by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
Anthony realized the marquess was no longer at the duke’s table—or even in the hell. “What happened to Hawkridge?”
“His heart has been stolen. Come.” Lambley strode toward the exit. “My coach is always at the ready.”
Anthony followed the duke out-of-doors.
Upon sight of the duke, a street urchin immediately took off running. Anthony turned to Lambley in surprise. “Was that boy’s reaction to your presence or mine?”
“I paid him to react swiftly. My coach will arrive at any moment.”
Before he had even finished his explanation, a stately black coach bearing the duke’s crest glided around the corner, pulled by a gorgeous set of matching grays. The postillion leaped down to open the door.
Anthony entered after Lambley and sat facing the rear.
“Shall we wait until we have wine in our goblets?” the duke asked. “Or would you like to tell me what the deuce could have you in such a state?”
“I owe Gideon money,” Anthony said dully.
Lambley’s gaze pierced him. “When haven’t you?”
“Wagonloads of money. More than I can pay.”
“I see.” Lambley leaned back. “What do you hope from me? A loan?”
Anthony rested his head against the back of the carriage wall and covered his face with his hands. Was this his best attempt at responsibility? Robbing Peter to pay Paul in an endless series of loans until he hadn’t a single friend left?
With four days to spare, it was perhaps the only option he had.
“I would need a way to pay you back,” he admitted. “I don’t have one. If you loan me money, I may only be delaying the inevitable.”
Lambley gave Anthony a considering stare. “Hmm.”
“Unless it wasn’t a loan, precisely. What if it were an advance against wages earned?” Anthony gave a crooked smile. “I don’t suppose your estate is in want of a new gardener?”
“Have you any skill at gardening?”
“I can’t tell a daisy from a dandelion,” Anthony admitted. “I’ve no skills at all. That’s the crux of the problem.”
The duke’s gaze was humorless. “Businessmen generally invest in individuals with either talent or knowledge. If you’ve no skills to speak of, perhaps you have expertise in something I might find useful?”
If only he did! Anthony rubbed his forehead and tried to think.
“I can’t say that I have great knowledge in any field not taught to all gentlemen who attended Eton.” He had paid for every penny of that hard-won education with windfalls at the gaming tables. “I speak the same amount of French, recall the same amount of history. The primary difference between myself and the average buck is that I’m fashionable enough to be a common guest amongst the beau monde, yet unfashionable enough to be just as recognizable amongst the fast set. And worse. There isn’t a gaming hell in London unacquainted with my name.”
Lambley steepled his fingers. “How familiar are you with Vigo’s work?”
“With—” Anthony stared at him, thrown off-guard by the abrupt change in subject. “What is Vigo’s work? He guards the threshold to the Cloven Hoof, granting entrance to those with the proper background or qualifications, and turns away anyone who oughtn’t to be let inside.”
“It seems like important work to me.”
“Well…yes, I suppose so.” Anthony smiled in self-deprecation. “Gideon can’t have riffraff like myself inciting discontent amongst his clients by promising debts I cannot pay.”
“That is one type of inappropriate guest,” Lambley agreed. “I should imagine there are many more. Vigo keeps out the street urchins, the penny harlots, the drunkards, any wayward fashionable ladies, the Prince Regent… It’s the Lord’s work, really.”
Anthony chuckled hollowly. “Are you suggesting I ask Gideon for employment? He’s made his position quite clear. I pay him, not the other way about.”
The carriage stopped in front of Lambley’s ducal estate.
Anthony followed him inside and into a sumptuous parlor, stocked with a dozen comfortable chairs and at least as many glass decanters.
The duke poured them each a glass, then took a seat. “What do you recall about my masquerade parties?”
Anthony blinked at the change in topic. The duke’s scandalous masked balls were desirable for their exclusivity and legendary because of their secret rooms for sensual pleasures. Lambley got away with such chicanery because he was a duke—and a handsome, wealthy bachelor.
No member of the ton with any hope of preserving their reputation could ever admit to being anywhere near such a fête. Yet when Anthony had attended one the previous year, such a crush of masked partiers had filled the rooms that dancing was all but impossible.
“I don’t think I’m overstating if I suggest your masquerades are scandalous,” Anthony said dryly. “Everyone in attendance risks far more than their Almack’s voucher just by walking in the door.”
Lambley’s eyes glinted. “You’re assuming my guests were ever eligible for Almack’s vouchers…or have a good reputation.”
Anthony burst out laughing. “You’re right. Having been to one of your masquerades, I can attest to having absolutely no idea who else was there. That’s the irresistible part: having the anonymity to do anything one desires. No one will ever know. The guests themselves don’t even know.”
“But I know.” Lambley’s tone was mild, but his eyes were serious. “Nothing is ever completely anonymous. Admission is by invitation only, because I must keep out anyone likely to disturb other guests’ comfort, either during the event or after. It also serves as insurance, should one guest complain about the behavior of another. Partygoers might see each other as Mr. Red Mask and Miss Blue Mask, but I must know their proper names in order to deal with each situation appropriately.”
