The Dark Earl

by Virginia Henley

  “Yes—everyone remarks how much I take after my mother.”

  “Flattery will get you everything.” She raised her voice. “James, where the devil are you? Surely you know it is déclassé to keep ladies waiting?”

  Her son arrived, out of breath from rushing. “Sorry!” He almost laughed out loud when he saw Harry and Rachel, but his sister lifted her veil and gave him such a militant look, he sobered immediately.

  When the conspirators climbed into the Montagu carriage, they found John Montagu waiting for them. “I gave Angus directions to Hazard House and bribed him with a guinea to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Ye witless sod! I already gave him five quid,” Will declared.

  Harry almost choked with laughter. “Speaking of money”—she looked expectantly at Will—“Rachel and I don’t have much.”

  “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll bankroll both of you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Never again will I allow anyone to insinuate the Scots are tighter than bark on a tree.” Harry felt Rachel kick her for the blunt insinuation, and it sent her off into another peal of giddy laughter.

  The carriage hadn’t gone too far before it pulled up in front of a tall house on Half Moon Street. When Will helped Harry to alight, she stared up at the dark facade, marveling that it had no distinguishing features that made it stand out from its neighbors in the row. It looks like a respectable home, not a gaming hell.

  At the front door, a porter held out his hand and when Will put something into it, they were welcomed with a bow. The party ascended to the second floor, which consisted of four brilliantly lit gaming rooms. The tall windows were covered by heavy drapes that prevented the lights from spilling out into the street.

  The first room was for ombre and faro card games, the second for baccarat and chemin de fer. A third room held small dice tables to accommodate the hazard players. The fourth had a roulette wheel at one end and a long dice table at the other.

  “We are not the only females,” Harry noted, as the group toured the rooms.

  “No, but we are likely the only ladies,” Rachel whispered.

  Most of the males were unaccompanied, but it was obvious that the few females who were escorted by gentlemen were mistresses rather than wives.

  “Oh, I want to play roulette. How exciting!”

  Will Montagu bought a quantity of chips and handed some of them to Harry and Rachel. Harry placed her bet immediately, but Rachel waited for Will to make his choice before following his lead. Young James and John each placed their bets and the croupier spun the wheel, and then spun the ball in the opposite direction. After it slowed, the ball dropped into the pocket of 6 red.

  “I won!” Harry was elated.

  All the men had chosen black as they usually did, and placed their bets on uneven numbers. “Whatever made you choose six red?” Will asked.

  “I was born on the sixth and red is the ancestral Abercorn color, of course.”

  He shook his head. “That would only make sense to a female.”

  “Don’t be too superior—you lost!” Harry continued to bet on red, while the men stuck to black. Rachel changed her course, deciding to follow her niece’s example rather than Will’s. When James’s and John’s luck did not change, they wandered off to one of the cardrooms.

  Harry had beginner’s luck and her pile of counters kept growing. Finally, Will steered them over to the dice table. “Would you like to have a go at shooting dice?”

  “I’d love to, but the table is divided into three and I’m not sure how to bet.”

  “Well, I’ll place the wagers and you can throw for me. Remember to use only one hand and the dice must hit the wall at the opposite end of the table.” Will handed her the dice and she blew on them before shooting them down the table.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Will asked.

  “In Ireland. It’s our stableboys’ favorite pastime.”

  “I’d like to look around and observe the various card games. I’m here to do research, not to actually gamble,” Rachel reminded Harry.

  “Good idea. Will must play his favorite card game and we’ll watch.” She shook her head in wonder as they walked. “Fortunes must be won and lost in these rooms.”

  He pointed to a staircase at the end of the room. “Actually, highstake games are held up there in a private room.”

  “Can we go and see?”

  Will shook his head. “I’m afraid not. They only take place on Friday night. Besides, the owner of Hazard House is extremely selective in the men he allows upstairs. Only inveterate gamers are invited. ’Tis rumored they can use a private entrance at the back if they don’t want their identities known.”

