Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  After eight years of working at The Jack of Spades, she had managed to save a good deal of money, most of it from tips, while she used her earnings to build her wardrobe, making sure she had dinner gowns, morning dresses, a riding habit (although she hadn’t ridden in several years), and day gowns for life in London or in the country. More importantly, she had spent money to furnish and decorate her three rooms into an elegant parlor, a bedchamber that was feminine but not frilly, and a bath and dressing room. Although she rarely had callers, she had grown up in a house that had many, and she looked forward to a day when she would be the mistress of a house of her own. Until then, these three little rooms were her world.

  Now, she found herself wondering just how long these rooms would continue to be her world.

  Chapter 15

  Mr. McElliott Pays a Call on Miss Wethersby

  Garrett dipped a quill into the ink pot and pondered how to finish his missive to Joshua. He had left White’s not more than an hour before, a bit surprised at finding the Earl of Tor­rington just exactly where Joshua said he would be. The man’s habits were so predictable they might be used against him, but they had certainly helped Garrett get a start in his search for information. The earl was a fount of information, but what intrigued Garrett most about Lord Torrington’s comments had more to do with what he hadn’t said. His comment about Lady Charlotte’s relationship to him was a bit of a surprise, to be sure, but his insistence there be an heir in short order implied something else. The Duke of Chichester was only twenty-five; why was it so imperative Joshua father a child as soon as pos­sible? To secure the succession, certainly. But why so quickly? Some dukes didn’t marry until their thirties and managed to populate their nurseries with plenty of time to spare.

  And why did Grandby seem especially pleased Lady Char­lotte was already at Wisborough Oaks? Other than a maid, she had no traveling companion or relative with her. Charlotte was still of an age (he guessed) where such conventions were nec­essary. She was the daughter of an earl and should certainly follow them. Since the deaths of the duke and his family, it was widely known Wisborough Oaks was inhabited by single men, both of whom had reputations in town for being rakes.

  At least, they’d had those reputations prior to the fire. Now neither one of them had done much to draw attention to them­selves. Despite spending more time in London than Joshua, Garrett had limited his activities to visiting a few card rooms and making an occasional visit to an unattached faro dealer who lived at The Jack of Spades. Although they had never spoken of marriage, he thought he might propose should the woman still be biddable in a few months’ time.

  She was certainly beddable.

  Garrett shifted a bit in the desk chair, suddenly con­scious of his tightening loins. The mere thought of Jane always seemed to elicit such a response; he wondered if she would allow him a visit this very evening. If she was working tonight, she would be on the main floor of the gaming hell. If not, she would be in her rooms on the second floor. He would have to speak with the owner in order to gain admittance to that part of the building.

  Suddenly impatient, he signed his name to the letter and proceeded to fold it into a neat square. Although it would be a few more minutes before the courier he had sent for would arrive, he could entrust the butler to give it to the man. And given the fair weather, the courier could be on his way south before midnight and deliver the letter to Wisborough Oaks before daybreak.

  As Garrett gave the missive to the butler with his instruc­tions and several coins, he looked out the front vestibule win­dow to find his carriage still parked at the curb. “You know me too well,” he commented to Twickham, realizing the butler knew he would be leaving the terrace again. “I will probably not return before morning,” he said, more to himself than to the servant.

  The tall butler nodded. “Very good, Mr. McElliott. Should I have Cook see to a breakfast in the morning?”

  Garrett considered where he would need to go the follow­ing day. At least one bank, perhaps several, a solicitor or two. And to Lady’s Charlotte house, wherever that might be. “That would be capital, Twickham. Good night,” he said with a nod as he donned the top hat the butler gave him and threw his cape coat around his shoulders.

  As Garrett made his way out to the carriage, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of seeing Jane again, he realized he didn’t have a gift for her. At least some shops would still be open, he considered, but getting flowers this late at night might prove difficult. He pulled out his gold watch, the chain clinking softly in the darkness. Nine-forty-five, he thought. His mother’s wedding ring, its only fob, was threaded on the chain, the gold band mounted with a single large sap­phire and two smaller ones on either side. Once he was in the carriage, he removed the ring from the chain and regarded it in the dim light from the gas lamps lining the road.

