A Season to Be Sinful

by Jo Goodman

  Lily swallowed carefully before answering. “No, m’lady. They were particular about discouraging all the vices.”

  “Do you hear that, Sherry? There was no end to the mischief at Eton, was there? Cards and gambling were the least of it.” She sipped her brandy, not anticipating there would be any reply from her godson. “Do you know who I credit with being a superior card player?”

  “It cannot be me,” Sherry said. “You beat me regularly.”

  “I do, don’t I? No, you are quite right, it is not you. As much as it pains me to admit it, it is that annoying cousin of my late husband’s. His card play may well be the sole reason I am willing to allow him to claim a connection.” She sipped her brandy as she considered the truth of that. “He cheats, you know. I am sure of it, but I cannot catch him out.”

  Lily asked, “Then how can you be certain he cheats?”

  “Because I am accounted to be a card sharp myself, my dear. Isn’t that so, Sherry?”

  “It is indeed.” He joined his godmother on the sofa and laid his arm across the back of it behind her shoulders. He spoke to Lily. “It is inevitable that she will know what you have in your hand before the play is fully finished. She counts cards and remembers everything that was discarded. She is invariably the only woman Hepplewhite invites to play cards in his home.” Sherry chuckled when he saw Lily managed to look impressed. He was quite sure she had no idea who Hepplewhite was. “The marquess’s wife gives the most excruciatingly dull entertainments during the Season, but his card games are all the rage for their unconventional wagering and elimination play. Aunt Georgia has won on occasion, though I think the last was several years ago. What did you win then, Aunt? One hundred shares in a shipping venture to China and a Turkish bathhouse?”

  “Two hundred shares. And they turned out to be extraordinarily valuable. I believe I realized over four-thousand pounds. The bathhouse was disappointing since it was not in Turkey as I’d hoped, but in St. Giles. I sold the enterprise and have recently discovered it is a gentlemen’s club, though perhaps not so respectable as White’s.” Lady Rivendale could not miss that Sherry appeared faintly appalled or that Lily was clutching her snifter of brandy, uncertain where she might look but careful not to catch anyone’s eye. “Perhaps it is not respectable at all,” she said, “but it is out of my hands.”

  “Please, Aunt, not another word about it. I beg you.”

  “You are a prig, Sherry, but I love you for it. Give us a kiss.” She tapped her proffered cheek and smiled beatifically when Sherry leaned over and bussed her lightly. “Do you see how I love him? I cannot help myself. Is it the same for you, or have you hardened your heart against my godson?”

  Sherry sucked in his breath sharply. Lily’s knuckles whitened around the stem of her glass.

  “I overstepped myself there, didn’t I?” Lady Rivendale asked softly, looking from one stricken expression to the other. “I am vastly sorry that I have given you such discomfort. I would countenance a match, you know, for I believe you are well suited. There. It is said.” Smiling, very much satisfied with herself now that her opinion had been expressed, her ladyship sipped delicately from her glass. “Do you have cards here, Sherry? I think it would be just the thing to teach Miss Rose to play whist, and you know I do not chatter when I play, at least no more than I do at any other time. That will be a relief to you, I think.”

  It required a moment for Sherry to collect himself. Of late, it seemed to him that he could be stunned into perfect senselessness by the things women were wont to say. He looked to Lily for direction, and as color was just beginning to return to her face, he said, “Mayhap Miss Rose will not want to play.”

  “Oh no. I think I should like to learn.”

  “There, you see?” her ladyship said. “She will be grateful for the distraction also. We can all be served by it.”

  Sherry rose and crossed to a round side table near the window. He rooted through a drawer and extracted a deck of well-thumbed playing cards. “These will do. Shall we play here?”

  Lily and Lady Rivendale joined him at the table. Sherry set chairs in place and seated each of them before taking the chair between them. He passed the cards to his godmother while he explained the basics of the game to Lily. “Playing with only three creates special challenges because none of us has a partner. When there is a fourth, we would form pairs, and you could reasonably expect to be assisted in making seven with your partner’s help.”

