Lady Pamela and the Gambler: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Three

by Hutton, Callie

  “Mrs. O’L-Leary? Where is Miss Sp-sp-spencer?”

  The woman jumped at Pamela’s voice. “Oh, dear you startled me.” She placed her hand on her bosom. “Miss Spencer moved.”

  “Moved?”

  “Yes. She just up and left. Didn’t even take her things with her.”

  Pamela frowned. “How v-v-very odd. She was feeling ill l-last night and when I spoke with h-h-er she never m-m-mentioned moving out.”

  Mrs. O’Leary shrugged. “One thing I have learned as a landlady is people never do what you expect them to.”

  “When d-d-did she leave?”

  “Last night. Right after you left to visit with your friends.” With a quick switch, she said, “Did you have a good time, my dear?”

  Still wrestling with the disappearance of Miss Spencer, Pamela just nodded. “Yes, it w-w-was quite nice, actually.” She turned back and entered her room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Twas very strange, indeed. Another concern was how quickly that particular room lost tenants. In the three years she’d been living here that room had been occupied by more than a dozen young ladies, none of them staying more than a few weeks.

  It appeared that room was jinxed. Then she chastised herself for being so dramatic. There was nothing wrong with the room. To think so was quite silly.

  She checked her appointment schedule and noted that Miss Mary Parker was due for a piano lesson in a half hour. Just enough time to have a light breakfast.

  Mrs. O’Leary had been kind enough to allow her to use the piano in her back parlor to instruct her students, which helped a great deal. She was a very nice landlady and many times Pamela had thanked God for her luck in finding this boarding house.

  3

  Nick entered the Assembly Rooms, not expecting to see Lady Pamela since he’d been here every Saturday night since he’d first met the woman. His attempts to visit with her and entice her to accompany him for a ride in the park, or tea, or ice cream, or anything else was getting him nowhere.

  Each Saturday he would stop in, stay for about a half hour, then return to his club. His employees had started to question him, but he wasn’t about to admit to his almost school-boy infatuation with a woman who rejected him more than once.

  Therefore, it was with a great deal of surprise and pleasure when he spotted Lady Pamela, along with the Berkshires and Westbrooke and his wife standing in a huddle on the other side of the ballroom. He immediately made his way past several groups conversing, waiting for the master of ceremonies to announce the next dance.

  “Good evening, ladies. Berkshire, Westbrooke.” Nick joined the group and nodded at them.

  “Good to see you, Smith,” Westbrooke said. “I assume you know everyone?”

  “Yes.” He looked over at Lady Pamela to see her studying the floor. But she did offer a slight dip as did the other ladies.

  “I didn’t think this sort of amusement was to your taste,” Westbrooke said.

  “Oh, once in a while.” He turned to Lady Pamela. “How are you this evening, my lady?”

  She looked up and smiled, practically stopping his heart. He could spend the rest of his life staring at that smile and never get enough.

  “I am w-w-well. And you?”

  Only one stutter. He tried not to make too much of that. “I am well, also. May I request a dance?”

  “Y-y-yes.” She flushed, most likely annoyed with herself. The condition must be very frustrating for the woman. He’d been attempting to do some research on stuttering, but there was very little information available, although someone told him an inventor in America was doing some work on the condition. He planned to investigate that.

  Within minutes the master of ceremonies announced a quadrille. Nick had been hoping for a waltz so he could hold Lady Pamela in his arms, but since she was here tonight, he would not make his escape after a half hour as he’d done other nights. In fact, he had no intention of leaving until she did. Maybe she would even allow him to escort her home.

  He was beginning to sound pathetic even in his own mind.

  He took her hand and they joined the dancers. Westbrooke and his wife, along with the Berkshires all joined the line. Thankful that as part of the making over of himself he’d done years ago, he’d learned all the things gentlemen had learned from the cradle, so dancing a quadrille was no problem. That would also give him time to stare at Lady Pamela and perhaps catch a word or two while they danced.

  The dance began and Nick had a great time just watching Pamela. As she was not required to speak, she glowed with happiness. She moved with the music as if she were a forest fairy dancing to a tune in the moonlight. And he was mesmerized.

  Although she’d rejected him twice, he had no intention of giving up. From her blushes and sideway glances at him it was apparent there was more than mild interest on her part. Nick had never met a problem he couldn’t solve with determination.

  Once the dance ended the three couples gathered at the refreshment table for drinks. The men helped themselves to the punch bowl with spirits and the ladies each had lemonade.

  It was quite apparent that Lady Pamela, Lady Berkshire and Mrs. Westbrooke were very close friends. They almost finished each other’s sentences. What caught Nick’s attention more than anything was the lack of stuttering on Lady Pamela’s part. The little bit of knowledge he was able to gain on stuttering was that anxiety made the condition worse.

  Westbrooke and Berkshire carried on a conversation about politics and horses, and although Nick commented a time or two his real interest was with the ladies.

  Fortunately, the next dance called by the master of ceremonies was a waltz. Before anyone else could wander up to Lady Pamela, Nick reached out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  Amidst all her blushing, and the smirking by her friends she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the dance area. He swung her into his arms, and everything felt right for the first time in weeks.

