‘Yet you trust me with this information?’
‘I…yes.’ Amy had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She remembered what Lady Bainbridge had said about the scandal that would ensue if it became known that she had gained a fortune through winning the lottery. She had put herself in Joss’s hands now.
‘Well, your secret is safe, I promise. No doubt you will wish to avoid all those fortune-hunting adventurers who will want to capture your hand, heart and money,’ Joss said, and the lightness of his tone eased Amy’s tension. ‘I fear you may be a little late, however. Your mother has already boasted—most discreetly, of course—of your good fortune. Only she has been suggesting that it is a bequest from an elderly relative, so I understand…’
Amy gave a little moan. ‘I thought so! I asked Mama to keep quiet!’
‘Impossible!’ Joss tucked her hand comfortingly through his arm. ‘It would be too much for maternal flesh and blood to keep silent. Lady Bainbridge told Mrs Vestey, who told Lady Bestable, who told half the company here tonight. It is the latest on-dit! Now, come and dance, Miss Bainbridge. You will find that life as an heiress is not so bad after all.’
Chapter Seven
Joss Tallant relinquished Miss Amy Bainbridge to the eager arms of Viscount Truscote and strolled over to the long terrace windows for a drink and some fresh air. The heat in the ballroom was becoming oppressive and he had no further desire to dance. Perhaps it was time to leave the genteel entertainments of Lady Moon’s ball for less salubrious surroundings. A picture of Harriet Templeton came into his mind, but for some reason it seemed unappetising. Joss shrugged philosophically. No doubt Harriet would regain her appeal soon, but if not he could always find another mistress.
He replaced his empty glass of wine with a full one and stood watching the dancers. Amy was waltzing with Truscote, moving daintily and with grace. She might be small, but she was perfectly proportioned and danced divinely. She was looking up into Truscote’s face with a confiding smile and it seemed she was enjoying the Viscount’s company no matter what she had asserted before about finding little to entertain her at balls and parties. Joss felt a shaft of irritation pierce him. He put his wine glass down with a slap that showed scant regard for the delicate crystal. It was definitely time to move on. He felt bored and blue-devilled and had a fancy to drown the evening in brandy.
He could not be certain what it was that had prompted him to disclaim ownership of the lottery ticket. When Amy had first spoken, he had felt relieved to discover that his suspicions about her honesty had been groundless. This was so strange a reaction that it had held him silent for a few moments, for surely he should not have cared either way? He had dismissed the thought as she had carried on talking and had become intrigued by her attempts to find the rightful owner, charmed even by her determination to do the right thing. He had been less flattered by her instinctive assumption that he, along with everyone else, would have kept the money for himself. But then there was no reason for her to have a good opinion of him. And there was certainly no good reason why he should care if she did or if she did not.
‘You seem to have played Pygmalion rather successfully this evening, Joss.’ The Duke of Fleet had paused beside his friend and was also looking in Amy’s direction.
‘Miss Bainbridge is much in demand,’ Fleet continued. ‘Why put yourself to the trouble to bring such a plain girl into fashion?’
Joss met his friend’s bland expression with a stony one of his own. He knew perfectly well what Fleet was up to and he was not about to give him the satisfaction of rising to provocation.
‘I scarce think that my attentions will enhance Miss Bainbridge’s reputation, Seb. The reverse is probably true.’
Fleet looked quizzical. ‘Then why inflict your company on her if you think it will bring her into disrepute, old chap?’
Joss shrugged. ‘I wanted to talk to her.’
‘Was it worth it?’
‘Decidedly.’ Joss tried to crush the irritation that Fleet’s conversation was engendering, but was only partially successful. ‘Miss Bainbridge is not in the common way, which is good, for the common way bores me.’
Fleet frowned a little. ‘Do you have no concern for her reputation?’
Joss shrugged again. ‘No one comes to any harm waltzing with me in a crowded ballroom and any chaperon who believes otherwise has too vivid an imagination.’
‘As long as you are not putting ideas into Miss Bainbridge’s head with your attentions. It would be a pity to disappoint her. Unless…’ Fleet paused. ‘You did say that your father was suggesting matrimony?’