  Harry was fascinated. “Have you ever been up there? Do you know the owner?”

  “No, I’ve never been invited. The man has a rather black reputation. I’ve seen his ravishing female partner—she runs the place. Her fatal beauty lures men to wager deep. ’Tis said that if a man gets in over his head, she gifts him with a silver bullet. The tales are legendary . . . though I don’t know how much truth they contain. I don’t come here often—I’m just an occasional punter.” He sat down at the faro table and the ladies hovered to observe the play.

  “Rachel, when you write the part of your story where the two older men gamble, the ravishing assistant must serve the loser a silver bullet on a tray. Then, rather than kill himself, he offers the winner his daughter in marriage. You must have it take place in a private room where they’ve insisted on concealing their identities. And you must portray the sinister owner of the gaming hell as the Knave of Clubs because of his black reputation.”

  “Harry, they were real historical people,” Rachel pointed out. “They must have been extremely wicked to settle their bet by marrying their offspring.”

  As they went to another cardroom to look for James and John, Harry observed the gamblers closely. There was a great deal of laughter, but she noticed that both the men and women drank almost continuously, and though the mood seemed frivolous and merry, it was a facade. Permeating the pretense of gaiety was an atmosphere of cynicism tinged with desperation.

  James looked up at his sister. “My pockets are to let. John’s in queer street too.”

  “Well, to be truthful, Rachel and I have seen enough. Let’s go and find Will.”

  The young men looked extremely relieved.

  On the way home, Harry thanked the Montagu brothers sincerely. “It was a great adventure. One I shall remember always. You were very generous to indulge us, Will. I’m sorry we dragged you away at such an early hour.”

  “It was my pleasure, ladies,” he said with a wink. “I was happy to disabuse you of the notion that we Scots are tighter than bark on a tree. As to the early hour, it gives me time to drop in at White’s.”

  “Can I come too?” James asked eagerly. “After we take my sister home, of course.”

  “Of course. Midnight is far too early for sixteen-year-old reprobates to retire.”

  The trio of males departed the carriage outside number 11 St. James’s Street and William dismissed their driver. When they entered White’s, the porter bade Montagu a good evening and, assuming the pair of younger men were Montagu’s guests, did not ask for proof of membership.

  “Montagu, good to see you.” D’Arcy Lambton greeted his friend warmly, and then exchanged a jest with young James Hamilton about the gunpowder.

  James grinned. “John and I are going to the smoking room—our pockets are to let.”

  “Don’t blow yourselves up,” D’Arcy advised. He turned to Montagu. “The whiskey is on me. How about a game of écarté?”

  They sat down at a small gaming table for two and Will dealt the cards. “What’s this about gunpowder?”

  “I bought photographic equipment, and gunpowder is required to provide a flash. I was invited to dinner at the Hamiltons’ last night, and took some photographs.”

  “Getting your feet under Lady Harriet’s table, I take it.”


  “I am. I’ve waited a year for Harry to make her debut.”

  Will looked amused. “She is a high-spirited lass, and daring beyond belief.”

  “What’s she been up to?”

  “Talked her brother into taking her to Hazard House tonight. I went along to make sure she and Lady Rachel didn’t get into trouble.”

  D’Arcy gnawed on his lip for a moment, then grinned. “That’s part of her attraction. She’ll make me a very amusing wife.”

  “So you intend to offer for her?”

  “Absolutely.” He glanced across at Montagu. “What the devil’s so funny?”

  “What makes you think Harry will say yes?”

  “Because she’ll become the Countess of Durham and live in a castle.”

  “She has more than one suitor, y’know. I could make her the Countess of Dalkeith and the future Duchess of Buccleuch, and then there’s Thomas Anson, to name two.”

  “With Lichfield for a father, Anson doesn’t stand a chance. He has no wealth and dabbles in business, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s a rotten thing to say. Thomas is our friend.”

