stepped outside, the air was cooler than Tempy expected. But even so, the damp chill in the air felt refreshing after the heat of the drawing room. A scent, both floral and loamy, surrounded her as she moved down the path in the spring night. Tempy inhaled deeply, feeling invigorated by the cool air.

  The flower garden was delightful in the moonlight. Someone had planted a variety of white flowers, and they seemed to glow from the reflected light. Beds of little white daffodils flanked the path.

  When she glanced at Major Payne, his eyes looked like round saucers in the flickering torchlight. But what Tempy found disturbing was that his gaze seemed firmly fixed at the cleft between her breasts, as though trying to examine the spot where the glob of chocolate had landed.

  "You are quite a healthy young woman," he muttered, jerking his gaze up to meet hers.

  With some embarrassment, Tempy realized his mind was on something other than the glob of chocolate. She felt herself redden and turned abruptly, intending to walk back toward the open doors.