“Causing another scandal. Just like your mother.”
“My mother was a lady. The only scandal she caused was marrying the man she loved, against your wishes. She never, ever, did anything shameful. Nor have I. You are the one who ought to be ashamed of your actions.”
The marquess sucked in a breath. “You dare to lecture me?”
“Why not? You are the one who condemned me on the evidence of a notorious scandal sheet, believing your own flesh and blood could sink to such depravity. Illegitimate children, illicit affairs? All lies.”
“So you say. There is enough truth in the tale to make you a byword in town. Get out, I say.”
Allie stood her ground. “Not until I have had the rest of my say. I might have destroyed my reputation, but you, sir, have destroyed my respect for the nobility. You are the one who was born to wealth and privilege, yet who has forgotten that with such a legacy comes great responsibility. You have turned your back on those most deserving of your care and consideration, out of foolish pride. You did not do anything to earn your title or fortune. Both were handed to you at birth. Yet you forget that others need to make their own way in this world.”
“You would teach me, Marquess of Montford, about noblesse oblige? You are more fool than that father of yours.”
“My father was right, that there is little noble about you but your house and possessions. You are an old man who deprived himself of a beautiful, loving daughter. You chose not to know the kind, learned gentleman she married, and you are choosing again, to repudiate their only child, your own kin.”
“No, you are no kin of mine, I say. Your mother ceased being my family when she took up with that poor scholar. I told her he wanted her money only, but she would not listen. He never got his greedy fingers on a shilling of my blunt.”
“My father was so greedy that he gave half his academy’s income away in scholarships to needy boys. He housed indigent professors, and he fed hungry students, on his own money, none of yours. My mother gladly wore her old clothes and went without jewels and carriages and servants—what your money could have provided—because she had something far more valuable. But you would not recognize that, would you, my lord, a love that transcends material interests?”
“She could have married the heir to a dukedom, by George!” he said, pounding on the desk, his face gone pale now.
Allie stopped worrying that he would have apoplexy and die on his elegant Aubusson carpet. “And she could have been miserable with him, a man chosen for dynasty-building instead of love. Does that not matter to you, even now? Then I pity you. You never saw how happy your own daughter was, how my parents shared a perfect communion, despite the deprivations.”
“Bah! Buried in the country, seeing no one but runny-nosed boys, who else could she commune with? The chickens?”
“At least chickens repay one’s affection with eggs. But I suppose you would have been pleased to see my mother wretched with her lordling, waiting for his father to die so she might be a duchess. Affection would mean nothing to you, in light of your ambition. Well, think on this, old man. If you had handed over the dowry promised to my mother, she might have had a finer home with more servants. Who knows but she might have had better medical care than my father could afford. You contributed to the death of your only daughter, Lord Montford, and for that I shall never forgive you.”
“Hah! As if I care what a hoity-toity old maid thinks. Blame your father instead, girl, for he kept her in poverty. A decent man would have walked away from my daughter. No, a gentleman would never have approached her in the first place, when they were so ill-matched.”
“They met in a bookstore, I was told. And they shared a love for books and learning, until death parted them. Or did you not even know how well suited they were in everything but your foolish social castes? And lack of funds aside, my mother would have had it no other way, if they were together. My father sacrificed his own career to found a school. He made a living for them the best way he could.”
“The way he is providing for you now?” Montford said with a sneer. “Look at you, a homely spinster with the tongue of an adder and the effrontery of an ape. You do not know the world, and you do not know your place in it.” He snapped thick-knuckled, arthritic fingers. “So much for your learned sire. He did not leave you a groat to live on, and he did not leave you with the savvy of a newborn babe. It is no wonder no man will wed you, much less make you his mistress.”
“For once you are correct, and I thank you for believing that much. I am no man’s mistress, and no man’s chattel to be tossed away if I do not follow his rules or obey his foolish dictates.”
Montford was on his feet now, leaning on the desk and breathing heavily. “Get out. That is a dictate for you, one that you will obey or I’ll have the servants toss you out. I’ll send for the Watch, accuse you of trespassing or stealing, anything to see you on a prison ship for Botany Bay. Don’t think I can’t do it, woman, and keep it out of the gossip columns, too, because I will not let you debase my family name more than you already have. Get out,” he repeated, pointing with trembling hand at the door. “Take the money and get out of London. You are willful, just like your mother. You are not even half as pretty as she was, or half as intelligent. At least my daughter had the sense to marry the father of her brat.”
Allie picked up the purse—a regrettably heavy one—and tipped it upside down, so coins fell onto the desk, some rolling to the floor. “I would not take a ha’penny from you, no, not even were Harriet Hildebrand my own child and we were starving on the street. I would rather sell my body then, than sell my soul to you.” She gave the purse one last shake and a last gold coin bounced out, making a pinging sound in the silence. “I shall make do on my own, the same as my parents did, without your help. But know this, old man: I am proud of my name too. Allison Silver. That is Allison Montford Silver. And I am staying here in London. Get used to it, my lord, because you cannot do anything about it.”