  She was warm, soft and fit in his arms perfectly. He had to use all his control to keep from running his hands over her feminine curves. The light scent of something flowery drifted from her hair. He leaned back and looked into her hazel eyes. “May I call on you tomorrow?” There was no point in delaying his request. She had granted him two dances and that made a statement.

  Unfortunately, she shook her head. “I have a c-c-commitment at church t-t-tomorrow.”

  “The next day?”

  “T-t-two students.”

  “The day after that?”

  She sighed. “Mr. S-s-smith. Y-y-you won’t t-t-take no for an answer.”

  “That is correct, my lady.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you. Very much. I find you interesting—”

  She snorted.

  “—witty and kind. I know you are troubled about your stutter, but I notice when you speak with your friends it is almost non-existent. I am not at all disturbed by your stutter and I hope if we become better acquainted you might relax a bit in my presence.”

  He was shocked to see tears standing in her eyes. “I m-m-might become m-m-more relaxed w-w-with you, but I w-will always s-s-speak this way in p-p-public. I would embarrass y-you.”

  Nick pulled her closer. “You would never embarrass me. And anyone who told you that in the past was despicable.”

  Instead of answering, she shook her head and cast a glance over his shoulder and didn’t speak for the rest of the dance. As much as he would have liked to converse with her some more, he was content to hold her in his arms and enjoy the closeness.

  Unfortunately, she declined his invitation to escort her home and left with the Berkshires. He followed right behind them and headed to his club.

  Despite another rejection, Nick found just walking into his place raised his spirits. To think he did all this with only his head for numbers and a desire to raise himself up from where he started.

  As he walked through the rooms, he thought about how the days of flourishing gambl
ing were over, but establishments with roulette and French hazard thrived. The stakes ran from a few pounds to hundreds of pounds.

  The system Nick had set up to protect himself was for a gamer to be admitted to the club by pulling the outside bell alerting Nick’s man at the door. Once inside, the customer passed through another door and if he was a known customer or didn’t look like a spy for the authorities, that door opened and the man was directed to the stairs to the first floor.

  The front room was for games. Decorous silk wallpaper covered the walls, with a rich deep carpet covering the floor, leaving no sound as the customer walked through the room. Several chandeliers and well-placed lamps provided enough light.

  A long green cloth-covered table was divided with string to provide in and out spaces required of the game of Hazard. A few chairs surrounded the table, always filled with men whenever the club was open. The impeccably dressed croupiers used a hooked stick instead of a rake to collect the money.

  The back room provided an array of foods, along with sherry, brandy and champagne. Nick made sure his club provided fair games and appealed to the wealthy nobility as well as the newly well-heeled businessman. Occasionally they were visited by a West End tradesman, and almost always by a usurer, who didn’t come to play, but to ply his trade.

  Money was lost and won without a display of excitement. Very dignified, even if one was losing everything but the shirt on his back. Even though Nick kept the police happy by keeping a well-run club, The Lion’s Den was occasionally subjected to a ‘raid.’

  When that happened, everything was quickly moved, stored, and covered, leaving the gaming room looking like an ordinary gentleman’s club, with men sitting around conversing, reading the newspaper, smoking, and drinking brandy.

  As much as he loved the club as a tribute to all he’d accomplished, it was his ultimate goal to sell the club and open a first-class hotel and restaurant. He was still a couple of years away from that goal, but it was always on his mind.

  Add to that a gently reared woman on his arm to run his household and provide him with children to pass all of this onto. She’d always been an enigma. Someone out there he would one day meet.

  Since last month that woman was no longer a mystery. She was Lady Pamela Manning, and he would not give up until he’d won her.

  “Why are you refusing to allow Mr. Smith to court you?” Lottie tossed out those words as she selected a lemon tart from the tray in the center of the table.

  Since the ladies had formed their friendship well over a year ago, they met each day for tea. For the longest time it was in Addie’s bookstore, but since she had hired someone to run it for her while she decided what to do about the store once the new babe arrived, they met in The Pump Tea Room.

  “You know why. I would embarrass h-him.” Pamela shook her head as if answering a question from a child who knew nothing of life.

  “Just because your malicious sister-in-law put that idea into your head doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way.” Addie waved between her and Lottie. “We don’t feel that way.”

  Pamela reached out and covered Addie’s hand with hers. “I know that. But I d-don’t feel anxious with either of y-you.”

  “Because you know us so well. If you got to know Mr. Smith well, the same thing would probably happen.” Lottie took another tart. “It’s too bad there is so little information on stuttering.”

  “I’ve never seen you eat so much, Lottie.” Addie grinned at her. “Is there a particular reason why?”

  Lottie ducked her head and a bright red flush rose from the top of her dress to her hairline. “Yes. I believe so.”

  Squeals of delight erupted from Addie and Pamela as they all hugged each other. “Congratulations,” Pamela said.

  “Thank you. Carter and I are quite pleased.” Lottie fanned her face. “Oh, my. I must really do something about this blushing all the time.”

  “And your mother? Have you told her?” Addie asked.

