Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘I have been talking to Mrs Logan. She always amuses me.’

  He glanced across the room.

  ‘She certainly seems to be on the best of terms with Charles Camerton. He is leading her out for another dance.’ He held out his arm. ‘Shall we join them?’

  Susannah had already made up her mind that she would avoid the viscount whenever possible, but surely Kate’s arguments had some merit. Perhaps instead of alienating Lord Markham she should try harder to charm him. In that case, it was clearly her duty to dance with him.

  She placed her fingers on his arm and accompanied him on to the dance floor. It was a lively affair and Susannah enjoyed it immensely. She was surprised when the music ended—surely the orchestra had stopped too soon? Lord Markham invited her to remain on the floor for a second set and she thought it would be churlish to refuse him.

  * * *

  When he finally led her from the floor she was happy to stand with him at the side of the room, watching the dancing. Even when he mentioned seeing her carriage on the Wells Road again she was not discomposed.

  ‘Surely it is no one’s business if my servants use my carriage for their errands?’

  ‘True.’ He guided her to an empty bench and sat down beside her. ‘It is, however, unusual. But in an heiress such extravagance will not be criticised.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that for the next couple of years she had no access to anything more than an allowance, but that would undermine her explanation. She held her peace.

  Sitting with the viscount was causing some comment. Brows were raised, Susannah saw one or two of the matrons whispering behind their fans, but when one particularly haughty lady smiled and inclined her head towards Susannah, a chuckle escaped her.

  The viscount’s brows went up.

  ‘Being seen in your company is proving most useful for me,’ she explained, her eyes twinkling. ‘There are several very high sticklers here tonight and I have never known them to look upon me with such approval.’

  ‘Why should they not approve of you?’

  ‘Oh, well...’ she waved her hand ‘...because my father was a mere captain. Because my uncle was a nabob.’

  ‘A very rich nabob,’ he corrected her.

  ‘True.’ She sipped at her wine. ‘But birth is everything.’

  ‘Is it?’ He shifted his position to face her. ‘You are a gentleman’s daughter, and heir to a fortune. I should have thought that would open every door in Bath to you.’

  ‘Perhaps it would, if I would conform and toady up to those matrons who think themselves so superior.’

  ‘From what I know of you, I cannot imagine you doing that.’

  His sudden smile flashed and for a moment she was dazzled by his charm, as if someone had knocked all the breath out of her body. She looked away quickly. She was meant to be charming him.

  Jasper felt rather than saw her sudden withdrawal. She had been relaxed, prepared to confide in him and he was reluctant to let the moment go. He remembered something Gerald had said to him.

  ‘Living in the Crescent, in such an elevated position, could be seen as having pretensions.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  He smiled. ‘But you don’t really care for their good opinion, do you?’

  He read the answer in her face.

  ‘To have their approval could be very useful,’ she said carefully.

  ‘To enhance your little card parties?’

  ‘Of course. Imagine how much I would like to have a dowager duchess in my drawing room.’

  Her eyes twinkled wickedly. She was teasing him again and Jasper was surprised how much he enjoyed that.

  ‘No doubt you would not refuse to play picquet with her.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you will not play with a mere viscount.’

  ‘Not with you, my lord.’

  ‘Why not? You have played picquet with my cousin on more than one occasion.’

  ‘That is different.’

  ‘Why, because you are going to marry him?’

  ‘No!’

  He cursed inwardly as soon as he uttered the question, but the tone of her denial and the serious look in her eye reassured him. She was sincere.

  She gave a sigh. ‘Can you not content yourself with winning two hundred pounds from my aunt last week?’

  ‘A mere trifle. Two games of picquet for pound points would recover that.’

  ‘Or double the loss.’

  ‘True.’ He leaned forwards. ‘What would it take, Miss Prentess, to make you play with me?’

  He saw the shutters come down. He had pressed her too hard. She laughed and shook her head at him.

  ‘Fie, my lord, I have no doubt you are used to playing in the London clubs, to losing thousands at a sitting. Do you expect me to risk my pin-money against you?’ She rose. ‘You may come to Royal Crescent, my lord, and I will play with you at vingt-et-un, or loo, where there are others at the table.’

