Jack of Clubs

by Barbara Metzger

  Two of the women were dressed in a fashion more often seen on street corners than in select drawing rooms, and one of the men might have been a pugilist or a pirate, he was so large and rough-looking. Maybe, she hoped, those others were simply strangers who had chosen this very afternoon to visit the Egyptian artifacts. Then the large man took the smallest, youngest of the women on his arm and said, “Me and Patsy’ve got some business of our own, Cap’n Jack. We’ll come back in an hour. I’ll keep her safe.”

  Her grandfather would strangle her. Her mother would dampen the dinner table with tears. Her father would wring his hands and go back to his mangel-wurtzels. Lady Margery tried to catch Harold’s eyes—which were on a pretty redhead—to signal that she wanted to go home. Then she spotted a slightly older woman in dark clothes with an ugly bonnet on her head. She could not be a loose woman, not in that ensemble, not with her back as stiff as a board.

  “Cousin Allison?”

  Jack made the introductions. Lady Margery firmly put her arm through her cousin’s, rather than chance being forced to walk with one of the men or, heaven forbid, one of the other women.

  Harriet had already commandeered Harold as her escort, ensuring that the cousins could speak privately. “I bet there’s no real body under those windings,” she said.

  “Of course there is. This is the British Museum.”

  “Bet you a shilling there’s not. They just say there is to scare children and flighty females.”

  One of the females was hanging on Allie’s arm. She kept looking at Allie, rather than at the coffins and hieroglyphs.

  “You resemble your mother,” she said. “I would have recognized you from the portrait we have of her and my father as children.”

  “I thought all traces of my mother were erased from her ancestral home.”

  “Grandfather never goes into our family wing at the Mount. He sends for us when he wishes to give a lecture.”

  “I see. All I have of my mother is a miniature painted when my parents were first married. But thank you for the compliment, whether you meant to make one or not. I considered my mother quite beautiful.”

  Lady Margery wrinkled her nose, and not at the smells in the room. “I daresay you could look better than you do if you rid yourself of that dreadful bonnet and wore brighter colors.”

  Allie slipped her arm out of the other woman’s clasp and became busy examining a case of scarabs.

  Lady Margery glanced into the glass case and shuddered. “Beetles? They thought insects were sacred?”

  “Chacun a son gout,” Allie said, then translated when Lady Margery declared she did not read Egyptian. “To each his own. I am a governess, nothing more, so I have no need to improve my looks.”

  “I have met Captain Endicott, Cousin. There is every need.”

  Allie studied a nearby glass case of jewelry rather than reply.

  Lady Margery was interested in the breastplates and arm bands and rings, but then they moved on to a statue of a jackal-headed figure on a pedestal.

  “Why would anyone put a dog’s head on a man?” she asked. “That’s stupid.”

  “He was a god, Anubis, I believe.” Allie looked ahead for Harriet. “I really ought to be with my pupil, seeing that she learns all this.”

  “Oh, Harold knows almost everything, so he can teach her. He went to university for a year, you know.”

  “I did not. How, ah, nice.”

  Lady Margery thought so, and thought the previous conversation was not finished. “I might not be as learned as you,” she said while Allie admired the statue of a cat. “Well, to be truthful I had hardly any education to speak of. Mama could not bear to send me away and Grandfather would not hear of my going to the local school with the tenants’ children. The governesses never cared if I did any lessons at all. However, I do know fashion and I do know that Captain Endicott likes you.”

  “Nonsense. You have a vivid imagination, that is all.”

  “I tell you I know about these things. I knew Harold and I were the perfect match, didn’t I?”

  She looked across the large room to catch his eye and gave a small wave. He smiled back, a wealth of silent communication in the simple exchange, and Allie was jealous. She did not envy her cousin’s fortune or her clothes or her jewels or her title, and especially not her youth, but, oh, to have a man look at her that way. She was not too old to remember her schoolgirl dreams of a love of her own, a dream that was keeping her awake nights now, when it might be too late.