  Having given the driver the address for The Jack of Spades and instructions to stop at a confectioner’s in Oxford Street, he revisited his earlier thought about Lady Charlotte. He won­dered about her mother; the woman had apparently found her husband shortly after his accident. Where was she now? She must know something about the betrothal; perhaps she knew where documentation could be found. Certainly another copy of the arrangements had been made and kept for safekeeping. One never knew when an accidental fire or flood could wipe out important papers.

  The carriage was making the turn onto Oxford Street when Garrett’s thoughts turned again to the original fire at Wisborough Oaks. If the fire hadn’t been accidental, were all the members of the Wainwright family meant to die in that fire? Or was someone supposed to live? And if they all died, who besides the Crown would benefit from their deaths?

  The carriage suddenly stopped, and Garrett looked out to see a candy shop directly across the street. Opening the door before his driver could get down from his seat, Garrett dashed across the cobblestones. Sugared plums, he thought as he made his way into the confectioner’s shop. He could lick the sugar from Jane’s lips as she ate the sweet and spicy treats. His cock hardened at the thought, and he was thankful the night was cool enough to require a cape coat that hid his arousal.

  The proprietor filled his order promptly, assuring him the candies were freshly made and with the highest quality fruit and coriander. Garrett pulled a crown from the purse Joshua had given him and felt a bit of pride when the shop owner’s eyes widened. He took the box from the man, apologizing for his haste and left the shop before the man could make change. Not even two minutes had passed from the time he had left the carriage to when he returned. The driver urged the horses forward and they were off for the turn onto Kingly Street. Gar­rett’s thoughts returned to their earlier focal point—Jane.

  So deep was Garrett in his reverie, he didn’t notice the car­riage coming to a stop in front of the gaming hell. In fact, a groom had to open the door and set down the steps before Garrett realized they had arrived at The Jack of Spades. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he exited the carriage and turned toward the building. “One moment,” he said to the groom, wanting to ensure Jane wasn’t working and of a mind to receive him. Ten o’ clock, he thought, surprised at how quickly the evening had passed. He entered the hell and was greeted by the butler, a portly man dressed in black and white who immediately rec­ognized him.

  “Good evening, Mr. McElliott. May I take your coat and hat?” Parkham wondered when Garrett didn’t immediately offer them.

  “That depends. Is Miss Wethersby working this evening?”

  The butler did his best not to react, but Garrett caught the slight quirk at the edge of Parkham’s mouth. “She is no longer, sir.”

  My lucky charm, Garrett thought happily. “Then, is Mr. O’Laughlin available? I wish to speak with him if I might.”

  Parkham obviously wasn’t expecting the request, but he nodded. “I will take you to his office,” he offered, turning and leading the way through the somewhat crowded gaming floor and to a hallway at the back. Although a few gamblers called out gr
eetings to Garrett, he acknowledged them with only a nod as he continued to follow the butler. On his way past one faro table, though, he couldn’t help but notice a very young woman acting as banker. She was comely, with sable hair and a pale face, and she smiled easily with those who crowded about her table. Garrett wondered when Frank had hired her. A quick glance around the hall confirmed his suspicions that she was the only female dealer.

  Once inside Frank O’Laughlin’s office, he stood to the side as Parkham left to get the proprietor. Frank’s arrival was quicker than Garrett expected, and the man seemed not only surprised to see him, but very pleased. “I knew word spread quickly in this town, but I had no idea how quickly,” Frank said by way of greeting, his right hand held out even before he had cleared the door jamb. “And I thought we were keeping everything mum until Bow Street could finish their investiga­tion,” he added with a furrowed brow. “Bring us some scotch,” he said to the butler before closing the door.

  Garrett wondered at Frank’s opening line. “And what word might that be?” he asked carefully, wondering if he should be on his guard.

