An Infamous Betrayal

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An Infamous Betrayal Page 17

by Lynn Messina


  It was, Bea thought, a cryptic thing to say, and she puzzled at its meaning during the rest of the ride to Portman Square. The most obvious explanation was the most likely, which meant that he merely considered himself, at two and thirty, too set in his ways to change. As logical as it was, however, it did not account for the thoughtful, slightly bewildered expression on his face. That look, that confusion, suggested something more intense and more disconcerting than simply the ingrained habits of age. Wondering what he had been thinking of when he said it only bolstered a dream that she already knew to be hopeless, but the idea, once sprouted, immediately took root.

  Annoyed with herself and with him, she lapsed into silence and bid him an absentminded goodbye when Jenkins stopped the coach on the corner of her street.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  If Beatrice had realized that the Red Corner House’s unsavory reputation meant the gaming hell was brimming with tap-hackled lords and long-limbed incognitas, she would have tried harder to resist Lady Abercrombie’s efforts to improve her appearance. As it was, she’d voiced only a single protest.

  “Is this really necessary?” she’d asked as the countess held up a blue silk dress edged in lace and beautifully tailored. It was far more delicate than anything she’d ever worn, and she began to worry about the damage she might do to it. She wasn’t particularly clumsy or given to spills, but the shade of cerulean was so beautiful, so pure and untainted by green, it almost demanded protection.

  “I have a reputation for fastidiousness and perfection, which you know, as you’ve sat in my drawing room and admired its stylish precision,” Lady Abercrombie had replied, referring to the Oriental fantasia of lotus-shaped chandeliers, gilded serpents and bamboo stalks where she accepted visitors. “I will not risk it by appearing in the company of a young lady dressed as an impoverished governess whose employer let her go because she couldn’t conjugate French verbs properly. Standards, Miss Hyde-Clare! I have standards, and if you are to be graced with my presence, then you must aspire to meet them too. I cannot be the only one propping up all of Western civilization. Now change into this dress and allow Marie to do your hair, and then we will discuss how to secure the information you seek from Mowbray. I trust it goes without saying that you are free to retain your look of studious penury, as I have nothing but respect for the principles of other people, even the ones with which I disagree, but I will of course be forced to decline your invitation to join you at the Red Corner House.”

  Bea had been unwilling to argue, as submitting to her ladyship’s maid’s ministrations had been the only condition the countess had set for her participation. Indeed, she had agreed to accompany her with disconcerting speed after ascertaining that Lord Mowbray was not on Bea’s list.

  “My list?” Bea had asked in confusion.

  “Your list of gentlemen suitors,” the widow had explained. “For the new love affair that will help you forget your feelings for the duke. Is Mowbray on your list?”

  That the beautiful widow had intended to compile such a list herself had completely slipped Bea’s mind, and she had rushed to assure the other woman that she didn’t have a list at all. She’d intended to add that she didn’t think it was necessary for anyone to compile lists, but her ladyship spoke before she had the chance.

  “Good,” Lady Abercrombie had said, nodding with approval. “I do not mean to discourage initiative and you should have some say as it’s ultimately your future, but competing lists could get quite complicated. Do change and we shall leave as soon as Marie finishes making you presentable.”

  Now, as Bea stood in the Red Corner House’s hazard room next to a jug-bitten gamester who peered down at her décolletage from his superior height without embarrassment or self-consciousness, she understood the advantage of looking unpresentable and longed for her outmoded green gown, with its spinsterish high collar.

  If only she had a fichu or a chemisette or even a small tablecloth that she could fold up and insert over her bosom.

  Resigned, she turned her shoulders slightly to remove her chest from the leering gambler’s line of sight. This maneuver did little to improve her situation, for now her revealing neckline was thrust under the nose of a red-faced gentleman who smiled with lascivious delight and winked.

  Behind her, a fashionable impure in a pistache gown cut so low it made Bea’s dress seem modest in comparison, laughed huskily and drove her elbow into Bea’s back. Bea tried to take a step forward to provide the woman with additional space to ply her wares, but there was nowhere to move. Although the room itself was of a reasonable size to house a large hazard table, the swelling group of hopefuls eagerly calling out bets had quickly made it feel cramped.

