Bloody traitor.
“My stomach is still unsettled.” Margaret made a great show of rubbing her stomach and appearing weak as she flopped back against the bed. “I’ll try a bit of the bread to see if it suits me. But I really wish to sleep. I won’t need you again tonight.” A weak smile crossed her lips as she looked up at Eliza. “You may seek your own bed.”
The maid’s face was devoid of friendliness. “Your aunt wishes me to let you know if you aren’t well in the morning, she will send for the physician.”
Margaret wanted to snarl at the maid; instead, she said in a quiet voice, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. All I need is a good night’s sleep to put me to rights, but if not, I believe a doctor is warranted.” Margaret should have assumed sooner that her aunt had the entire household watching her every move. Especially Eliza.
Margaret closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Eliza.”
“Goodnight, miss.” The maid left, taking the broth, and shut the door behind her with a soft click.
Margaret counted to ten before her eyes popped open. She turned to look at the clock on her nightstand. She must wait.
When her aunt opened Margaret’s door a few hours later to check on her, Margaret lay very still and kept her breathing even and slow. Aunt Agnes was on her way out. She’d been asked to join Lady Patson at a ball tonight. Margaret couldn’t remember which one, nor did she care. She’d caught a glance at the invitation sitting on a tray in the hall. She could smell her aunt’s freshly applied perfume and hear the swish of her silk gown. If she rolled over, Margaret would catch sight of a hideous turban perched on her head.
She didn’t move until she heard the front door close and her aunt’s carriage pull away.
Margaret threw back the blanket. She positioned the pillows from her bed to resemble a person sleeping and then drew up the coverlet. In the darkness, no one would know the difference. After all, Aunt Agnes always said Margaret left so little impression on a person she was nearly invisible. Tonight, she’d put her aunt’s philosophy to the test.
Eliza was a traitor, but she was also stupid.
Clad only in her shift and stockings, she made her way to her wardrobe and grabbed her worn half-boots, ignoring the neat row of dresses and gowns. Where she was going, a dress wasn’t required.
An old wool cloak hung in the back of the wardrobe, one she hadn’t worn since leaving Yorkshire. The wool was gray, slightly moth-eaten, and patched in places. If any of the servants caught sight of Margaret, they would assume her to be one of them. She threw the cloak over her shoulders and paused at the mirror.
A thick braid of hair hung over one shoulder. As she pulled the cloak around her, Margaret was relieved to see the old wool covered every inch of her from chin to ankles. Her eyes were dark against the stark oval of her face, but she didn’t look the least bit afraid.
Not at all like a woman who was about to perform a private concert, half-naked, for a gentleman at Elysium.
17
Tony leapt from his carriage and walked into Elysium, shrugging out of his velvet-lined cloak before handing it to the waiting attendant.
“A pleasure to see you this evening, my lord.”
“Thank you, Johnson. How are your wife and little girl? Was the physician I sent to tend them sufficient?”
Johnson’s eyes widened at Tony’s words. “More than sufficient, my lord.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Tony and Leo had a habit of collecting strays. Men and women whom life had tossed to the winds, in dire need of someone in their corner. Like Johnson. Johnson lacked a right arm, the limb having been caught beneath a cart while filching food from a baker’s stall one day to feed his small family. He’d barely survived the loss of his arm, and would not have if the cart and the driver involved hadn’t worked for Elysium. Johnson had been brought to the club where Leo immediately had him tended and cared for. Hearing the man’s story, Leo had hired Johnson, who had now been the doorman at Elysium for several years.
“Ida is much improved?”
Johnson beamed, showing an uneven row of teeth, flattered Tony remembered the name of his daughter. “She’s much better, my lord. The fever is gone and she’s mending fine. I thank you again for sending the doctor to us. My wife keeps you in her prayers for doing so.”
“I am pleased to hear little Ida is better.” Tony patted him on the shoulder. “And my thanks to Mrs. Johnson. Though I fear her prayers are wasted on me.”
Johnson nodded. “Doesn’t hurt none, though, my lord.”
“No, indeed not.”
Tony and his brother believed, strongly, that treating their employees with respect fostered loyalty. As a result, the employees of Elysium rarely left their employment and couldn’t be poached by competing establishments. The club and its employees were a family. They took care of their own.
As he walked into the plush interior of Elysium, a rush of pride filled his chest. Technically, Leo was the proprietor of Elysium, but the ton knew Tony was his brother’s partner in the club. Society’s main objection to Tony’s involvement seemed to be centered on Leo’s status as the bastard son of the Duke of Averell. Not that such a thing hurt business. Elysium was packed day and night with patrons, and the waiting list for membership stretched into next year.
Leo handled the day to day operations while Tony often used his cache in the ton to draw patrons from their old haunts to Elysium. At least he had in the beginning. What had started as a way to piss off their father, the duke, had made Tony and Leo incredibly wealthy. When the duke had threatened to cut Tony off without a cent if he didn’t marry, Tony had ignored him. He didn’t need the duke’s money or anything else his father peddled.