  Frank motioned to an upholstered chair near his desk. “Word about Jane,” he offered, and then seeing Garrett’s expression of horror, he realized Garrett probably knew noth­ing of what had just happened.

  “What about Jane?” Garrett asked, his voice hoarse and his concern quite apparent as he leaned forward and nearly returned to his feet.

  “She’ll be fine,” Frank said quickly, moving to take his own chair behind the desk. “She was in a bit of a scuffle with a bel­ligerent client. I gave her the rest of the night off.”

  Garrett’s face reddened in anger. “Damn it, Frank! Is she hurt? Did you kill the bastard?”

  Frank inhaled and held his breath a moment, finally let­ting it out with a clipped, “Yes, and no.” Before Garrett could get out of his chair, Frank held out his hand. “She’ll be fine, Garrett. She’ll have a bit of a shiner for a day or two …”

  “The bastard punched her?” Garrett yelled in disbelief.

  “… But the bastard is in custody with a Bow Street Runner. She’ll be fine,” he repeated in a very calm voice.

  There was a knock at the door and Parkham entered with two glasses of scotch on a tray. Garrett reluctantly took one, suddenly not in the mood to drink. His concern was for Jane. If she had been punched in the eye, she was no doubt in a good deal of pain. “Anyone I know?” he asked then, realizing he needed to keep his temper in check or risk being thrown out of the gaming hell before he’d had a chance to at least see Jane.

  “Doubt it,” Frank replied with a shrug. “Low life scoundrel who had a fat purse and a mind to bed your future wife.” He watched Garrett’s reaction carefully, curious as to whether or not the man would admit to having feelings for the faro dealer.

  He was not disappointed.

  “I’ll kill him!” Garrett vowed, his hand jerking so the scotch nearly spilled. He took a quick drink in an effort to lessen the amount of liquid in the glass. The smoky scent filled his nostrils and burned as it went down his throat.

  Then he realized what Frank had said.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Did she tell you ..?” he started to ask, realizing Jane must have left Frank with the impression she and Garrett would one day wed.

  Frank struggled to maintain an impassive expression on his face. “No,” he replied with a quick shake of his head, but he felt a huge sense of relief. Perhaps Garrett McElliott wouldn’t need a strong incentive to marry Jane. Perhaps he could even be convinced to marry the chit right away, if for no other reason than to provide her protection. “I admit I have rather hoped you … had feelings for my Jane. I would like to see her married —you two married—as soon as is feasible,” Frank stated, deciding there was no need to offer explanations. “I will, of course, provide a generous dowry, say … a thousand pounds, and Jane has some very nice things to bring to the marriage. Furniture, silver, crystal. You’ve no doubt seen her rooms upstairs. I can see to it you get a special license, and you can be married this week.”

  Garrett stared at Frank in disbelief, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He knew that, one day, despite Jane being more than one-and-twenty, he might have to seek permission from this man to ask for Jane’s hand. He had figured he would need to beg and plead and reason with Frank in order to gain that permission. And he figured the permission would come with a timeline for the wedding to be very far in the future.

  Being told he could marry her right away, though …

  Frank squirmed a bit. “Are you looking for a Smithfield bargain, then?” he accused with a cocked eyebrow.

  Garrett’s eyes widened at the comment. “Of course, not!”

  “Okay, two-thousand pounds, but that’s my final offer,” Frank stated firmly.

  The estate manager stared at Frank for a very long time. Two-thousand pounds? He would have been satisfied with just Jane and no money at all! What ever could have possessed Frank to be so generous?

  Garrett finished off his scotch. “I … I accept,” he finally said, not sure what he was supposed to say to the odd proposi­tion. “But, why?”

  The gaming hell proprietor seemed taken aback by the question. “She’s been here eight years, Garrett. If I don’t get her married off soon, she won’t be biddable, and I’ll be stuck with the responsibility of her for the rest of my life!” Although he hadn’t meant the comment to come out so harsh, Frank real­ized it was a relief to finally admit he didn’t relish the notion of prolonged fatherhood. And, yes, he would lose his best faro and vingt-et-un dealer in the process, but he could find another. Maybe he already had, if Penelope Winthrop was still dealing at Jane’s station where he had last left her.