  Bea found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

  “Perhaps we should approach him now,” Bea said, after the room erupted in disappointed jeers as the caster rolled the main. Previously, when she’d suggested they have their consultation with Mowbray, Lady Abercrombie had objected on the grounds that no young man would stop his play whilst winning. Now he had lost three bets in a row, which marked the end of his streak.

  Her ladyship turned around and said, “Mowbray is next as caster. We will request a conference with him after he rolls.”

  “Assuming he’s losing then,” Bea said.

  “You mustn’t despair, my dear,” the widow said, smiling. “Ultimately, they all lose. That’s why gambling is so deliciously pointless.”

  Pointless indeed, Bea thought as Mowbray specified the main and tossed the dice onto the table. Having recently learned vingt-et-un from her cousin Russell, she understood the pleasures of mastering a game of skill. Keeping track of which cards had been played and calculating their likelihood of appearing was an enjoyable challenge and one that required a good memory. Hazard demanded nothing at all of its players, not even a strong throwing arm, for even a paltry toss resulted in an outcome. Every aspect of the game was left entirely to chance, and Bea could not understand the appeal of playing something at which you had no hope of improving.

  What was the point of doing anything if not to get better at it over time?

  If only Mowbray had devoted himself to losing his fortune at whist or another card game that needed concentration and strategy, then she could respect the endeavor and wait patiently while the game played out.

  “Ah, there you are,” a voice said.

  Taken aback, Bea turned to find herself looking into the warm, amused gaze of Viscount Nuneaton. It was clear from his expression that he was not at all surprised to find her in the unsavory gambling house. “What are you doing here?” she asked, too astonished to pose the question politely.

  “I requested his company,” Lady Abercrombie said. “Obviously, a pair of ladies could not come to a den of iniquity such as this without an escort. Good evening, my lord, and thank you for joining us.”

  Bea darted him a smile that she hoped was graciously welcoming, then leaned close to the countess’s ear. “Why would you do that?”

  “He’s number six on my list,” she explained softly before raising her voice to address the newcomer. “You have arrived at precisely the right moment, as my protégé is growing tired of hazard. Perhaps you could return her to the other room for another game or perhaps to get a little something to eat. I believe the sideboard has a nice assortment of meats and cheeses.”

  Ah, so it was the opportunity to promote the match that had led the widow to agree so quickly to her request, Bea thought wryly. She’d naïvely assumed the other woman said yes out of a sense of adventure.

  “My pleasure,” Nuneaton said with a slight bow. “Miss Hyde-Clare, I hope you will allow me the honor?”

  Bea hesitated before responding, although it was not because she was surprised to discover Lady Abercrombie’s list was an actual thing and not merely a diversion to alleviate her heartbreak. No, the pause was due to the fact that he was on Kesgrave’s list. She had expressly promised not to visit the Red Corner House in the viscount’s company.
<
br />   And she hadn’t, she reminded herself.

  Keeping her word, she had requested the escort of the one person about whom she had made no promise, intentionally and subtly slipping that bond when it had been sought.

  No vow had been broken. Indisputably, the duke would allow the truth of that statement and agree the distinction this time was sharp and clear, not merely a semantical discrepancy.

  “Yes, of course,” she said agreeably. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to leave this room, which is far too crowded for my comfort.”

  The gaming hell’s main hall was far more hospitable, with navy blue curtains trimmed in gold, Greek statuary and a large chandelier swathed in ormolu wreaths of oak leaves and glittering crystals. Along the far wall, between a pair of windows, was a table covered with serving platters, and Nuneaton directed her there as soon as they entered the room.

  “I must warn you that Lady Abercrombie’s estimation of the repast provided was wildly optimistic,” he said as they threaded their way through the crowd, which was thinner and more sedate than in the hazard room. “As you can see for yourself, it’s an indifferent assortment of boiled items such as meats, vegetables and puddings. As you are in my care for the moment, I would suggest you give it a wide berth unless you are particularly hungry. Culinary excellence is not an area in which the Red Corner excels, as its patrons come here to lose their money, not dine at leisure. The blue ruin on offer is a much higher quality, but I would advise you to give that a miss as well.”