Anthony frowned. That much responsibility did indeed sound more like the security measures of a gaming hell than the fun-filled soirées of a careless rake, as Anthony had always imagined. Then again, he supposed that a masked ball of that caliber could be seen as the very definition of a den of iniquity. Accepting the invitation was a shockingly high wager indeed.
“How do you do it?” he asked. “How do you keep track of so many people?”
“I can’t.” Lambley sipped his port. “When I held my first masked soirée, I invited perhaps two dozen friends. It was diverting and easy. As my notoriety grew, so did the demand for invitations. My presence is needed amongst my guests, but I cannot mingle in the primary salons and guard the front door at the same time. My butler currently has that task.”
Anthony thought back. The party itself had been so much more interesting than the mundane act of surrendering his umbrella and greatcoat that he hadn’t given the process another thought. But now that he did… “I seem to recall him allowing entry to one person at a time. He took my invitation and jotted something down in a little book.”
Lambley inclined his head. “The registry of invited guests contains the date, name, and identifying mask features of every person who attends the ball. To date, there have been no grave issues, but in the event that something untoward should occur, it is vital to have the ability to ensure there are consequences.”
Anthony nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“Using my butler as an enforcer seems logical. He is a trusted member of my staff, and answering doors is one of his primary duties. However, it offers him very little opportunity for sleep. He must be at his post by daybreak for his regular duties, yet masquerade nights also tend to last until daybreak.”
Anthony frowned. Working more than twenty-four hours in a row was an unhappy circumstance in any profession. Yet hiring a new staff member would mean entrusting the identities of guests who were jealously guarding their anonymity to an untested servant without the butler’s years of experience and trust.
Hope prickled his skin. “Am I to understand that you are offering me employment?”
“The common knowledge you dismissed
so easily is the only reason I am considering it,” Lambley said blandly. “I have had instances of stolen or forged invitations. If Lady X tells my butler that she is Mrs. Y, he will simply note it in the journal and allow her entry. You, however, would not be so easy to fool. You are likely to have made the acquaintance of both Lady X and Mrs. Y, and would be able to put paid to that nonsense at the door.”
The duke was right. Anthony’s hopes rose. Under the right circumstances, his social position bridging two worlds was an advantage, not a disadvantage.
“Furthermore,” Lambley continued, “I have known you for two decades. You may not be trustworthy with a loose shilling, but the entire ton fully trusts in your character. You would never betray a confidence. When Lady X sees it is you at the door, she will not feel any less comfortable sharing her name than she does relinquishing it to my butler.”
“There must be a catch.” Anthony straightened. “It sounds as though I would be perfect for the role.”
“You are. The role, however, may not be perfect for you. Not only would you bear responsibility for tracking every single identity without ever breathing a hint of that intelligence, but the guests themselves will also be aware of your identity. It shall not require but a moment for all of London to know that Mr. Anthony Fairfax is now the paid night butler at the Duke of Lambley’s masked balls.”
Anthony’s stomach bottomed at the implications. Accepting this lifeline would mean severing ties with a world he loved. The only life he’d ever known. The sort of future he’d imagined himself living. By accepting such scandalous employment, his societal standing would be ruined.
And as his wife, Charlotte would suffer the same fate.
The duke didn’t change expression. “Being in my employ is more than merely scandalous. If you take this position, you will no longer bridge both worlds. Your reputation amongst the smart set will be ruined forever.”
Anthony squared his shoulders. He didn’t care about the smart set anymore. He cared about setting things right. He cared about Charlotte. This was his sole chance to provide for her. To be there for her. Only a fool would say no.
“I’ll do it,” he said without hesitation.
“Then I shall have a contract drawn up at once.” Lambley’s eyes glittered. “I will settle your account with Gideon only after you’ve completed your first night to my satisfaction. If at any time you default or fail to meet your obligations as specified in the contract…” The duke’s tone was harsh and final. “You will not recover from the consequences.”
Anthony nodded. He couldn’t think about consequences. Failure was not an option. But even this opportunity might not happen. Not if his debts wouldn’t be addressed until he completed his first night. He tried to swallow his panic. “When is your next ball?”
“Saturday.”
His shoulders sagged with relief. There might still be time. “I must repay Gideon by Monday.”
“How much do you owe? Write it for me so I can pay the precise amount.” He gestured at a quill and ink on the sideboard.
Cheeks flushing, Anthony forced himself to write two thousand and forty pounds, thirteen shillings, sixpence and handed Lambley the damning paper. There in black and white, the sum seemed astronomical…and he felt incredibly foolish.
“I see.” Lambley returned the paper to the table. “Let’s talk terms, shall we? Given the highly sensitive nature of the information you’re protecting, I will pay you quite handsomely. But until you have paid off your debt, all monies earned shall be placed against the principal. Two thousand pounds is not a sum I invest lightly. It may take a full year until you repay your debt or receive a single penny to take home. Are you amenable to these stipulations?”
Anthony nearly melted in gratitude. The terms were leagues better than a lifetime in prison. Earning that much money in a single year was more than anyone of his stature could have dreamed. Paying off his debt before he took home a penny was only fair. And the following year! Once he did take home his salary, he could finally treat Charlotte to the life she deserved. This time next year, they could be safe.