*
Outside, Jack was watching Montford House through the park gates. He’d given the guard a bribe to let him and Harriet pass through the private entrance. His brother lived on the opposite side of the square anyway, and Jack told the man he had forgotten to borrow the key. Mention of the Earl of Carde, a coin, and a smile worked as usual, except on Miss Silver.
Damn, he should have gone in with her. Old Montford would make mincemeat of the silly woman. Jack would have followed Allie, despite her wishes, but then he’d be facing the old curmudgeon himself, who had every right to ask his intentions.
Jack did not have intentions, dash it! Not honorable ones, and not dishonorable ones either. He could not afford a wife, even if he wanted one, which he did not. And he could not offer a marquess’s granddaughter a slip on the shoulder. Seeing Montford House, knowing that Allie belonged in that world, not his own shadowy milieu, firmed up his resolve. There could be no more lusting after the governess. No more lewd thoughts of the bluestocking without her stockings. No more firmness in his fundaments. He might not be her knight in shining armor, but he would still be a gentleman, and leave her a lady, by Jupiter.
So she had to leave. He had to find another solution to the problem, even though it would be breaking his word to Harriet to send her and Miss Silver away. He could not break his own code of honor, though.
Harriet would recover. He would too, despite the little imp’s worming her way into his heart. He was sorry. Harriet was…in a tree.
Damnation, what happened to little girls sitting with their samplers and their dolls, learning to pour a proper tea? Miss Silver would have his head if Harriet fell and broke her leg. As it was, the halfling was filthy, her pinafore was ripped, and her hair was full of twigs, like some wild little forest creature. A wood sprite, that’s what Hildebrand’s brat was, and he would miss her sorely. Almost as sore as his head when she landed on it, coming down. He forgot about the pain when Miss Silver appeared.
“Where to now?” he asked after he h
ad handed Allie and Mrs. Crandall into the carriage.
“I wish to go home.”
“Home to…wherever you lived before Miss Semple’s School?” Jack asked, thinking that her grandfather might have made provision for her after all. Jack would have been astounded, but relieved, too, in having his own problem fixed. He did not want to question Allie about her conversation with the marquess until they were alone, however. She was not looking at him, and not noticing that Harriet looked like a street urchin either. At least Allie was not crying, he thought, or bleeding, or running from the authorities.
She stepped into the carriage. “Home to The Red and the Black, of course. Where else?”
Chapter Seventeen
“Hooray!” Harriet shouted. “I told you the old skint would not help her leave us! You owe me a pony, Papa.”
Allie put on her schoolmistress voice. “You will please show respect for your elders, miss, especially my grandfather. And I will have you know that the old skint did offer me a handsome purse to leave you. To leave London, anyway.”
Jack had sent his horse home with a groom. He took his seat next to Harriet, across from Allie and Mary Crandall. “But you did not take it,” he guessed.
“No, I did not. I am staying.”
Mrs. Crandall let out a sigh of relief and Harriet whooped again, until the driver called back, “Everything all right in there, Cap’n?”
“No. That is, yes, everything is fine, James. Drive on. But no, you are not staying, Miss Silver.”
Allie had made her mind up. Aggravating Lord Montford into apoplexy was only part of her decision. “Yes, I am. I realize this is in contradiction to everything I have said before, but I have concluded that I am needed here.”
“It is my club, my house, and my ward. I say no.”
“Papa!”
“Hush, Harriet, this is between the captain and myself. Sir?”
Jack took a deep breath, knowing that what he was about to say would reek of hypocrisy and stink of self-serving. “I have concluded that your staying at The Red and the Black is not proper.”
He was right. Miss Silver clucked her tongue in a very governess-like manner. “Now? After all this time? I have been telling you since the moment I arrived that my being at The Red and the Black, that Harriet being there, was not proper.”
“Too bad we did not have a wager. I would have owed you a horse too.”
“Do not be preposterous. You asked me to stay. In fact you nearly begged me not to leave you alone with a child you did not know. You offered me a considerable salary and you made concessions.” Rochelle Poitier’s name remained unspoken, but her dismissal hung in the air between them, a concession with clout.
“That was then, this is now,” Jack insisted.
“Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed. You are Montford’s granddaughter, for one.”
“I was born Montford’s granddaughter. I am no more his kin today than I was yesterday. In fact, I am less, because I now I have no wish to acknowledge the connection either.”
Jack ignored her reasoning. “And Hapworth printed his vile lies.”
“He is retracting them in the morning.”
“In type so small no one will be able to read it, if they find the notice in the back of the newspaper where he will bury it.”
“But I shall know it is there. You and Harriet already know the truth, as does Mr. Burquist and the staff of the club. Who else matters?”
Jack started tapping his riding crop against his high-topped leather boots. “You used to think that the good opinion of every soul in London mattered, if not the entire British Empire, in case you were applying for a position in India.”
“And you, yourself, taught me how foolish that was, especially since I already have employment. Your very career is an example of living one’s life according to one’s own self-determination, no one else’s.”
Jack ignored having his own reasoning tossed back at him, when he was trying to argue the opposite case, damn it. “In addition,” he went on, as if Miss Silver had not spoken, “Harriet and I are well acquainted now, so I have no qualms about managing her upbringing. She is a perfectly behaved young lady.”