  Unable to distinguish one joint of gray meat from the other joints of gray meat, Bea quickly assured him she was far from hungry, which was true. She had partaken of dinner with her relatives before leaving to spend the evening in Lady Abercrombie’s company. Although her aunt had been quite suspicious of the invitation, which said little more than the countess longed for the youthful presence of her protégé, she could say nothing in protest. The family had no plans other than to pass a few hours reading or playing cards, and Bea’s so-called youthful presence was not required for either activity.

  “Come, then,” Nuneaton said, “let us find a quiet corner to talk while we wait for Lady Abercrombie to emerge and you can tell me why we are here in this unusual spot. Her ladyship’s message said only that you are on a mission. I find the idea of a young lady with a mission to be a very appealing notion. Speaking of appealing, I’m compelled to observe that you look very well tonight. Either that shade of blue or having a mission is remarkably becoming on you.”

  Although she couldn’t resist a smile, Bea looked at his handsome face—brown hair closely cropped, brown eyes glittering with warmth, the cheeks rounded and the bottom lip full—and tried to assume an austere expression. “We have already had this conversation, my lord. If we are to be acquaintances, then you must dispense with the flattery. Spanish coin is strictly forbidden.”

  Nuneaton indicated a chair for Bea and waited until she was seated before sitting down himself. “The last time it was friends, Miss Hyde-Clare. You said if we are to be friends, then I must refrain from flattery.”

  Bea recalled the occasion to which he referred and knew that she had indeed suggested the more familiar connection. She had altered it because acquaintance was the word she had thought in the presence of the duke and to amend it now felt oddly dishonest.

  “Although the distinction might seem minor, it’s of particular importance to me,” he continued, “as I know you would never share the secrets of your Lakeview Hall investigation with a mere acquaintance. But as a friend, I believe there is cause to have hope.”

  The eagerness on his face delighted Bea as did the simple honesty with which he spoke. “Aha!” she said with a wide grin.

  Nuneaton smiled back, and Bea marveled that a man who had appeared bored by everything in the Lake District could be so engaging now. She genuinely liked him and thought she would enjoy his friendship if it was truly on offer.

  Just then Kesgrave hailed the viscount from several steps away, and Bea started guiltily. She hadn’t done anything untoward, of course. Her actions since leaving his coach that afternoon had complied strictly and wholly with every one of his dictates.

  And yet her heart pounded fitfully as she considered how damning the situation looked.

  It was patently unfair!

  “Good evening, Nuneaton,” Kesgrave said, his tone everything amiable and kind as he greeted his friend, who stood to receive him. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were attending the opera with your uncle.”

  “I am. Indeed, I will be heading there soon,” Nuneaton said. “But first I had to discharge a favor for a lady.”

  “Did you?” he asked softly and darted a fleeting look at Bea. It was only a glance, a glimpse and then gone, but it burned hot and angry. And yet somehow his voice remained cordial. “Your consideration is inspiring.”

  Nuneaton rushed to assure him his consideration was nothing of the sort, and Bea opened her mouth to insist it was not she for whom the viscount was showing consideration. Before she could speak, however, Lady Abercrombie, who had finally emerged from the hazard room with Mowbray in tow, called out a greeting to Kesgrave. “Now this is most unexpected. I would not have thought the Red Corner House would be the sort of establishment you would frequent. What about you, Miss Hyde-Clare? Would you have expected to see the duke here?” she asked, looking at her protégé with marked disappointment.

  Her ladyship’s expression confounded Bea but only for a moment. Then she realized that the countess thought that she had invited the duke there in some desperate bid to gain his attention that would only prolong her suffering.

  “No!” she said, denying the unspoken charge with more vigor than the spoken one required. She took a deep breath and calmly explained that she had not expected Kesgrave. “I’m as surprised to see him as you are. Just as I was surprised to see Lord Nuneaton. The only person here whom I expected to see this evening is you.”