Elysium, from top to bottom, was as elegant and luxurious as Tony’s velvet-lined cloak. He’d picked out many of the furnishings himself by raiding the homes of the impoverished nobility. It was amazing the things a titled gentleman would part with when he needed to pay a gambling debt. The club was housed in the former home of a rather eccentric merchant. The merchant, long dead, had built the home at the very edge of one of the most respectable neighborhoods in London, as close as he could get to society without marrying into it, though he’d tried. At the time, the construction of the mansion had caused an uproar. The ton had been outraged a man of such low breeding would live so near their own fine homes or worse, his equally low bred family would be walking their streets or stealing into their gardens.
But the merchant had prevailed. He had been horribly wealthy.
What he’d left behind was a monstrosity. A mansion so large and haphazard many had called for the building to be torn down. Parts of the home had been added at different times, depending on when the previous occupant had been flush with money or between wives; he’d had three. The result was a warren of rooms that led into each other and three floors with more false endings than the maze of the Minotaur.
Tony loved every winding curve. Leo had won the mansion from the man’s son in a card game, but it was Tony who had suggested turning it into Elysium. A place where paradise could be found. At least for a few hours and with enough money. The first floor housed the gaming tables. On the second floor, pleasures were offered which catered to a variety of tastes. The third floor was reserved for Leo and Tony exclusively. Leo lived at Elysium, but Tony only spent some of his nights upstairs, mostly for convenience’s sake.
Taking a turn in the direction of the faro tables, Tony caught the scent of feminine perfume and the rustle of skirts from his left side.
“Lord Welles, how lovely to see you this evening.” Lady Masterson stood in a shimmering gown of sapphire blue, cut so low the tops of her breasts pushed out over the silver thread lining her bodice. The gown would create a stir, as she’d meant it to. Georgina adored thumbing her nose at London society; she had since arriving on England’s shores as a terrified seventeen-year-old girl, destined for marriage to an earl more than twice her age.
“You’re looking stunning,” he said in greet
ing, taking her hand. “As always.”
She settled herself in the chair next to him and winked, gesturing to the dealer.
“Please tell me you didn’t come unescorted.” It was obvious she had, though she’d been expressly asked not to. Although if anything were to happen to Georgina, it wouldn’t be at Elysium. She was probably safer here than anywhere else in England, even her own home.
“I don’t need an escort.” She smiled brightly. “I do as I please.”
“Think of the talk it will cause for the ton to see the merry widow out and about. You’ll be butchered in the press tomorrow.” He inclined his head. “Especially in that dress. Christ, even I can’t help looking.”
“Don’t tease, Welles. The ton doesn’t give a fig about me nor I, them. Did you enjoy my party? I thought it was quite a wonderful way to spend an afternoon, though the cost was staggering. Lord Masterson and his wife were beside themselves at the expense. I heard him muttering about the cost of the champagne and spirits I served.”
Tony was sure Lord Masterson did more than complain of the expense. “You should be careful with him. He means you ill.”
“I reminded him that my money paid for the party, not his or my late husband’s estate, which he now controls. You’d think Harold would find it in his cruel little heart to thank me for not leaving him and his wife with a bankrupt earldom. Did you notice he didn’t even bother to try and dress appropriately?” She gave him a pointed look. “Nor did you. Spoilsport.”
“I had no inclination to dress as a tree or a rock to please you, Georgina. Wherever did you get such an idea?”
“I felt like doing something frivolous.”
She’d done it to tweak Masterson’s nose. “It was a lovely party.”
“Anyway, I shall spend my fortune as I see fit.”
It was her fortune, not Masterson’s, which only added to Masterson’s dislike of his uncle’s young widow. Georgina’s husband, thumbing his nose at tradition, had left a large portion of his fortune to her alone, the bulk of which was the remainder of the dowry she’d provided upon their marriage. Masterson was furious to have only inherited what was the entailed portion of his uncle’s estate. Georgina’s husband had provided his heir a decent annual income as well and the estate was no longer in debt, thanks to Georgina’s money. But Harold was greedy.
“I’ve no intention of staying in London, at any rate.” She studied the cards in her hand. “I may even sell my pretty little house when I leave. Then the ton can all gossip about me to their heart’s content.” The flat nasal sound of her words drew the attention of two gentlemen across the table dressed in evening clothes. The man on the left whispered quietly to his friend as both openly admired Georgina’s neckline.
She stared back and pushed her chest forward. “Yes, I’m that Lady Masterson, gentlemen. The American one.”
Both gentlemen pretended to ignore her little outburst but continued to shoot her furtive looks over their cards.
“So, you do intend to return to New York?” Tony wondered if Leo had been apprised of her plans.
“Yes. I never thought I’d find weather that made me long for Newport in the winter and yet I have.” Her eyes sparkled in the light. “The chill in London is quite noticeable.” She laughed softly at her little joke.
“Why now? You’ve finally managed to throw a proper English garden party.”
Georgina laid down her cards, taking the next trick. “Who is Miss Lainscott?” She gave him a cheeky look.
Tony’s smile froze. “No one of any import.” The lie left him easily. He wasn’t certain he could explain what Miss Lainscott was to himself, let alone anyone else.
“And yet you requested I send her an invitation to my party.”
