Her excitement was far greater than what she’d experienced when she’d managed to successfully escape the church in search of a life with more meaning. The future potential for fulfillment was extraordinary. Her imagination wasn’t keen enough to envision all the possibilities, but she would be an independent woman, free to do as she pleased. She’d experienced a measure of freedom during the past three months, but it hadn’t been complete because of her limited circumstances, but now because of Finn’s kindness she’d soon have financial freedom and found the notion exhilarating. She would repay him by working diligently to help ensure his business became the success he envisioned. His dream was allowing her to realize hers.
She had to wonder—if her parents hadn’t interfered on that fateful night, would she and Finn have been working together to achieve their dreams . . . or would they have merely settled into a life where she learned to darn his stockings while he continued being in the employ of a horse slaughterer? Her desires then now seemed so small. Content merely to be with him, she’d truly given no thought to what would have come after they married, how they might have survived, carried on. In truth, she’d been rather naïve, a realization brought home after spending three months away from the aristocracy. She’d truly not known what to expect. Would the girl she’d been back then have been disappointed by the reality? She preferred to think not, preferred believing she’d have embraced her life and made the best of it, but a small part of her wasn’t convinced she’d have possessed the maturity to handle what life would have expected of her.
When the cab came to a halt outside the club, she was surprised to see Finn standing on the steps, dressed as any gentleman, particularly a successful one, would be in a black jacket and gray waistcoat, with his white neck cloth perfected knotted. For an insane minute, fear ratcheted through her, and she nearly told the driver to carry on. Finn had been handsome enough as a young man, but as a mature one he was devastatingly so. She feared she might find herself falling for him all over again, and that was bound to bring up an ugliness in her past she didn’t wish to revisit.
If she were wise, she’d seek another means for making her own way. Now that her brother was no longer searching for her, she could possibly find a position as a teacher, a governess, or a companion to a woman of means, but she had to admit to being caught up in his excitement regarding what this place could become—and what it would mean for the ladies of her acquaintance to have a venue that could offer them entertainments, even if they had no beaux to escort them around.
So she waited, while he approached, tossed money up to the driver, opened her door, and offered his hand.
“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,” he said as he helped her down.
“It took me longer to say goodbye to the children than I’d expected.”
“You can see them anytime.”
“I know, but they’ve been a major part of my days for a few months now, and I theirs. I have no doubt, however, we’ll all adjust.”
He relieved her of her pitiful little sack. She strove for a witty comeback should he comment on it, but instead he merely led her up the steps and into the club. His club. Her club. Their club.
“My solicitor’s here, in our office, with the papers you’re to sign.”
Our office. Our. Business arrangement. It would be nothing more than that.
The solicitor was a kindly looking gent. He was sitting behind Finn’s desk—or at least she assumed it was Finn’s; a second one rested in the room now, placed before the other window, hers possibly. As she entered, he stood.
“Mr. Charles Beckwith,” Finn said by way of introduction. “Miss Lavinia Kent.”
She hoped her eyes expressed her gratitude that he’d not referred to her as Lady. They’d not discussed how she was to be addressed, but she was discovering Finn was a keen observer and didn’t need everything explained to him. She wondered what else about her that he might notice had changed.
“Miss Kent,” Mr. Beckwith said with a polite bowing of his head, his blue eyes peering at her through spectacles that made him seem incredibly knowledgeable, before sweeping his hand over the papers scattered on the desk. “Shall we get to work?”
If he knew her true identity, who her family might be, he gave no indication, but simply began explaining the terms of the agreement. “Thirty percent of all profits go to you. Upon your death, any future earnings that would have come your way, instead of being reverted back to Mr. Trewlove here, will be placed in a trust for use by the Sisters of Mercy Foundling Home, located at . . .”
She stopped paying attention to his words, but instead stared at Finn. “You can’t mean to continue this arrangement beyond my death, to give them money, surely.”
He was leaning with his hip against his desk, one foot crossed in front of the other, his arms folded over his chest. He shrugged. “I took a guess. You can name a different benefactor at any time.”
“And if you die?”
Looking at Beckwith, he arched a brow.
“Twenty-one percent of the business will be transferred into your name, giving you a total of fifty-one percent ownership,” Mr. Beckwith explained. “Forty-nine percent of all future profits will go into a trust for the Trewlove Foundling Home.”
The Trewlove Foundling Home? She had questions about that, but they could wait. She was struck by something that seemed much more important. “Why are you giving part of the business to me?”
“Because by the time I go toes-up, which I’m planning to be a goodly number of years from now, you will have poured a great deal of yourself into the business. I want you to be able to manage it without any interference from my siblings. They’d be well-meaning, but they can be a pushy lot. The Elysium Club will become whatever you and I envisioned it to be, worked hard to make it be. I want you to be able to carry on with it. There’s also a provision that, should you marry, your portion goes into a trust, so your husband can’t get his hands on it.”
“I’ve no plans to ever marry.”
“Better to have and not need, Miss Kent,” Mr. Beckwith said, “than to need and not have.”