If he lost his reputation in the process, so be it. If the loss of his reputation meant the loss of his friends, so be it. He would have an opportunity to stay with Charlotte, and she was all that mattered.
But to be able to keep her and his freedom, he would have to vanquish his reckless impulse to gamble for an entire year. The smallest slip-up would ruin everything. He could not let that happen.
Worse, the woman he loved had spent her entire life fighting to be considered respectable. He could not destroy the progress she’d made. In fact, she would be well within her rights to annul marriage to a man who harmed her reputation—and ruined her chance for a better future. His skin went cold.
What if his only chance to stay out of prison caused him to lose Charlotte anyway?
He couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
Chapter 21
Sunday morning, Charlotte watched the rising sun with growing alarm from the bay window of the Fairfax townhouse.
Anthony hadn’t told her where he was going. He’d said he didn’t want to worry her or to give her false hope, but that he would be back by daybreak—possibly with good news.
Well, it was daybreak. The streaks of pink through the foggy gray meant Sunday morning was here. And they would definitely welcome some good news. Otherwise tomorrow would be their last day together until she saved enough to set him free.
She glanced at the trio of rubies lying next to her on the window cushion. Anthony was only willing to sell them as a last resort, and this definitely qualified. First thing Monday morning, if all hope was gone, she would force him to go straight to the pawnbroker. She would beg her mother to sell all her jewels as well. Charlotte would march to the closest barber and have him shave her cursed gold locks to make into a wig, if it would help.
Anything. Everything. She couldn’t lose Anthony.
She loved him.
With a little moan, she leaned her head against the cold window. How had it come to this? If she lost him tomorrow, her life would still be a hundred times better than it had been a mere fortnight ago before she had met him. Her relationship with her mother had never been better. Charlotte even had a purpose now. A trade. Society women who complimented her and pleaded for her company. It should all feel like a dream come true.
And yet none of it would matter if she didn’t have Anthony to share it with.
She lifted her head from the window as she heard wheels outside. Her smile fell. Not Anthony. This was a fancy coach-and-four with a crest on the side, not a humble hackney cab.
Yet when the carriage stopped, who should alight but her husband? Her heart leaped at the sight. She scrambled off of the window cushion and ran to the front door to welcome him home.
He didn’t look up as he neared the door. Her excitement dimmed. His shoulders were hunched and his feet dragged with every step.
He didn’t look like he bore good tidings. He looked exhausted.
When he saw her waiting in the open doorway, however, his tired green eyes lit with pleasure. He jogged the final steps up the walkway and swung her into his arms.
“We did it,” he murmured into her hair. “We did it, darling. In a year, we’ll be free.”
She gripped his arms. “Did what? How?”
He settled her on one of the few chairs and pulled another close to sit across from her. He ran a hand through his hair and fell into his seat. His countenance was tired, but happy.
“I was at the Duke of Lambley’s,” he began.
Her breath caught in sudden understanding. “The fancy carriage!”
He nodded as he loosened his cravat. “I’ve accepted a position.”
She frowned in confusion. “The duke is your employer?”
“I’m to be his night butler on the evenings in which he holds his masked soirées.”
“His…what?” she asked faintly.
“Lambley has agreed to settle my
outstanding debts in exchange for a year of employment.”
Joyous disbelief rushed through her veins.
“It will not be easy. I cannot skip a single shift and, while I am working, I cannot miss a single detail. If I do not perform to the letter of the contract, Lambley has the right to remand me to debtors’ prison at once.” He leaned forward to take her hands in his. “I’ll understand if trusting me to be responsible for that long is too much of a risk for you to take. I don’t want to annul this marriage because I don’t want to lose you. But I also cannot ask you to spend an entire year suffering the same uncertainty as you have over the last two weeks.”
“But what has happened?” she asked, bewildered. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve just come from the Cloven Hoof. Lambley went with me after his masquerade to make good on his promise. I’m not going to Marshalsea. Not today, anyway. I’m not going anywhere, except to work when he summons me and then straight home to you. One year from today, I’ll be truly free.”
Her spine went weak. She wouldn’t lose him on Monday after all. They had been granted a reprieve. Yet he could not promise not to fall prey to his gambling weakness again. What if they found themselves back in the same circumstances once more?
A pragmatic woman would take the annulment. A year of uncertainty would not be easy. But she was no longer powerless. She was in love. Her place was by his side, now and forever. She threw herself into his arms and held on tight. She would cherish each day as if it were their last.
He covered her face with kisses.
She grinned up at him happily. “What kind of schedule must you keep? Will it be difficult?”
He pulled a face. “There’s no schedule. When Lambley decides to host a party, I must man the door and the books. Perhaps every week during the Season, and every month when London is less crowded.” He pressed her hands in his. “I need you to understand something important. This is not…it’s not a respectable job. What standing I once had in Society will be lost by this afternoon’s scandal broth. Rumors of my scandalous new employment will be common knowledge by morning.” His eyes were haunted. “I know how badly you want to be accepted by Society, but from this point forward, any association with me will worsen your reputation, rather than aid it.”