  Lily listened to these instructions but understood little of what he said. Her eyes, though, were riveted on Lady Rivendale’s hands as they performed a shuffle of lightning speed. Her ladyship caused the cards to fan out between her hands as though suspended in air. She would collapse the deck, then draw it out again, nimbly spreading the cards in an arc on the table in front of her.

  “Ignore her,” Sherry said, bringing Lily’s attention back to him. “She is showing off.” He continued by explaining the rules of the deal, how trump was set, and the scoring. “We will play a few practice hands. Does that seem reasonable to you, Aunt?”

  Lady Rivendale was already dealing the cards one at a time as prescribed by the rules. “Of course. And I will show you the sort of things you must look for in the play to spot a cheat.”

  “Meaning it is your intention to play fast and loose with us.”

  “With the cards, dear boy. With the cards. I have the utmost respect for you.” She turned over the last card, the one she dealt to herself, and showed it to Sherry and Lily. It was a diamond and therefore set diamonds as the trump suit. Placing it in her hand, she picked up the remainder of her cards, examined the hand, and addressed Lily. “I hope you will not think I practice underhanded play as a matter of course. I merely amuse myself with it from time to time with Sherry. He does not care, you see, so it is of no consequence. I should not like to be called out for the same by Hepplewhite or his friends. Can you imagine, Sherry? I would be a pariah.”

  “If you were called out, Aunt, you will be more than a pariah. You will be turning up your toes.”

  “You would not stand in my place? That is very bad of you. I would have to call on the baron, then. He is credited to be a good shot, and there is always that rather unsettling rumor that he once killed a man at twenty paces. You should be out of my will then, Sherry, and I shall have to think more carefully about the Vermeer.”

  Sherry turned Lily’s hand so he could see her cards and pointed to the one she should put down as her first play. “You would be fortunate,” he told his godmother, “if he did not shoot you himself. It would hasten his inheritance.”

  “Bah!” Lady Rivendale made her play and took the first trick. “You are in the wrong of it there. He would have to put a period to your life first. You are standing squarely in his way.” She gave him an arch look. “That is, unless you champion me and I do not eliminate you from my will.”

  Sherry rolled his eyes. “Play your next card, Aunt Georgia.” To Lily, he said, “This matter of being in or out of the will is a relatively recent bone of contention. I believe my place in that document was assured until the arrival of the usurper.”

  Concentrating on the card play, Lily merely nodded. She dropped a diamond on the pair of spades only to have Sherry pick up the card and return it to her hand.

  “You have to follow suit. You can’t play trump when you have a spade in your hand. Play your queen and the trick is yours.”

  Lily did as she was told and swept the trick in front of her. “So you are out of it, then.” She led with the ace of hearts.

  “Her ladyship means to give her vast wealth to the usurping cousin.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Lady Rivendale murmured, though it was unclear if she was discussing Lily’s comment or the card she’d put down. She trumped the ace with a flourish.

  Sherry tossed off the three of hearts and watched his godmother gleefully take charge of the trick. “Aunt Georgia is not especially fond of her cousin, except it seems, in regard to his card play, and t
here her admiration is of a most suspicious nature.”

  Lady Rivendale placed her next card on the table. “Sherry is not telling you the whole of it, m’dear. He introduced the villain to me and—”

  “You begged the introduction,” Sherry interrupted. “If you recall, I was not in favor of it.” He tossed off another card and watched Lily make her choice. “In any event, I did not suspect a connection to you.”

  Her ladyship sighed. “Neither did I. I admit, I was struck immediately by his fine looks.” She saw Lily give a small start. “What? Do you think I am too old for a flirtation? I assure you, I am not. Sherry, we must stop talking about my will. It makes a poor impression.” She snapped up the next trick as soon as Lily laid down her card, then set down another. “He is handsome enough, in a wicked sort of way, but now that I know he is set on making himself my heir by hook or by marriage, he is not in the least interesting to me.”