  ‘You consider me too dangerous an opponent to play alone?’

  Jasper was standing, too. The top of her head, crowned by those guinea-gold curls, was level with his eyes. She was the perfect height for kissing. He shrugged off the distracting thought as he held her gaze. She returned look for look, but there was no sign of laughter now in those hazel eyes. Suddenly all Jasper’s senses were on the alert, aware that they were not speaking merely about playing cards.

  ‘I think you could be extremely dangerous, my lord.’ Her words fell softly between them before she turned and walked away.

  * * *

  ‘The lady seems displeased with you, Markham.’ Charles Camerton came up to him. ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘I asked her to play cards with me.’ He did not take his eyes off the retreating figure. ‘She refused me.’

  Camerton chuckled.

  ‘You must be losing your touch, old friend.’

  The comment rankled, but Jasper tried to ignore it.

  ‘Or perhaps,’ mused Charles, ‘she is playing with you, to excite your interest.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Jasper kept his tone light, but in his heart he didn’t want to think that Susannah was toying with him.

  * * *

  ‘Good morning, Miss. I’ve brought your hot chocolate.’

  Susannah groaned. After tossing and turning all night, she had only just dropped into a deep slumber when Dorcas’s cheerful voice disturbed her. The curtains were thrown back and the feeble light of a grey winter morning filled the room. Susannah groaned again and pulled the covers over her head. Her maid responded with a tut.

  ‘Come on now, mistress. You ordered the carriage to be here in an hour. That doesn’t give us long to get you ready...or shall I tell Edwards to go away again?’

  ‘No, no, I will get up.’

  Susannah sat up and rubbed her eyes. She stared at the flames blazing merrily in the hearth. She had not heard the maid come in to light the fire, so she must have had some sleep, even if it had been disturbed by dreams. She sipped at her cup of chocolate while Dorcas bustled about the room.

  ‘It’s a cold morning, miss, will you wear the high-collar spencer?’

  She held out the short, rose-coloured jacket with its fur trim.

  ‘Yes, yes, that will do.’ Susannah cast an eye at the bleak, overcast sky outside the window. ‘And you had better look out my old travelling cloak as well.’

  * * *

  The clock was just chiming the hour as Susannah descended the stairs. Gatley informed her that the carriage was ready, but instead of opening the front door for her, he accompanied his mistress to the lower floor and let her out of the door leading into the garden. Susannah was enveloped in her serviceable cloak and with the hood pulled over her curls she hoped she might pass for a servant as she sped through the garden and into the narrow alley that led between the stables fronting Crescent Lane, where her carriage was waiting. Before settling into her seat she drew down the blinds. If Lord Markham was abroad again th
is morning she would not risk being seen, even if she did have Lucas, her footman, standing at the back to give her countenance.

  She stifled a yawn. It was thoughts of the viscount that had disturbed her sleep. She had gone to bed after the ball with her head spinning. When she closed her eyes she was once again dancing with Lord Markham, fingers tingling from his touch, heart singing from the caress of his smile. Yet no sooner did she relax in his company than he began to talk of the card parties and she would be on the defensive, suspicious of every remark. She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled, despite the thick cloak and the warm brick her servants had placed in the carriage for her feet to rest upon. If Lord Markham would only leave Bath then she could be easy again.

  But how dull life would be without him.

  Susannah gave herself a mental shake. These megrims were unlike her, brought on by lack of sleep and travelling in this gloomy half-light. She pulled at the side of the blind and peeped out. They were well out of Bath now, and she thought she might safely put up the shades. The carriage rattled along through the country lanes, up hill and down dale until at last the carriage slowed and turned off the main road towards the village of Priston. Susannah sat forwards, knowing that very soon now she would have her first, clear view of her destination.