  Garrett nodded. “And who is the new chit?” he asked in a voice suggesting he was teasing the proprietor. “She has quite a busy table this evening.”

  Frank colored up a bit as he opened a large ledger book. “That would be Miss Penelope,” he said stiffly. He wrote out a bank note.

  “Let me guess. Orphan. Nineteen, maybe twenty …” Gar­rett’s teasing manner was still evident in his comment.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Frank interrupted him as he signed his name to the cheque. He handed the draft to Garrett. Two-thousand pounds was written in an even script readable by anyone who had been educated. And anyone who worked in a bank.

  It was more money than Garrett had ever seen at one time in his entire life.

  “Thank you,” Garrett said as he continued to look at the cheque. I am about to be leg-shackled, he thought suddenly. But he found the thought didn’t bother him in the least. He hadn’t been with another woman since he had taken Jane’s virtue—he found he had no desire to be with another woman. I am doing the right thing, he assured himself. Besides, if he didn’t wed Jane soon, how much longer would she be employed at The Jack of Spades given what Frank had just said?

  As if Frank could hear his thoughts, he said, “I figure Jane had maybe six months, perhaps a year left before I would need to find her an alternative in life.”

  Garrett considered the timeline. I certainly would have asked for her hand before that, he thought, remembering how much Joshua planned to pay him for his first six months on the job at Wisborough Oaks. But with this dowry, he could marry Jane tomorrow. Or whenever a special license allowed. “May I see her?” he asked in a quiet voice, a hand fumbling into pockets in his top coat and waist coat. There was a ring in there somewhere, he knew. He had tucked it into a pocket just before leaving the coach. He hadn’t intended on present­ing it as part of a marriage proposal exactly, but he had wanted Jane to have the ring so she might know he was serious in his intent to eventually ask for her hand. A forefinger finally slipped through the loop of the ring, and he pulled it from his pocket. “I have a marriage proposal to make,” he said by way of explanation.

  Frank locked his gaze on the ring Garrett held on his fore­finger knuckle, an overwhelming sense of sadness settling on him.
If he didn’t get Garrett out of his office that instant, he was afraid the man would witness the tears pricking the cor­ners of his eyes. “Go on up,” he ordered quietly, closing the ledger book.

  Garrett stood and held out his hand. “Thank you, Frank. I’ll take good care of her, you can be sure of that,” he promised solemnly.

  Frank nodded as he shook Garrett’s hand. “I know.” With that, the proprietor left his own office. Garrett watched him go, wondering at the sudden change in Frank.

  So the man is a softy, he thought with a bit of humor. A glance at his watch told him it was entirely too late to be call­ing on Jane Wethersby, but propriety would need to be ignored for just this one night. He headed out into the hall and up the back stairs. A long hall, lined with lit sconces and a series of doors on either side, stretched before him. It reminded him of a hotel. He knew exactly which door to go to, though, and he knocked three times on it before saying in a low voice, “Jane, it’s Garrett.”

  He could sense movement behind the door, hurried steps and a bolt being thrown back before the door opened. She stood there with a look of awe, her dark blonde hair down, its strands streaked with lighter blonde and wispy curls near her temple. Wearing only a dark blue dressing gown wrapped about her tall, slender body, Jane was as beautiful as he had ever seen her. He had to school his face not to react to the sight of her blackening eye, though.

  “Hello, Jane,” he said quietly as he gave a deep bow and then held out the box of candy. He didn’t want whatever neigh­bors she had to think poorly of her if they heard a gentleman caller at a time well outside of polite visiting hours, even if her neighbors were all employed at The Jack of Spades.

  Awestruck, Jane stared at him for a moment, as if she didn’t believe he was really there, and then she smiled. “Hello, Mr. McElliott,” she said with a nod, obviously surprised to see him.