Joss laughed, although somewhere in the recesses of his mind the idea took root with surprising firmness. He tried to dislodge it. ‘My father was suggesting progressive farming methods last week! His suggestions need not concern me, I am glad to say.’
Fleet shook his head. ‘You’re a cold fish, Joss. Fancy some Haymarket ware to warm you up?’
‘Not tonight. I fancy a warm brandy bottle and a game of hazard at White’s.’
Fleet nodded. ‘I’ll join you. It is better sport than this.’
Joss gave him a mocking look. ‘Has Lady Spry lost her charm, Seb?’
‘Not really, but she’s too damned proper for me.’ Fleet sighed. ‘A widow with no inclination towards dalliance. My cursed luck!’
Joss clapped him on the shoulder. ‘To White’s?’
‘Why not? If you have no desire to dance with the mousy Miss Bainbridge again.’
Joss had turned away but now he stopped, finding that he could not let that one pass. He felt so angry that he had to take a deep breath before he spoke. So Seb had found his mark. Damn him.
‘I have not the least desire in the world to dance with Miss Bainbridge again,’ he said coolly, after a moment. ‘But as one who is at least a gentleman by title, I have to tell you, Seb, that Miss Bainbridge is not mousy.’
He turned on his heel and walked off. Fleet watched him go, a self-satisfied smile on his lips.
‘A result at last,’ he murmured. ‘Joss, m’boy, this is going to be interesting.’
‘I am so glad that your mama permitted me to be your chaperon tonight,’ Amanda Spry said, as the new Bainbridge coach took them the short distance from Curzon Street to Portman Square, ‘although I am sorry that she has the migraine. It is only a small party, not a ball, but I am sure that there will be many eligible gentlemen there tonight.’
Amy fidgeted nervously. She was aware that Lady Bainbridge had been swayed by this piece of information into letting Amanda take a role to which she was surely unsuited. Amy did not consider that she needed a chaperon, being one and twenty, but since she was obliged to have one it seemed silly that that person should be Amanda, who was twice as impetuous as she.
Amy stroked the pale blue silk of her new evening gown. She had chosen it because it matched her eyes exactly, and brought out the golden lights in her brown hair. She had stood before the mirror in her bedroom and had reflected that she actually looked quite pretty for once—but that was before she had seen Amanda, ethereal in apricot satin with a matching bandeau adorned with soft white feathers.
The carriage drew up outside the door. Amanda had told her that Mrs Wren was a widow of great respectability who gave marvellously entertaining parties. However, Amy was not long inside the house before she realised that Mrs Wren’s parties were not the sorts of affair at which any débutantes would be present. The hostess set the tone in a clinging dress with a plunging décolletage that displayed to advantage a diamond necklace that Amy considered to be frankly vulgar. Mrs Wren’s rooms were full of ladies and gentlemen chatting loudly and with a freeness of manner that was startling. The wine was flowing very copiously indeed and there was no lemonade. Even when the musical entertainment started the guests did not bother to lower their voices and Amy was irritated that the excellent singer was quite drowned out by conversation.
Amanda was soon dragged away from Amy’s side to play a hand of whist a
nd Amy took refuge behind a pillar where she sipped her glass of wine and wished that she had stayed at home. She had seen Richard across the room but her brother seemed disinclined to come and talk to her when he had a dashing blonde lady hanging on his every word. Amy, feeling shy and uncomfortable, resolved that she would not stay another minute. The party was threatening to turn into something rather less respectable, and at lightning speed. Yet even as she turned towards the door she was stopped in her tracks.
‘Leaving so soon, ma’am? Why not come and have a li’l chat with me?’
Someone put their hand on her arm and Amy turned, repressing a shudder as the gentleman leaned closer and breathed stale wine fumes in her face. She could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was drunk, but not sufficiently to be incapable. She backed away.
‘Don’t be coy,’ the gentleman leered. ‘You’re a taking little piece! We should become better acquainted…’
‘Thank you, sir, but I am waiting for someone,’ Amy said, hoping that her desperation did not show in her voice. With the pillar behind her and the drunkard in front, her options seemed decidedly limited.