  The carriage picked up speed as it followed the road that curled around the side of the valley and there, nestling against the hill on the far side of the valley, was a rambling Jacobean mansion built of the local Ham stone which glowed warmly, even in the pale wintry sunlight. It was not as grand as the other properties she had inherited from her Uncle Middlemass and it was in dire need of repair, as witnessed by the scaffolding surrounding the east wing, but she thought it by far the most charming. She was impatient to reach five-and-twenty, when she would have control of her fortune and would be able to fully renovate the building. Until then she must make do with what little money she could spare from her allowance, and the profits from the weekly card parties.

  The carriage slowed again to negotiate the turning and her heart swelled with pride when she saw the newly painted sign fixed to the stone gatepost: Florence House. They bumped along the drive and on to the weed-strewn carriage circle in front of the house. They came to a stand before the canopied front door and Lucas jumped down and ran around to let down the steps.

  As she descended, a motherly figure in a black stuff gown came hurrying out to meet her, the white lappets from her lace cap bouncing on her shoulders.

  ‘Miss Prentess, welcome, my dear. Pray come you in and do not be standing out here in this cold wind.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Gifford.’

  The older lady ushered her indoors to a small parlour off the hall, where a welcome fire was burning.

  ‘Has our builder arrived yet?’

  ‘Not yet, ma’am, but you have made very good time—I do not expect him for another half-hour yet. You have time for a little refreshment. Jane is bringing a glass of mulled wine for you.’

  ‘Thank you, that is very welcome.’

  Susannah untied the strings of her cloak and looked about her. She had always thought this parlour a very comfortable room. With its low, plastered ceiling and panelled walls it was certainly one of the easiest to keep warm. A door on the far side led to a much larger dining room, but that needed refurbishment and was currently not in use, the occupants of the house finding the smaller apartment sufficient for their needs. A padded armchair and sofa were arranged before the fireplace while under the window a small table and chairs provided a surface for dining or working. At present the table was littered with writing materials and a large ledger, indicating that the housekeeper had been at work on the accounts. Susannah draped her cloak over one of the chairs and went to the fire to warm her hands. She turned as the door opened and a heavily pregnant young woman entered, carrying a tray. She walked slowly, holding the tray well out in front to avoid her extended belly. Susannah straightened immediately.

  ‘Jane, let me take that, you should not be waiting upon me—’

  ‘Thank you, but I can manage perfectly well. And it is a pleasure to bring your wine for you.’

  Susannah sat down, recognising that to insist upon taking the tray would hurt the girl’s pride. ‘Thank you, Jane, that is very kind of you.’ She watched her place the tray carefully on a side table. ‘When is the baby due?’

  ‘The midwife thinks it won’t be for a week or two yet.’ Jane smiled and rubbed her hands against her swollen stomach. ‘It cannot come soon enough for me now, Miss Prentess.’

  ‘Call me Susannah, please. There is small difference in our stations.’

  Jane’s smile disappeared.

  ‘Perhaps there was not, at one time, but now—’ She looked down at her body. ‘I am a fallen woman.’

  ‘I will not have that term used here,’ Susannah replied fiercely. ‘You have been unfortunate. ’Tis the same for all the ladies we bring in.’

  ‘And if it was not for your kindness we would be even more unfortunate,’ replied Jane. ‘We would have to go to Walcot Street, and we would not be called ladies

  there,’ she added drily.

  ‘Will you not sit down?’ Susannah indicated a chair, but Jane shook her head.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I will go back to my room now and rest. The midwife might say this little one isn’t ready to be born, but it seems pretty impatient to me.’

  ‘She is a dear girl,’ said Mrs Gifford, when Jane had gone. ‘Her stitching is so neat that Odesse says she will be happy to take her on, once the babe is born.’

  ‘Good.’ Susannah sipped at her wine. ‘Since we have a little time perhaps you would like to give me your report now, rather than wait until after I have spoken to Mr Tyler.’

  Mrs Gifford sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘I have had to move everything out of the east wing because the chimney is unsafe and we fear it might come crashing through the roof if we have a storm. Then there is the leak on the south gable, which is getting worse. But this section of the house is reasonably sound, and I have been able to find dry bedchambers for each of our guests. Miss Anstruther—Violet—is settling in well, although she is still very despondent and keeps to her room.’