  “Marriage?” Sherry folded what remained of his cards and tapped one corner of the stack on the tabletop. “You have never mentioned marriage. He’s proposed?”

  “Twice. And I refused twice. I am currently in anticipation of another offer.”

  “Sir Arthur?”

  “No. Woodridge again. Really, Sherry. Are you not paying atten—” She stopped as the cards in Lily’s hand dropped and scattered. “What is it, dear? Go on, pick them—” She tossed down her own cards and reached across the table to Lily. “Sherry, catch her! I think she is going to—”

  Sherry already had Lily by the shoulders and was keeping her upright in her chair. “Will you ring, Aunt Georgia? Ask Wolfe to bring smelling salts.” He lifted Lily’s limp figure in his arms and carried her to the sofa. She was pale, and her breathing was shallow. He patted her lightly on the cheek. “Lily?”

  “I do not like this, Sherry,” Lady Rivendale said from the other side of the room. “What cause did she have to faint? She had only a small amount of the brandy, and I did not notice that she was sickening for something. She ate well enough at dinner, though there is not much flesh on her bones. Oh, dear, you do not suppose she is enceinte? That can do nothing save complicate matters at this juncture.” This last was said just as the door opened and Wolfe appeared. Lady Rivendale made her request, and he disappeared. “I cannot say how much he heard, Sherry. I swear he must have been standing at attention on the other side of the door. Do you suppose he speaks French?”

  “I do not think it matters. He is no dolt and perfectly able to divine your meaning.”

  Her ladyship arrived at Sherry’s side. “Is she coming around? There is a bit of color in her cheeks now. Surely that is a good sign.”

  Sherry stopped patting Lily’s cheek and the color immediately faded. “I’m afraid I’ve put most of it there.”

  “Look!” Lady Rivendale clapped her hands together lightly. “Did you see? Her eyelids twitched.”

  Sherry had not noticed. His attention was caught by Lily’s hand. Out of the line of his godmother’s vision, it was squeezing his with undeniable, conscious strength. “Aunt Georgia, will you see if you cannot hasten the arrival of those smelling salts?”

  Lady Rivendale did not hesitate. “I shall be happy to. It is always worse when one has no good purpose at a time like this.”

  Sherry waited until the door closed. “She is gone, Lily. You can come out of hiding now.”

  Lily’s eyelashes fluttered open. Her smile was vaguely embarrassed. “I am sorry, Sherry. I have never done that before.”

  “Swooned?” he asked. “Or pretended to?”

  “You might not credit it, but it was a bit of both. Real enough in the first moments but more in the way of avoidance thereafter. Will you permit me to sit up?”

  Sherry moved aside so Lily could swing her legs over the side of the sofa. He slipped one arm under her shoulders and assisted her efforts. He searched her face as real color returned to it. “What happened, Lily? Why did you faint?”

  “I think it must have been the brandy. I have no head for spirits. I am not pregnant.”

  “You heard that. I wondered.”

  “It was not an unreasonable assumption.” She glanced down at her hands. “I would like to go to my room.”

  “Certainly. I will escort you.”

  “No.” Lily quickly shook her head. “I can manage. Truly.” She began to rise, and Sherry stood with her. “Please, Sherry. I am quite certain I can negotiate the way back on my own.”

  Still, Sherry hesitated. When he finally stepped aside it was with a reluctance that was palpable. “Very well. But I insist on being allowed to look in on you later.”

  “Of course.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him on the cheek. Before he could make more of the moment than was her wont, Lily turned and slipped easily out of his reach.

  Sherry watched her go. He realized he could not afford to give her long. She might very well have a valise already packed in anticipation of just such a moment. He was no longer certain he could depend on her to tell him she was leaving. She’d made the promise with the best intention and would not break it lightly, but she had her own survival to consider, and while he did not yet understand what had threatened her, he knew with absolute confidence that she believed she was threatened.

  He returned to the table where they had been playing and gathered up the cards. Shuffling them idly, he sat in the chair Lily had occupied and set himself the task of reviewing their conversation, puzzling over what had happened.