  Allie could understand why Lady Margery would give up the chance for a more advantageous match, why she would chance incurring Montford’s wrath. Her Harold, with his one whole year of university, was a pleasant looking young man, nothing more. He did not wear his clothes with the same casual elegance as Jack—who could?—nor did he have the height, the breadth of shoulder, the easy, confident grace of the former officer. But he obviously loved Lady Margery. That was enough.

  Judging from his attitude to Harriet, Harold would be a good father. Judging from the way he watched Lady Margery’s every step, he’d be a loyal husband, sharing the same country pleasures. He would not be out of place in the city, either, if Montford received them after their marriage.

  Or they could just wait for his demise. Not even the marquess could live forever. Allie admitted that was a terrible thought, but the old man had played puppeteer for so long it was time for someone to cut the strings, even if that someone was Death with his scythe. Waiting was hard for young people, though, especially young people in love.

  Allie supposed that’s why Lady Margery was here, defying her grandfather. “Aren’t you afraid of what Montford will do if he discovers you made yourself known to me?”

  “Oh, he’ll never hear about it.”

  Montford not hear about it? Everyone heard Lady Margery’s shrieks when Harriet took off her sling, unwrapped the bandage around her sprained arm, added some rags she found, and wound herself into a miniature mummy, moaning. If Montford did not hear his granddaughter’s screams, he certainly heard her mother’s when the girl was carried home in a swoon…by a nobody from Nottingham and a notorious gambling club owner.

  Oh, he heard, all right.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You, stop caterwauling,” Montford shouted at his daughter-in-law, making her cry harder.

  “You, unhand my granddaughter,” he ordered Harold, who was supporting Lady Margery in the marble-tiled hallway of Montford House. She had recovered from her faint, but had not recovered from the delight of finding herself in her beloved’s arms. Now she found herself dropped so fast she almost fell to the floor again.

  “You,” her grandfather told her, “go to your room.”

  “But I—”

  “You have interrupted my correspondence, disobeyed my orders, and torn your gown.”

  Lady Margery looked down, saw that her favorite sprigged muslin was ripped at the scalloped neckline, likely from her swoon at the museum. Now it was gaping like an open oyster, revealing most of one pearly breast. She gasped like a beached fish and dove for the curving staircase, her clamoring mother and her maid in her wake.

  “You, out.” The Marquess of Montford pointed at Harold, then at the open front door. He completely ignored Allie and Harriet, who were hovering on the front steps outside, on the unlikely chance they were needed, in Allie’s case, or had the opportunity to beg pardon, in Harriet’s case.

  Harold joined them. Jack would have, too, but Montford pointed his gnarled finger in the captain’s direction and said, “You, follow me.”

  If Montford thought Jack would jump to his orders, he was gravely mistaken. Jack walked toward Allie and told her, “I suppose he deserves some explanation. Tell James to drive you home. I’ll take a hackney.”

  “No, we have only to cross the square while you’ll need to go to the club. I…I am sorry if Lord Montford’s wrath falls on your head.”

  Jack smiled in reassurance and tapped his skull. “But you must know i
t is too thick to damage.”

  “And too empty to avoid the danger in the first place. No good could have come from today’s meeting.”

  “How gracious of you not to say I told you so,” he said, taking her hand in his.

  Allie looked to see if Montford noticed, then gave Jack a gentle shove. “Go back and talk to his lordship before he grows even angrier.”

  But Jack was not ready to march to Montford’s drum. He raised Allie’s gloved hand to his mouth, but turned her hand over and found the bare spot of her wrist above the glove’s edge. He kissed that.

  “You must not. Lord Montford, the child…”

  “I must.” He did it again. “Now, go.”

  Allie took Harriet and started home—in the wrong direction.

  Jack’s smile grew as he watched her turn around, blushing while Harriet giggled. Then his grin faded as he followed Lord Montford to the marquess’s book room.