“My stepmother has taken an interest in her. I assumed she’d want Miss Lainscott to accompany her and Romy. I knew it would slip Amanda’s mind, so I asked for her.”
“Beautiful liar.” Georgina motioned to the dealer for another card.
“I appreciate the compliment.” He pretended to study his hand. Georgina was too perceptive by half. That she’d guessed at his interest in Miss Lainscott put him on guard.
“I thought you preferred blondes.”
“Like yourself?”
“No.” She shook her head as if desolate. “I’m much to well-rounded for you.” She patted a hip. “Some might even call me plump.”
Georgina was curvy and deliciously voluptuous. She was also beautiful, intelligent, and witty, none of which served her well in London.
Tony wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. He looked down at Georgina’s hands. Her fingers were perfectly graceful in her gloves as she wielded her cards. But she didn’t play the piano with incredible abandon.
Nor expose bits of my heart to sunlight.
Tony’s jaw tightened. Because Miss Lainscott had managed to accomplish such a feat as making him feel something, Tony had reacted in a way he wasn’t especially proud of. The gnawing possessiveness he felt toward her finally erupted and had caused him to send Carstairs on a make-believe errand to inspect a hunting lodge Tony pretended he wished to purchase. Removing Carstairs from London temporarily had eased the jealous ache Tony had recently developed over Miss Lainscott and had provided the added benefit of not having to watch her fawn over his friend.
Tony didn’t deal with jealously very well.
The small piece of property was three days’ ride from London. Tony had merely asked Carstairs to give his opinion of the estate and report back on its potential use as a hunting retreat. Carstairs had jumped at the excuse to stalk rabbits and other furry creatures through the woods. He’d never even questioned why Tony wouldn’t be going with him.
Carstairs would return in a day or two, in time for the ball Tony’s stepmother was hosting. Miss Lainscott could continue her pursuit of his friend then.
The scotch turned bitter in his mouth at the thought of Carstairs and Miss Lainscott.
It isn’t as though you could have her.
“What’s wrong, Welles?” Georgina said from beside him. “You’re frowning. A poor hand?”
Jealousy was such an ugly emotion. He didn’t care for it.
“Something like that.”
18
Margaret hopped out of the hack she’d ridden in and stared at the entrance to Elysium. Part of her wanted to run after the driver and beg him to take her back to the relative safety of her aunt’s home. She gave herself a little shake remembering why she was here.
Best to see this through.
A boisterous group of young men sailed past her, drunk and laughing.
Cautiously, she pulled the hood close around her face to hide her features and kept her eyes lowered. Elysium, surprisingly, was located at the very edge of one of the toniest neighborhoods in London. She’d thought the driver hadn’t understood her destination until he’d taken a sharp turn up a winding driveway and through a cluster of trees before halting in front of an immense, red door. A discreet gold-lettered sign to the right of the door proclaimed the establishment was, indeed, Elysium.
A doorman with one arm stood guard before the entrance, watching the laughing group of gentlemen with hooded eyes. He inclined his head and greeted each by name. The giant next to him only grunted, the muscles of his immense arms and shoulders rippling beneath the fabric of his coat. The material parted revealing a pistol tucked into his waistband as he waived the young men forward.
The gentlemen’s laughter quieted as they stepped around the giant and into the club.
Margaret briefly reconsidered the wisdom of what she was about to do. She wanted Welles’s help with Carstairs, but that wasn’t why she’d come. At least it wasn’t the only reason. She pulled the cloak tighter and took a step forward.
After the group of gentlemen passed through the door, Margaret cautiously approached the doorman. He looked frightening with his broad forehead and barrel chest, but he smiled easily, watching her with curiosity.
The giant
glanced her way then dismissed her.
Taking a deep breath, Margaret walked forward, meaning to enter the door. She wasn’t sure what she would do once she was inside. Ask for Welles, she supposed.
“Here now. What’s this?” The man with one arm stopped her with a frown. “You can’t go in this way, miss. Surely you were told?”
Margaret’s cheeks puffed. “Why ever not? You allowed those gentlemen before me to do so.”
“They’re members. Are you a member?” He gave her a skeptical look. “I thought not. I’ve never seen you before.” He peered at her, his eyes narrowing. “You here at someone’s request?”
“A…request?” She supposed she was, in a manner of speaking. Her presence had been requested. “Yes, I am.”
“Then you should know to go around back.” He jerked his thumb. “They’ll check to see if your name is on the list. If not, then you can catch a hack.”
“But—”
The giant rolled his eyes and took her arm, dragging her along with him before she could object.
Margaret had to run on her tiptoes to avoid being dragged, all while struggling to keep the cloak closed. Torches lit a gravel path winding around the side of the building to another door, this one not nearly as grand as in front; this door, too, was painted red.
Two ladies stood awaiting entrance while another man, equally as large as the one in front, checked a ledger. The women turned at her approach, their faces each covered with an ornate silk mask sufficiently hiding their identities. The sound of their laughter reached Margaret’s ears as they were waved inside.
The giant moved her forward to stand before the door.
“Who are you here for?” The man looked her over with little interest.
The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 1) Page 12