Mary Crandall coughed into her hand, but Harriet told him, “Papa, your nose will grow if you keep telling such lies, and your eyes will cross. That is what Mrs. Semple always said, anyway.”
“Do be still, Harriet. This is an adult conversation.”
“I thought it was about me. Don’t I get to help decide if Miss Silver stays, Papa?”
“No. You are too young to understand the entire situation.”
Allie understood perfectly. She was not too young. She was simply not old enough to be residing under a gentleman’s roof without raising eyebrows. Now that she was known to be of the captain’s own social class—the one he was born into, anyway—he could not play so fast and loose with her reputation, not without wedding her. His code of gentlemanly conduct could not let Captain Endicott keep a well-born woman of marriageable age in bachelor quarters. A poor governess without connections, or a middle-aged one, was a horse of a far different, less socially damning, color. He might not care what that society thought of him, but he cared mightily about staying single.
“Captain,” she told him, “you can stop weaving rationale out of moon beams. I do not know whether you are more concerned with my elevated relatives or my lowered reputation, but understand this: I have no expectations. Beyond my salary, that is.”
Harriet looked at Jack. “What does she mean, no expectations? Does that mean you won’t buy her a horse, too?”
“It means, my dear,” Allie told her, not looking at the captain, “that I do not expect him to offer marriage. And if he did, for some rattle-brained reason, I would refuse. I would never wed the owner of a common gambling den.”
“The Red and the Black is not common in the least,” Jack protested.
“It is top of the trees,” Harriet proudly confirmed. “With brand new decks of cards every night and real candles, not tallow.”
“Ah, how could a body resist? But no, Harriet, it is still a place where gentlemen come to drink beyond their capabilities, wager beyond their means, and behave beyond the pale with the pretty women. A governess takes whatever position is available. A lady does not, because she has to think of her children’s future. Shall her sons grow up to be card sharps and ivory tuners? Her daughters dealers? That is if her husband did not gamble away their school fees or their very home. Those children would never be received in polite society, never have choices in selecting their own careers or spouses.” She turned to face Jack, smiling as if to prove that there was nothing personal in her rejection of an offer that had not been made. “So you see, sir, you are safe.”
The riding crop beat faster against his leg. “You still cannot stay.”
He was serious. Allie had not believed him to be, before. Now she had to. The smile faded from her lips as she clutched her nearly empty reticule, remembering the coins she had tossed at her grandfather’s feet. She had just burned whatever bridge had not already collapsed under her; now her life boat was breaking apart. She only hoped no one would notice the catch in her throat as she asked, “Shall you simply toss me out, then?”
“Of course not, damn it. Do not be a widgeon.”
“Papa, you are not supposed to curse in front of a lady. And I don’t think you are supposed to call her a kind of duck, either. A turtledove, maybe.”
“Peageese, both of them,” Mary Crandall muttered.
But Allie was smiling again. Jack was still the quixotic gentleman she knew and—liked. She could relax back onto the cushions for the first time since entering the carriage. In fact, her spine felt as if it had not curved since they had stormed Mr. Hapworth’s office. She pitied the Montford butler because he must never get to bend.
She pulled Harriet closer to her for a hug. “I bet the captain has a plan.”
“Damn—Deuce right, I do. And I
thought we were supposed to stop wagering with the infant.”
“I am not an infant and I am not going away.”
“You have not heard the plan, brat.”
Harriet snuggled closer to Allie. “You said I could stay.”
“I agreed you could stay for awhile, not forever. Besides, you will not be so very far away.”
“Where?” Harriet asked so Allie did not have to.
“At the House of Cards. That is, Carde House. On the other side of Grosvenor Square from Montford House. It is my brother’s, of course, but he’s the best of good fellows and I should be hearing from him any day. The place is being renovated and refurbished, which is why I did not send you there at first. All of the usual staff has gone to the country with Ace and Nell, or are on holiday, so no one is there but the workmen. You shall have to fend for yourselves a bit, I am afraid, because I cannot afford to hire many temporary servants, but you can still take meals with us, or Cook can send supper over to you.”
Mrs. Crandall was nodding her approval, and Allie was weighing the possibilities. Harriet still had her brows furrowed. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
Jack studied the whip as if it might have become damaged with his restless twitching. “You see, snip, no gentleman would ever invite anyone, ah, less than respectable to his family home. My sister-in-law, Lady Carde, could come to town with her children and I would never ask her to share her town house with a…” He fumbled for a word.
Harriet nodded wisely. “Birds do not foul their own nests. That’s what Mrs. Semple always said.”
“Exactly. So Miss Silver’s reputation will not suffer worse than it already has. And Carde House is definitely a better environment for a child.”
“But I like the club!”
“And you will like Carde House. There is a real nursery, with a schoolroom and a sitting room filled with toys. Alex might have taken the toy soldiers for his son, but Lottie’s dolls are still there, I’d wager.”
Harriet brightened at the mention of the soldiers, but frowned again. “Who wants dolls?”
Jack of Clubs Page 17