  “And Mowbray,” Lady Abercrombie reminded Bea as she gestured to the young, disheveled man standing beside her. He was slim, of ordinary height, with heavy-lidded blue eyes clouded by drink and loss. “I have persuaded him to indulge a hand of cribbage with me by assuring him I’m not very good. Come, Miss Hyde-Clare, I’ve arranged a room so that we may play in private. Nuneaton, you may join us. Kesgrave, it was a pleasure as always. I will see you again soon, I’m sure.”

  Although it was a clear dismissal, the duke refused to take it as such and instead expressed concern for Nuneaton, whose uncle was waiting for him in Covent Garden. “You mustn’t tarry as the opening curtain waits for no man. I shall accompany the ladies in cribbage.”

  Lady Abercrombie, whose confusion at this maneuver was apparent to anyone who looked at her, thanked Kesgrave for his generous offer but insisted it was not necessary. “The overture is deadly dull and Nuneaton won’t mind missing it. He will accompany us.”

  “The overture to The Marriage of Figaro is only six and a half minutes long,” Kesgrave pointed out, “and comprises some of the best music in the opera. Nuneaton would be loath to miss it. He will go. I will stay.”

  Bea could not say what she felt watching Lady Abercrombie wrangle with Kesgrave over who would join them in conference with Mowbray. She knew it was unkind to be amused by the situation, for her ladyship had generously lent her support without knowing anything more than the most general details of the excursion, and yet the tussle was comical. Nuneaton, who seemed content to remain above the fray, even though it was the quality of his theater experience that was under increasingly passionate discussion, plainly felt the same way, for he caught her eye and smiled.

  “Well, this is dashed odd fish,” said Mowbray with sudden and surprising coherence. “Why don’t you both stay and I’ll go. Cribbage don’t appeal to me anyway. It hurts my head. I like a game with an element of je ne sais quoi. Throwing dice. Spinning wheels. Games that keep you guessing like EO.”

  Having watched the young man guess erratically while p
laying hazard, Bea rather thought that wild conjecture would be his undoing. Nevertheless, she said, “An excellent suggestion, my lord. Let’s play EO. First, however, a brief conversation. I believe Lady Abercrombie has arranged a quiet room for us to talk, yes? Truly, it won’t take a minute. Perhaps you would like another glass of port? I’m sure Nuneaton would be happy to fetch it for you.”

  “I would?” his lordship asked with a wry expression before agreeing. “But I have a feeling I’m about to miss out on a story as interesting as the one at Lakeview Hall. Be warned, Miss Hyde-Clare, I will redouble my efforts to discover every grisly detail.”

  At this startling admission, Lady Abercrombie looked from Nuneaton to Beatrice to Kesgrave and then back to Nuneaton again. “Lakeview Hall? What happened at Lakeview Hall?”

  The viscount revealed his ignorance by shrugging his shoulders and said, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out. These two have a secret and neither will reveal it. I do hope you will tell me if you have more luck eliciting information from either of them than I.”

  As he walked away, the countess turned to Bea with narrowed eyes and accused her of grossly violating the code of ethics that governed the protégé relationship. “You are supposed to disclose all relevant information so that I may decide the best path forward with my mentorship. I could choose to hold this against you and withdraw my support, but I’m not given to pettiness and spite. Rather, I will graciously forgive you and adjust my plans accordingly. You may express your gratitude now.”

  Although Bea wasn’t sure she was grateful for her ladyship’s generosity, she realized now was not the time to debate the matter. “Thank you.”

  Lady Abercrombie’s nod exemplified noblesse oblige so perfectly Bea thought the duke could take lessons. “Of course,” she said.

  Mowbray, who seemed just drunk enough to be thoroughly baffled by the proceedings, muttered about dashed odd fish again before politely excusing himself from the company. The countess, however, refused to let him slide off the hook and threaded her arm through his so forcefully it caused him to stumble. “Do tread carefully, my lord. The floor is uneven and I would hate for you to trip. Let’s find that quiet room so that you may sit down and enjoy your port.”

 

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