  ‘That is to be expected, having been cast off by her family,’ replied Susannah. ‘I will go up to her later, if she will see me.’

  ‘If?’ uttered Mrs Gifford. ‘Of course she will see you. ’Tis you who made it possible for her to be looked after. She has much cause to be grateful to you, as do all the others...’

  Susannah shook her head.

  ‘I will not trade on their gratitude,’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone here is a guest, and I want to treat them with the same respect I would like for myself. But enough of that. Do go on.’

  ‘We have only three ladies here at present: Lizzie Burns, Jane and Miss Anstruther.’

  ‘And how is Lizzie? When I was here last she was not well.’

  ‘I think we have avoided the fever, but the doctor says she should keep to her bed for another week. However, her baby is now three weeks old and doing well.’

  ‘That is some good news then. And what of you, Mrs Gifford? How is your sister?’

  The older lady’s face was grave.

  ‘Very poorly, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then you must go to her as soon as maybe. The woman we interviewed to replace you—Mrs Jennings—how soon can she be here?’

  ‘She is moving in this afternoon. I hope to get away this evening.’

  ‘Good. And you have enough money for your journey?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ The old woman blinked rapidly. ‘Bless you, Miss Prentess, you have been very good. I do not expect to be away for long, I fear my sister’s end is very near.’

  ‘You must take as long as you need,’ Susannah told her softly. ‘We shall manage here. Now—’ she looked towards the window ‘—if I am not mistaken, the builder has arrived, and we will find out just what work is needed.’

&n
bsp; Chapter Six

  Susannah’s cheerful, business-like manner did not desert her until she was alone in her carriage on the way back to Bath. Mr Tyler was a tradesman she had used before, and she trusted him not to mislead her, but his report on the house was not encouraging. He had already carried out some of the most urgent repairs but needed payment for the materials he had used before he could continue. He had pleaded his case with her. He was a family man, with debts of his own, and if she couldn’t pay him something now he would have to remove his scaffolding and his men, and once he had left the site he would not be able to return until late summer. She had promised to send him something by the morning, but her concern now was where to find the money.

  When she had first embarked upon this project she had approached her uncle’s lawyer, now her own man of business. He had politely but firmly rejected her requests for an advance upon her inheritance. She was allowed sufficient funds to run the house in Bath and a sum that her uncle had considered enough for her personal use, but it would not run to the cost of repairing Florence House.

  ‘If only we had not lost money at last week’s card party,’ she muttered, staring unseeing at the bleak winter landscape.

  However, it was not her nature to be despondent and she put her mind to ways of raising the capital she needed. Her fingers crept up to the string of pearls about her neck. She had inherited her aunt’s jewel box. It was overflowing with necklaces, brooches and rings, most of them quite unsuitable for a single lady. Susannah did not want to sell any of them. They were part of her inheritance and she owed it to her uncle’s memory to keep them if she possibly could. But Florence House was important to her, and she had to do something, and urgently. By the time she reached Bath she had come up with a plan, and when she spotted Gerald Barnabus on the pavement she pulled the check-string and stopped the carriage.

  ‘Gerald, good day to you! I wonder if I might have a word...’

  * * *

  March had arrived. The first flowers of spring were in evidence and Jasper was conscious of the fact that he had planned to be back at Markham by now. He was receiving regular reports from his steward, which assured him all was well, but he wanted to be back before Lady Day. The yearly rents were due then and he liked to discuss future agreements with his tenants. Honesty compelled him to admit that there was no real reason for him to stay in Bath, so what was keeping him here? He might argue that it was the mystery surrounding Susannah Prentess, but an uncomfortable honesty forced him to admit that it was the woman herself who fascinated him. It would not do. It would be best if he forgot all about Miss Prentess. When Tuesday dawned he found himself looking forward to going to Royal Crescent that evening. It would be the last time, he promised himself. He would bid goodbye to Mrs Wilby and her enchanting niece and return to Markham.