  By the time Lady Rivendale returned with the smelling salts, he had arrived at what he believed was the answer.

  Lily did not turn when she heard Sherry’s approach. As always, his tread was light, but on this occasion the crushed gravel beneath his feet kept it from being soundless. She made room for him on the stone bench, drawing her skirt aside so that he might sit with her.

  “I thought I’d left it until too late,” he said. “Or was I wrong at the outset, and it was not your intention to leave tonight?”

  “You weren’t wrong.” It was a warm evening. Lily had removed the paisley silk shawl from her shoulders and laid it across her lap. She picked it up and drew it slowly back and forth between her hands. “It is always my first reaction. To run, that is. To hide as quickly as I am able. I am no longer sure it serves me so well. Circumstances have changed.”

  Sherry’s cheeks puffed a little as he released a long, slow breath. “I am gratified to hear it. Are you still afraid, Lily?”

  “Yes. Not so much now that you are here. I am beginning to appreciate that it is better when you are nearby. I do not know if I can adequately explain what it is like to live with the threat of him. It doesn’t matter that he is some place distant from Granville, he is always here,”—she tapped her temple—“always here in my mind. Tonight it seemed he had joined us at cards.”

  “Woodridge.”

  She nodded. “You suspected?”

  “It is truer that his name was one of many suspects on the list I had begun. I had not given him a great deal of thought, though I imagine that is because he is someone better known to me than others. Don’t mistake my meaning, Lily. Knowing him does not mean that I believe you less. In fact, quite the opposite is true. I can find it all too easy to credit him with every one of the things you told me. I suppose I simply believed I would have known something about them, yet I have never heard even a rumor that alludes to the proclivities that you described.”

  “Lady Rivendale said you introduced him to her.”

  “True. As I mentioned, it was reluctantly done.”

  “Then you knew something about the man’s character that made you hesitate.”

  Sherry said nothing for a long time. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He pressed the pads of this fingertips together, making a steeple of them, tapping them lightly as he considered what he might say to her. The weight of his thoughts seemed to bear his head down. His view was the gravel path, not the lake in the distance. Once he spoke, the words could not be taken bac
k. She would know something that no one outside the king’s confederates knew and there was an inherent risk in that, the vast majority of it to be borne by her.

  Sherry felt Lily’s hand on his back. She ran her palm slowly across the breadth of his shoulders. With each pass there was a sense of tension easing, of warmth slipping under his skin. She said nothing at all to encourage him; she seemed completely willing to accept his silence. Even her hand was not insistent, merely supportive.

  He looked up, past the hedge rows, then beyond them to the lake. Moonlight shimmered across the surface of the water, laying down a silvery path that appeared substantial enough to walk on. His chuckle was soft, mocking, as he realized he had been offered an opportunity to take a path such as that before, and he had done so without ever once testing the metaphorical waters. Remembering that was what finally decided Sherry.

  “Woodridge was my mentor,” he said. “He is the one who approached me while I was yet at Cambridge. He drew me out, listened to what I thought. My opinions interested him, and he permitted me to speak at length. I admit I was flattered by his attention, and certainly I was intrigued by what he had to say in turn. His ideas of governance, of what was truly required to administer the Crown’s policies and assure the liberties of the people, were different than anything I had heard before—or at least in the fact that he stated them openly. He challenged the notion that reasonable men could prevail on the strength of their ideas alone. He put forth the notion that what was required was resolve.”

  Lily’s hand had stopped moving on Sherry’s back. It rested on his shoulder. “Resolve? What does that mean?”

  “I did not entirely understand it then, but I do not offer that as an excuse. It means that one is willing to do whatever is necessary for the furtherance of the idea. It means that one justifies securing peace by killing, fostering the opinions of some by destroying the presses of others, and engaging the enemy in dialogue but not before knowing his secrets. Ideals, not ideas, are turned on their head. I can explain it no better than that, though I assure you that Woodridge did. Will it surprise you to learn that he is articulate, even masterful in presenting his thinking?”