  “Come on, Montagu. It’s not just his father. There’s the gossip about his mother.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a muckraker. You’re also very cocksure, Lambton. Would you care to make a wager about these nuptials? Say a hundred guineas?”

  “Let’s make it two hundred!” Drink had made D’Arcy reckless. He summoned one of White’s attendants. “Fetch the betting book.”

  D’Arcy decided to walk home, since White’s wasn’t far from Carlton House Terrace. He questioned the wisdom of what he and Montagu had done. It wasn’t the wager that worried him, and certainly not the money involved. It was the fact that it was recorded in White’s betting book for the entire world to see. It would be more than humiliating if Harry could not be persuaded to become his countess.

  D’Arcy dismissed his doubts, but when he retired, he found that sleep eluded him.

  It’s true that Montagu will be a duke someday, but Harry seems ambivalent toward him. He hasn’t been invited to dine at Hampden House either, as I have. My family’s longtime connection with Harry’s gives me a great advantage over Montagu. My grandfather Earl Grey was an intimate friend of theirs. The Duchess of Abercorn makes no secret about wanting me for her son-in-law.

  Reluctantly his thoughts turned to Thomas Anson. He poses far more of a threat than Will Montagu. I don’t understand why Harry is attracted to him when he never hides his disapproval of her. Perhaps baiting him is just an amusing game to her. He smiled in the dark. What you learned tonight is ammunition to win the battle. Anson has such abhorrence toward gambling it would kill his attraction for her if he found out where she spent the evening.

  At nine o’clock the next morning, D’Arcy made his way to Buckingham Palace Road and planted himself outside the railway station. The best part of an hour went by before he spotted Thomas coming south. He walked briskly toward him, and pretended to see Anson at the last moment. “Hello, old man, where are you off to?”

  “I’m meeting Lady Harriet at the train station. We’re visiting the Crystal Palace today. Is that where you’re going, D’Arcy?”

  “No, no, nothing so exciting. I’m off to the palace on a matter regarding Durham.”

  “Your responsibilities to your county are no small matter. It’s a good thing you have influential connections at the palace.”

  “I’m amazed Lady Harriet has the stamina to go traipsing about the Crystal Palace when she was out gambling till late in the night.”

  Anson’s black brows drew together. “Gambling?”

  D’Arcy rubbed his nose. “Ah, damnation, I’ve let the cat out of the bag. Don’t breathe a word, but I ran into Montagu around two this morning at White’s. . . . Said he’d escorted Harry to that gaming hell Hazard House.”

  Harriet Hamilton hummed a merry tune as she left the Palace Gardens and strolled past the Royal Mews on her way to the train station. She lifted her face to the warm sun, happy that she was alive on this glorious summer morning. I’m glad I left my parasol at home. I certainly won’t need it inside the Crystal Palace.

  She had chosen a new dress of mauve silk embroidered with purple violets for her outing with Thomas. Anticipating the heat of the crowds both on the train and inside the glass building, she had left off her cloak and, in place of a hat, had pinned back her dark curls with silk violets.

  Harry glanced up and down Buckingham Palace Road in case her escort was waiting for her outside the building. We agreed to meet at the train station, so I assume he’ll be inside. She smiled at the people who were entering the station beside her, some of them with children who seemed just as excited as she was today.

  She stopped and allowed her gaze to travel about the crowds, searching for Thomas.

  She spotted him at the far end. His tall figure and head of thick, curly black hair were easy to pick out of the throng. She lifted her arm and waved gaily, and her heart did a little jig of happiness as he recognized her and began to stride toward her.

  She noticed that he wasn’t smiling. In fact, his features were hard, his expression grim. When he drew close, she realized that he was angry.

  As he reached out powerful hands and grabbed her shoulders, Harry knew she was mistaken. He wasn’t angry. He was consumed by fury.

  “Did you go to a gaming hell last night?” he demanded. His black eyes burned into her. “Answer me, damn you!” He shook her. “Did you go to Hazard House?”