“I’m not comfortable with so much coming to me,” she said.
“And I’m not comfortable with it going into a trust that will be overseen by someone who won’t give two figs about the place,” Finn said. “Just sign the papers. We can work out any particulars later and have it amended. For the moment, I want you to know I’m going into this with full faith in you.”
“You may regret that when you discover you’re a fool, Finn Trewlove.”
“I have a lot of regrets, Vivi, but none of them revolve around anything you’ve done.”
Oh, but they should. It was madness to have him back in her life, but she didn’t want to walk away from the possibilities, no matter how much they frightened her. She’d run too many times. This time, she intended to stay put and see this through to the end.
She dipped a pen into the inkwell and scrawled her name where Mr. Beckwith indicated, watched as Finn did the same. The solicitor then signed the document as a witness. He placed the agreement in his satchel. “I’ll keep these in my offices,” he said.
With a nod to each of them, he walked out.
And it was done. She was a partner in a gambling hell.
Her excitement as she’d stepped out of the hansom had been palpable, infectious. As much as he’d anticipated running his club, perhaps even competing with Aiden’s for a bit more success, suddenly there was a joyous aspect to it that had been missing before. His family had always been supportive of his efforts, but now that she was part and parcel of what he hoped to achieve, the possibilities suddenly seemed not only infinite but reachable. If it were late afternoon, he’d pour them drinks. Ah, hell, it was late afternoon somewhere. “Let’s celebrate,” he said, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of whisky off the credenza.
“It’s not even noon,” she said, clearly shocked by his suggestion.
“Which will mak
e it even more special.” He put just a splash in each glass, handed her one, and lifted his. “To our success.”
Hitching up a hip, he settled on the edge of his desk, took a sip, and watched as she did the same. She blinked; her eyes widened. “I’d forgotten how tart it was.”
“Have you not had any since that night?” The night when he’d first made love to her.
She shook her head, then glanced over at the other desk. “Is that mine?”
“It is.”
After wandering over to it, she trailed her finger along its edge. “You certainly managed to obtain it in short order. How did you accomplish it?”
“I have my ways.” It had been in the office next door, waiting for the day when he hired someone to assist him, so late last night with some help from one of the dealers, he’d moved it in here.
“Are you going to continue to be mysterious now that we’re partners?” she asked.
“When it serves.” He didn’t want her to decide she should have her own office. Already this one was more to his liking with her in it.
She settled back against her desk, and he suspected she regretted not being tall enough at that moment to sit on the edge of it as he was. “Tell me about the Trewlove Foundling Home.”
“Not much to say. It is what it says—”
A knock on the doorjamb stopped him, and he caught sight of a young woman standing there, one he’d been expecting. “Pardon my interruption, Mr. Trewlove. Your man downstairs told me to come on up.”
Setting his glass aside, he slid off the desk, aware of Vivi straightening. “Your timing is perfect. Miss Kent, meet Beth. Gillie’s seamstress. She’s here to take your measurements for a couple of frocks.”
“I’m not in need of frocks.”
“Of course you are.”
“What I have will suffice. You don’t need to purchase me clothing.”
“I’ll add it to your tally.” Which was a lie. These were going to be gifts from him because he couldn’t stand to see her in rags. It took him only three steps to reach her, three seconds to touch his fingers to her chin. “You’re a partner now. While you might not go onto the gaming floor, you’ll be dealing with employees in here and the back rooms. It won’t do for you to look less than polished. Mick had a lover once who told him if he didn’t dress like a successful businessman before he was one, he would never be one.” He dropped his hand to her collar, ran his thumb along the tattered edge. “It won’t do for you to be dressed in worn clothing.”
He could see she wasn’t happy but also had no rebuttal to his argument.
“Yes, all right. But two, only two for now.”
It was going to be three. He had something special in mind for the third, but it was to be a surprise. Hopefully just as much of one as she was to him. He’d expected her to jump at the chance of having a new frock. Lady Lavinia would have been mortified to wear anything that had so much as a single frayed thread. But this woman was a mystery he wanted to unravel.
“Let’s get you set up in your rooms so Beth can get to work. I’m certain she has customers and stitching awaiting her back at her shop.” He lifted the burlap sack that, based on its weight, contained hardly anything at all. He recalled all the frocks she’d worn on their outings. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the same one a second time. Then there was that froth of a ball gown, which he suspected had depleted China of all its silk. Beneath every fancy garment had been layers of petticoats. It would have taken trunks to haul her clothing anywhere, trunks and an extra carriage or two to transport them. Yet here was this small bundle. How far she’d fallen.
No, not fallen. She’d gone willingly, with purpose, had made the choice to leave the other life behind, had kept the vow she’d made to run off with him—only she’d had to do it without him. He intended to prove to her that the vow they’d made in their youth was still worth honoring.
She couldn’t believe the amount of pleasure it brought her to know she would be getting a new frock, even if she didn’t feel it was necessary. Although Finn was correct: she needed to project a certain image. She’d been brought up to understand the importance of the face one showed the world. A person could be dying inside, but still had to give the impression that nothing was amiss, that happiness abounded within.