‘Waiting for me, in fact,’ a voice said briskly. Joss Tallant took Amy’s arm and drew her close to his side. ‘I do apologise for my shocking tardiness, my dear. Baverstock, you need not trouble the lady with your company any longer.’
The Earl of Baverstock muttered something and sidled away, and Joss drew Amy’s hand through his arm and steered her towards a quiet alcove where they sat down.
‘Of all the places where I might have expected to find you, Miss Bainbridge…’ Joss said ruefully.
‘I know!’ Amy felt a little shaken. ‘I believe that I was misled about the sophistication of the evening.’
‘There is nothing very sophisticated about this crowd,’ Joss said dismissively, looking around, ‘but I take your meaning, Miss Bainbridge! Perhaps you should go home?’
Amy craned her neck for a glimpse of Amanda. ‘I came here with Lady Spry. I do not suppose that I should simply abandon her.’
Joss laughed. ‘Surely it is the other way about? Is she not intended to be your chaperon?’
‘Yes, but…’ Amy sought to excuse her friend ‘…it is not as though I need her protection.’
Joss raised his brows. ‘Indeed? Were you enjoying Baverstock’s attentions?’
Amy flushed. ‘That was different, and, no, of course I was not! I am sorry, my lord—I should have thanked you for rescuing me.’
‘It was a pleasure.’ Joss gave her a slow smile. ‘I have some sympathy with Baverstock, however, for you do indeed look most attractive this evening, Miss Bainbridge.’
Amy almost gaped. ‘Come now, my lord! Not even my mother would allow that I looked more than tolerable! In such company—’ She gestured at the painted ladies milling about them.
‘You mistake your charm.’ Joss stretched, giving her an assessing look that made her blink. ‘In such a company as this it is precisely because you look fresh and innocent rather than jaded that you stand out, Miss Bainbridge. As for your mother, perhaps she should have spent more time telling you how charming you look, so that you would not lack the confidence to believe it!’
Amy looked at him in shocked silence. There had been an undercurrent in his voice that she did not understand. Their eyes met and then Joss sighed.
‘I beg your pardon. I should not have said that about Lady Bainbridge.’
‘No, but…’ Amy was confused. ‘I understand that you were only trying to make me feel better—’
‘No!’ Joss spoke so sharply that Amy jumped. ‘That was not what I was doing, Miss Bainbridge! Why can you not believe me sincere?’
‘I am sorry.’ Amy was even more confused now. He sounded exasperated, but beneath that she sensed a hurt that she did not understand. Surely the Earl of Tallant could not care about her good opinion? And why should it matter to him that she believe that he admired her?
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. ‘My lord—’
‘I will go and find Lady Spry for you, Miss Bainbridge,’ Joss said, interrupting abruptly. ‘It is not in the least suitable that you should remain here any longer.’
Puzzled, Amy watched as he disappeared into the card room, to emerge an impressively short time later with Amanda. Amy wondered if he had summarily removed her in the middle of a rubber of whist.
It seemed so, but when Amanda reached her side, she was not the least inclined to leave the party.
‘Amy,’ she wheedled, ‘I know that you wish to go home, but I would just like to play another hand. Please! And we need a fourth to make up the numbers, just for this rubber. Oh, please say that you will play!’
Amy groaned. She had no wish to disoblige her dearest friend, but playing whist, even for a nominal sum, was not her idea of fun. The evening was not far advanced but the behaviour was licentious, she was too hot and wanted to go home. She gave Amanda a look of exasperation. ‘Mandy, you know I never play! Why not ask Lady Bestable if she will join you? She is a bosom bow of Mama’s and I know she loves whist.’
‘Lady Bestable is already playing,’ Amanda said. ‘We need someone else. Please, Amy…’ Amanda put on her most beseeching expression. ‘I know that you dislike to gamble, but there is no harm in this! We are not playing for more than pennies! And you were always lucky at cards. You know you were!’