  “Take your hands from me, Lord Anson!” she spit.

  He removed his hands from her shoulders, but his expression was still threatening.

  She raised her chin. “Yes, I did, and I shall go again anytime I please!” Her anger was so hot she couldn’t control it, and she raised her hand to slap his face. She felt him grab her fingers before they made contact. Her sleeve fell back and revealed her secret.

  Anson looked down in horror. “What the hellfire is that, mistress?”

  “It’s a bloody tattoo—what do you think it is?” she cried defiantly.

  “You defiled your body with a tattoo?” he ground out in disbelief.

  “Not just a tattoo—but a snake! It goes all the way around my wrist—see?” Harry waved her arm in front of his nose.

  “Why can’t you act like a lady? You deliberately flaunt yourself so you’ll be the center of attention.”

  “It’s the perfect accessory for frequenting a gaming hell! Wouldn’t you agree?”

  People around them had stopped to stare, and they were quickly attracting a crowd.

  He took a firm grip on her hand. “Swear to me you will never go to Hazard House again. I forbid it!”

  “Forbid? Forbid?” She began to laugh, but there was no mirth in it. She snatched her fingers from his. “Don’t raise that all-powerful hand to me, Anson, or use that arrogant, dominant tone as if you were my lord and master. You will never own one small part of me.” She drew herself up to her full height. “Good-bye . . . and good riddance!”

  Chapter Seven

  That was disastrous. I handled it so badly. Thomas Anson was furious with himself for alienating Lady Harriet. I know damn well she has a mind of her own. I should have known she would bolt the minute I tried to control her.

  Thomas headed toward Whitehall. He was the member for Lichfield and had constituency matters to attend to before Parliament closed next month. D’Arcy Lambton will step into my shoes the minute he knows there’s trouble between Harry and me. Suddenly Thomas had a revelation. D’Arcy already knows! We didn’t meet by accident today. It was a deliberate plan. He met me for the sole purpose of telling me that Harry had visited a gaming hell last night. He knew it would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

  When Thomas arrived in Whitehall, he picked up the papers he needed. Then he went into the pub where the members gathered for lunch. Will Montagu frequented the place almost daily and today was no exception. “Hello, Wil
l. Mind if I join you?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Will hailed a waiter.

  “I ran into D’Arcy this morning. He couldn’t wait to tell me that you took Lady Harriet to Hazard House last night.”

  “Damnation, I knew I shouldn’t have told him. Harriet and Rachel were just having a lark and I went along to make sure they were safe.” Will hesitated. “Look, I know you think D’Arcy is your friend, but he’ll thwart you from wooing Harry any way he can. He is determined to make her his wife.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “He wagered me two hundred guineas that she would become the Countess of Durham. It’s in White’s betting book.”

  Thomas masked his anger. If D’Arcy truly cared for Harry, he would never besmirch her by making wagers about her. Putting her name in White’s betting book was a swinish thing to do. A fierce surge of protectiveness for Harry rose up in him. He wanted to shield her from harm, guard her from being hurt. He cursed his own stupidity for alienating her. How could he protect her when she wasn’t even talking to him?

  Will changed the subject and they discussed things they must do before Parliament closed for the month of August. Montagu represented the borough of Midlothian, and Thomas knew he worked hard for his Scottish constituents.

  Thomas was in a somber mood when he arrived home. He’d had high expectations for his visit to the Crystal Palace with Harry. Instead, his morning had turned into a disaster.

  He picked up his post from the hall table and opened what looked like an invitation. It was from Lord John Russell and his wife, Fanny. They were hosting a surprise birthday party at Holland House for his sister Louisa, Duchess of Abercorn.

  “They have no idea that Harry and I are now estranged.” He went to the library intending to politely decline. That’s the coward’s way out. If you want her, have the courage to fight for her. D’Arcy has taken the attitude that all’s fair in love and war, so fight fire with fire, and beat him at his own game. His mood lightened considerably.