  Montford sat behind his massive desk, without inviting Jack to sit. He sat anyway and crossed his legs to be more comfortable. Since every soldier knew the best defense was a strong offense, Jack said, “Nothing happened at the Egyptian Exhibit beyond a childish prank,” before Montford could speak. He did not give the older man the chance to accuse him, Allie, or Lady Margery of plotting to circumvent his express orders. “Your granddaughter—your younger granddaughter, that is—is unharmed. And her curiosity is satisfied.”

  “The peagoose was curious about the ancient artifacts? I’ll believe that when pigs fly.”

  “She was curious about her cousin, quite naturally, in my opinion. And you made Miss Silver more fascinating to her still, by banning the acquaintance. You would not permit Miss Silver to call here, and you prohibited Lady Margery from calling at Carde House. It was inevitable that they encounter each other somewhere. Forbidden fruit, and all that.”

  Montford pushed aside the letter he had been writing before the uproar in his entry hall. “What, you have had Hildebrand’s gal in your care for a handful of days and you are already an expert on child-rearing?”

  Jack brushed a speck of museum dust off his trousers, from where he had knelt at the peagoose’s side. “I am something of an expert on females. Young or old, their minds work the same.”

  “Faugh, they barely have minds enough to decide what gown to wear to which ball. That is why they need a man to guide them. Margery needs a wiser head than a mere stripling she can lead around like a puppy.”

  “Her beau seems to be a decent chap with a good head on his shoulders. He did not panic when she fainted, and he caught the gold chalice she threw at Harriet when she found out—That is, he was not fazed by her emotional histrionics, nor by being tossed out of the museum. Many a man would have fled the scene, abandoning his inamorata. Young Harold stayed. A female could do worse.”

  “An earl’s daughter can do far better.”

  “But Harold loves her.”

  “Faugh,” the marquess said again, slamming the cap on his inkwell. “I’ll send her to her mother’s people in Cornwall.”

  “Forbidden fruit,” was all Jack said.

  “She’ll forget about him,” Lord Montford insisted.

  “He’ll follow.”

  “Not when he finds out I won’t pay out her dowry, he won’t.”

  “That did not work with your daughter, did it? Miss Silver’s mother married her scholar despite your edicts and your financial finagling.”

  “Thunderation, I only wanted little Margery to get some town bronze before she settled on that bumpkin. She’s too young, I say!”

  “But she loves him.”

  “And she can love someone else tomorrow.”

  “Then test their affection, do not deny it. What say they agree to wait six months to wed, if you do not separate them or stand between them?” At least Jack hoped the nodcocks would agree, since he was bargaining for their future.

  “A year, with no formal announcement, so other chaps can court the gal. With what I paid for her wardrobe, she ought to catch the eye of a nabob, at least.”

  “They are young, in love, and curious. Surely you remember?” The marquess might be too old to recall passion’s eager panting, but the nobleman would never forget his family honor. “Six months, unless you wish your great-grandchildren to arrive before the wedding date.”

  A quill pen snapped in Montford’s hands.

  Jack went on, certain of victory: “If they are still desirous of wedding after that time, you’ll have no call to forbid the marriage, none that will convince Lady Margery, anyway. I’ll wager the youngsters will still be in love.”

  “Now you are an expert on love, too?”

  Jack went back to brushing off his trousers.

  “Very well, six months. But no anticipating the vows, is that clear?”

  “Lud, I cannot answer for two near strangers on that count. You shall have to speak to Harold.”

  “Bah, the whelp is liable to wet himself if I raise my voice. You tell him. You’re the one doing the negotiating, aren’t you? You tell the lobcock I’ll see him volunteered for the King’s army if he dishonors my granddaughter.” He pounded the desk. “You tell him he’ll never have to worry about begetting an heir if he gets familiar with the gal.”

  Jack nodded, although he was not looking forward to that conversation. “I’ll tell him. What about Miss Silver?”

  “What, is he aiming to dishonor her, too?”