‘That is beside the point,’ Amy said. She could feel herself weakening and tried to strengthen her resolve. Amanda had always been deplorably persuasive, even in their schooldays. She had always managed to persuade Amy to some scrape against her better judgement. And now Amy felt like a killjoy, denying her friend some innocent entertainment. Perhaps she was making too much of her dislike of gambling, especially when it was a harmless game for a risible sum. Everyone gambled, after all. Perhaps, as Richard had implied, she was taking it all too seriously.
Amanda had taken her arm now and was propelling her towards the card room. It was even hotter in here. The curtains were drawn, blocking out both the darkness and any breath of wind that might have cooled the room but might also have scattered the cards. The air was thick with concentration and tension. Servants moved soundlessly between the tables, plying the gamblers with drink. Amy watched and found her stomach curling with the apprehension of memory. She could see her father’s face, flushed and excited as he checked his cards, and she had to repress a shudder.
‘Amanda, I don’t think I want to do this…’ she began, but it was too late to pull out without embarrassing her friend. Amanda was dragging her over to a table in the corner, where two ladies were already sitting. One was Lady Bestable and the other was a lady who looked vaguely familiar, although Amy could not place her. She had dark auburn hair, elaborately dressed, green eyes and a bored, lazy expression.
‘Lady Juliana Myfleet,’ Amanda said, performing the introductions, ‘may I introduce Miss Bainbridge? Amy, Lady Juliana and I are friends from my come-out. The two of you have not met before?’
Lady Juliana shook her head. Her eyes were bright as they surveyed Amy from top to toe.
‘So you are the little puritan who does not care to wager?’ she murmured. ‘How piquant that Amanda persuaded you to join us. Are we to play for pennies?’
Amanda blushed and Amy shot her a reproachful look.
‘Amanda said that you needed a fourth to make up a game,’ she said stiffly. ‘However, if you are to play for high stakes I wish you would excuse me, ma’am—’
‘No need, my dear, I do but tease.’ Lady Juliana smiled her feline smile and cut the deck. ‘This is a practice run for me. I shall do my serious gambling in a little while. Shall we start?’
Amy had played little in the last few years, but although she was out of practice she quickly remembered the mechanics of the game. She was partnering Amanda, who was a reckless rather than a skilful player and who often overplayed her hand. For all Lady Juliana’s assurances, it was soon clear that she took the game extreme
ly seriously and it was no surprise when she and Lady Bestable ran out easy winners. Amy, feeling that she had met her obligation to Amanda, was about to make her excuses and leave when a footman delivered a note to her friend and Amanda slipped away from the table with a word of apology. Mrs Wren immediately took her place. Their hostess wore a sharp, acquisitive expression. Her fingers, tapping the deck of cards, betrayed the tension of the dedicated gambler. Amy suddenly felt as innocent as a country girl in a brothel.
‘Juliana, darling, we must have a game of vingt-et-un!’ Mrs Wren exclaimed. ‘Positively we must! I have been waiting all evening to play!’
‘Very well, Emma,’ Lady Juliana said, nothing loath. Her malicious gaze rested on Amy briefly. ‘Lady Bestable, Miss Bainbridge—will you play?’
Vingt-et-un was the only game that Amy actually liked. It had been the first that she had learned, for her father had taught her as a child and had explained that it would be a useful way for her to learn to calculate. Amy had soon learned that each of the cards had a different value and that she had to get her hand to add up to twenty-one. Later she realised that her father’s justification that the game helped her reckon figures better was nothing more than an excuse, but by then she was very good at mathematics so perhaps there had been some truth in his assertion. For that reason she thought she probably retained a small, nostalgic regard for the game. All the same, it was not enough to keep her at the table.
‘No, I thank you. I have played enough for one evening.’
Mrs Wren pulled a face. ‘Just like your dear papa, Miss Bainbridge! They always said that he did not have the temperament for the game. He proved it in the end, did he not?’
Amy felt a hot spurt of anger. She knew that Emma Wren was only trying to provoke her and on most occasions she would have allowed the insult to go over her head. Tonight she found she could not. Perhaps it was the memories that crowded in on her, or perhaps it was simply her dislike of Mrs Wren, but she found that she did not wish to retreat ignominiously.
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