  Lottie had gone through a bad time when she found out her mother was a well-known courtesan in London. It hadn’t prevented her husband, Carter Westbrooke from convincing her to marry him, though. ‘Twas nice that they had a happy ending.

  “She is currently traveling with my new step-father. I believe they plan to settle in Bath once they return.”

  “That will be wonderful for you. I am so happy everything turned out well,” Pamela said. She was truly happy for her two friends, that they had found happiness despite their original pact that they would all remain single and enjoy the freedom spinsterhood allowed.

  Once in a while she would allow herself to think of such a happy ending for herself. But then she would try to speak to someone outside of her close circle of friends and make a cake of herself. No, she was better off single and enjoying the children her friends would have. She would be a doting aunt, rather than an embarrassing wife. Despite Mr. Smith’s assurance she would never embarrass him.

  “Back to our original question, Pamela. Why do you keep pushing Mr. Smith away? Is it his background? Do you think he’s not good enough for you?”

  “No, of course not!” Pamela almost shouted. “From what I’ve heard, h-he’s a man who m-made a whole new life for himself. I th-think that’s amazing, and m-makes him worthy of any w-woman.” She shrugged. “It is as I said. I won’t m-marry someone only to h-have him hate me when I make a f-f-fool of myself.”

  Addie and Lottie exchanged glances, but in order to discontinue the conversation, Pamela pretended she didn’t see them. “Lottie, I can s-see why you favor these lemon t-tarts. They are really quite good.”

  Once it became apparent that Pamela wasn’t going to discuss the Mr. Smith situation anymore, the women switched to baby names and other innocuous subjects and Pamela relaxed.

  The next afternoon, Pamela dismissed her student and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. The room in the boarding house that Pamela had deemed jinxed was once again filled with another young lady.

  Miss Lizbeth Davenport had arrived about a week before. Although a wonderful artist, she was forced to work at a hat factory to support herself. Unfortunately, the position she had ended when she was dismissed due to a misunderstanding.

  Mrs. O’Leary had offered the woman the room for free until she could find another position. Miss Davenport did some chores, like changing the bedding in the rooms and helping with dinner, in exchange for the room.

  Miss Davenport—who insisted that Pamela call her Lizbeth—was a sweet girl, about three and twenty years. She had also come from a small village to seek work as an artist in Bath but ended up in the hat factory when she didn’t make enough money painting.

  The door to Lizbeth’s room opened just as Pamela reached her door. “There you are. I was looking for you before.” Lizbeth smiled brightly as she approached Pamela.

  “I was off to m-m-eet my friends for t-t-tea. I believe you would like these friends of m-mine. You should come with me one d-d-day and meet them.”

  “I would like that. The women I worked with in the hat factory are so busy with their work and families that I find myself alone more than I care to be.”

  Lizbeth followed Pamela into her room and sat on one of the two chairs in front of the small fireplace across from Pamela’s bed. “I hope you don’t mind if I visit for a while?”

  Pamela took the other chair. “N-n-not at all. I am always up f-f-for a chat. We have a bit of time before dinner.”

  “Yes. I only have about ten minutes and then I’m off to help in the kitchen.”

  “How s-s-successful has your j-j-job search been?”

  Lizbeth sighed. “Not too well, I’m afraid. Of course, everyone wants references and since I was dismissed from my last job, I have none. I’m just grateful that Mrs. O’Leary has allowed me to use the room for free and help out around here in payment.”

  “Is there n-n-nothing you can do about your unfair d-d-dismissal?” Lizbeth had told Pamela how a pin that was to be used for a specially
ordered hat had been found in her reticule when she left the factory for the evening. Each night their belongings were searched when they left the building and she had been stunned to find the pin in there when she handed over her reticule to the man at the door.

  Lizbeth shook her head. “I’m afraid not. They found the pin in my reticule. I told them I had no idea how it got in there, but the evidence was right there in front of my face. The only thing I can think of is someone was trying to steal the pin and put it in my reticule by mistake.”

  Life could be difficult for a young woman on her own. Lizbeth had told her how both her parents were deceased from influenza which also took her two brothers. She was thankful the disease had passed her by, but it left her completely alone.

  She’d received quite a bit of art education, but with her family dead, and having to support herself, her artwork had become a hobby rather than a career.

  Lizbeth stood and shook out her skirts. “Well, I must be off. I would love to meet your friends. Just let me know when you will be gathering again.”

  “We meet every day for tea at The Pump Room. Tomorrow?”

  Lizbeth flushed. “As much as I want to, I’m afraid with no coin to my name I won’t be able to join you.” She headed toward the door. “I will see you at dinner.”

  Pamela was awakened by a strange noise. The room was dark, but she felt the presence of someone in her room. There was no noise, but the air was different, and she swore she could hear someone breathing.

  She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but from how she felt, she’d been in a deep slumber. Her heart thumped and she slowly sat up. She reached for the oil lamp next to her bed, but her hand shook too much and she couldn’t get a grip on the flint to light it.

  “Wrong room, you idiots!” A very loud whisper came from outside her room.

  The door to her room opened and then quickly closed.