  Jack knew the old man was stalling. The gapeseed and the governess? The idea was absurd. “You know he is not. What about Lady Margery’s friendship with her cousin? Will you still stand in the way of that relationship now that they have met?”

  “Will you give your word you have no dishonorable intentions toward her?”

  “Good grief, she is just a child, and in love with Harold besides. I never—”

  “Not that one. A downy bird like you would never be interested in a silly widgeon like Margery. I would not let you within a mile of her if I thought otherwise. But Margery is a lady.”

  “As is Miss Silver. Every inch a lady.”

  Montford studied the younger man, from his steady brown gaze to his relaxed posture. “That’s your answer, then? The schoolmaster’s daughter is a lady? Albeit she is naught but a teacher, a governess?”

  “She is your grandchild as much as Lady Margery is. And she is a gentlewoman in the finest sense of the word.”

  Montford stood, the interview at an end. “You are playing a deep game, boy.”

  “Boy? No, my lord. I am no boy. I am a man grown, my own man, answerable to no one but the Crown and the Almighty. I am a gambler, however. We always play deep. And we play to win.”

  *

  Jack felt ancient, lecturing Harold. He’d given the talk to his raw recruits about diseases and dagger-wielding foreign fathers, but he had never had to address another young English gentleman about proper behavior in a nearly engaged couple. Heaven knew who was more embarrassed, Harold or Jack.

  Jack ought to be used to standing in loco parentis, as it were. Aside from Lady Margery’s six months’ unofficial betrothal, he had told Calloway to wait six weeks before seeking Patsy’s hand in marriage, to make certain they both knew their own minds. They already seemed to know every dark corner of Carde House and the gaming club. Fedder had been firmly discouraged, forever.

  The first banns for Darla and Downs would be posted in six days.

  Lud, Jack felt as if he were sixty years old, instead of twenty and six.

  *

  Lady Margery claimed she was au anges when she heard the news that she would eventually have both Harold and her cousin. That is, she claimed she was all oranges, but everyone knew she was thrilled. She even hugged Harriet when they met by prearrangement in Grosvenor Square park a few afternoons later.

  The debutante credited Allie with all the success. Her joy, Lady Margery decided, was entirely due to her new relation’s influence. She was determined to repay Cousin Allison by bringing her into style, seeing th
at she was accepted in the highest social circles where she might find an eligible parti to marry. Margery did not mention that she already had a brave and handsome hero in mind for Allie. She also refused to listen to Allie’s demurrals that she was not interested in dressing like a fashion plate, dancing at Almack’s, or donning a wedding ring.

  “Besides, it was Captain Endicott who carried the day with your grandfather,” Allie told her while Harriet tried to convince Joker to wake up and chase a squirrel through the park. “No one else was brave enough to take him on, much less win concessions from the old despot.”

  “Pooh, the captain is already up to snuff when it comes to fashion, but he is too far beyond the pale for a single female like me to make socially acceptable. Now if his brother the earl were in town, to convince the gentlemen—No, they all gamble at the captain’s club. They would not want him waltzing with their wives and doing the pretty with their daughters.”

  Allie could well imagine Jack in a ballroom, flirting with every woman, deb or dowager. He would make them smile, then make them think he hung the stars. He’d be the handsomest man in the room, Allie imagined, and all the other gentlemen would be jealous. Of course they would not want him winning their ladies’ hearts. Of course Allie felt ill at the thought of him doing so. “I would not wish to go—”

  Lady Margery was going on: “Mama does not like to entertain here in town, or we could enlist her help. She gets in a fidge whenever Grandfather asks her to arrange a supper party for his cronies, though. She would have the vapours at the idea of serving tea to a here-and-thereian.”

  “Captain Endicott is no—”

  Lady Margery patted Allie’s hand, acting like an elder auntie. “Of course he is not, Cousin. We know that, but the polite world does not. His own sister-in-law might be able to bring the gentleman back into society’s good graces, but the Countess of Carde is a mere babe when it comes to the beau monde. She was a country connection herself, you see, not of the ton.”