However, she would be grateful to replace her clothing with something new, something that had never been infested. Her current attire often made her itch as though fleas resided within the woven fabric. Even though she knew they didn’t, she couldn’t help but believe the very possibility existed that they might have once.
She followed Finn and Beth into the hallway and came to an abrupt halt as Finn turned left. “My quarters are in the other direction,” she announced.
He faced her. “Those rooms are not yet furnished.”
“Then I shall make do.”
“We’re just temporarily putting you in the rooms overlooking the street.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He released an impatient sigh. “I’ll make do.”
“Finn, I don’t want my presence here to inconvenience you. I can return to the sisters until the other room is ready.”
“That’ll prove to be an inconvenience to us both.”
“But—”
“Vivi, if you continue to argue with me on every matter, our partnership is likely to become unpleasant for us both.”
He had a point. “Very well. But only until the other room is furnished.”
It was really a rather nice room, but when they walked into it, she noted on a table beside the sofa a vase of petunias that hadn’t been there before and was touched by his thoughtfulness.
He went into the bedroom, no doubt to place her sack in there, and returned empty-handed. “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
With that he was gone, and the room suddenly seemed lonely.
Beth placed her satchel on a small square table where Lavinia thought she might take her meals, although she had no means for preparing them. Although there was probably a kitchen downstairs since he planned to have a dining room. The seamstress removed her tape and smiled brightly. “Let’s get some measurements, shall we?”
While the young woman worked—measuring and making notes in a little book—Lavinia couldn’t help but study the masculinity of the room with its dark fabrics and even darker wood. Everything within these walls suited Finn, everything except her. “It was nice of you to go to the bother of coming to me,” she said to Beth. “I suppose I could have gone to your shop.”
“I didn’t mind coming here.” The girl knelt, stretching the tape from Lavinia’s waist to the floor. “I’d do anything a Trewlove asked. Wouldn’t have my shop without them.”
Her curiosity was piqued. “Why is that?”
“My landlord was a brutish man. Come Black Mondays—”
“Black Mondays?”
“Aye. Rent for my shop came due every Monday. I didn’t always have what was owed, and when I didn’t, he’d want payment in other ways.”
“What ways?” she asked hesitantly, hoping she might not have the right of it.
The girl didn’t look at her. Simply continued to work. “He expected me to be his lightskirt, took what he wanted. One time when I objected, he smacked me. Bruised my cheek. Gillie came in the next day, in want of a new skirt. Noticed it. Asked me what happened.” She shrugged. “I told her. She has a way about her that’ll have you unburdening yourself without even thinking about it.” Unfolding her body, she began tucking her things into her satchel. “Apparently, a few nights later, my landlord ran across the Trewlove brothers in an alley. He didn’t fare so well but offered to sell me the shop. Mick Trewlove helped me get a loan.” She smiled at Lavinia. “So no trouble at all to come here. I’ll return in a few days, so you can try on the frocks and I can make any last-minute adjustments to make sure they fit properly.”
“Thank you, Beth. I look forward to it.”
After showing the woman to the door, she
leaned with her back against it, admiring the young woman who life had dealt an unfair hand but who had managed in spite of dark days to bring such a sunny disposition with her. An abundance of unfortunate circumstances, and she’d been blind to a host of them. But not Finn, not his family. They cared for a good many beyond themselves. Perhaps she’d have not found herself darning stockings, but instead working to secure others’ rights.
As she meandered through the rooms that smelled of Finn, she imagined him looking out for a little dressmaker, looking out for her. Looking out for Sophie. He had such a protective nature about him. If her father hadn’t seen him sent to prison, everything would have turned out so very differently. But she wasn’t convinced she’d have appreciated him as much as she should have. She certainly wouldn’t have appreciated acquiring a new frock. She’d have considered it her due. What a selfish girl she’d been, thinking of herself, while he and his family tended to think of others. Resisting him was going to be incredibly difficult.
But resist him she would because she had more important matters than falling in love all over again with which to contend. There was no better time to test her mettle than the present. With a quick glance in the looking glass that hung on the wall above the washstand where he had possibly shaved that morning—she was not going to think about that intimate task or how satisfying it would be to do it for him—she ensured every strand of hair she’d pinned up earlier was still in place. She patted her cheeks to bring some color to them before heading out of the rooms and down the hall to his—their—office.
Sitting behind the desk, he was studying some papers. They seemed so fragile in his large hands; the room seemed so much smaller with his presence. Even relaxed, he possessed an alertness, an awareness, that shimmered off him in an extremely masculine manner. She imagined him striding through the gaming floor and realized she wanted to do more than imagine it. She wanted to see it. She thought of him waltzing with one of the wallflowers and knew a spark of jealousy. Perhaps he’d leave that task to those they hired, although she knew there might come a time when she’d see him with a lover or a wife. A man such as he was not without needs. She wanted him to find happiness, to have someone better suited to him than she was, someone more courageous than she’d been.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed Page 20