She didn’t belong on a gaming room floor dealing cards to men who made lewd suggestions and tossed out coarse invitations. She deserved marriage to a husband who adored her, provided for her, and protected her from lecherous men.
Children. Most of all, her caring and sunny nature would make her a wonderful mother.
He’d been quite cynical when his brother, Hunt, had announced he was marrying Lady Diana, also known as Lady Trouble. The woman had been a plague on Hunt’s existence most of his life. Yet, all Hunt’s convoluted feelings had eventually melded into love. Strong love. Protective love. About-to-have-a-baby love.
Truthfully, Driscoll had never given a great deal of thought about marriage for himself. His brother, the heir, was healthy and strong so Driscoll had never worried about the burden of inheriting. And now with Diana and Hunt’s baby due sometime soon, Driscoll would thankfully move farther down the line.
With no need for the confining state of matrimony, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, thinking someday, when he had the time, he might look for a wife. Dip his toes, as it were, into the Marriage Mart. He’d select someone he could stand to look at over the breakfast table for the rest of his life and who would not make it a chore to bed her. A woman who was beyond the years of most debutantes, past the giggling and blushing stage.
He’d imagined a warm friendship between them, with caring and affection on both sides, but certainly not an encompassing love. From what he’d seen, love wasn’t the primary reason people—especially of his class—married.
He told himself Hunt and Diana were the exception.
Since he and Dante had been building their business and watching their money grow, all his time and energy had been spent thusly. Hell, Driscoll didn’t even live in a respectable house. He rented a flat not far from the club, always assuming one day he would look for a proper residence to either lease or purchase. Just like one day he would look for a wife.
Then a thought slammed into him like a fist to the gut. Perhaps ‘one day’ had crept closer to him when he wasn’t watching.
The door to the office swinging open interrupted his meandering. Dante entered and collapsed into the chair in front of Driscoll’s desk. He tugged at his cravat and yanked it off. “I’m glad the night’s over. We had a much larger crowd than normal. Do you suppose word of a female dealer had spread?”
“Perhaps. Amelia’s table was full the entire time she worked. Most times the table was three deep with men waiting to take a seat.”
Dante stretched with a loud yawn and then rested his linked fingers on his middle. “How did she do? I saw you replace her a couple of hours ago.”
“She did quite well, actually. No missteps that I could see. However—” He stopped, not exactly sure what he wanted to say.
“What?”
“I’m not sure we’re doing her a service, Dante. Amelia should not be working in a gaming club.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “She was insulted, propositioned, and spoken to as no lady should be.”
“You don’t know she’s a lady, brother. In fact, we know nothing about her. If you’re that concerned, and want to keep her on the payroll, put her in the kitchen, or add to our maid count. We can find someone to take her place at the table.”
Driscoll sat back and shook his head. “I can no more abide putting a lady to work in the kitchen, or cleaning water closets than dealing cards to rakes and libertines.”
Dante shrugged. “Then marry the chit.”
The words Driscoll was about to speak came to a grinding halt.
Marry her?
Not realizing how his brother’s easily tossed out words had affected him, Dante continued. “She’s given you no choice. If she has family out there,” he waved in the general direction of the window, “she doesn’t want to accept whatever help they can give her. If she has no family, then this job is her means of support.”
Completely ignoring Dante’s suggestion that he could marry her, Driscoll said, “She can marry.”
“Who? If not you, then one of the cads propositioning her? I would think they are more interested in making her their mistress.”
Driscoll slammed his hand down on the desk. “I would never allow that!”
Dante stared at him, then offered a slight, knowing smile. “Sorry to gainsay you, brother, but you are in no position to decide what happens to Amelia. You are not her father, brother, or guardian.” He smirked. “Or husband.”
He rubbed his eyes, ignoring his last remark. “I know. But someone has to look out for her.”
“So, Saint Driscoll steps up?”
“Enough.” Driscoll stood. “I’m for a drink right now and then home to bed.”
The brothers left the office together and took the stairs to the gaming floor.
Driscoll handed Dante a snifter of brandy. “Are you headed home? Or to Mrs. Bancroft’s?”
“I should head home, but . . .”
They drank in silence and then departed. They took their separate carriages, Driscoll brooding the entire way home. He stepped out of the vehicle and looked up at the building where his flat was located. He shook his head as he climbed the steps. He really should think more on finding a decent house. Something in Mayfair, or Baker Street, maybe Portman Square.
Perhaps that had something to do with his ennui lately. A sense of not moving forward. Was it truly time to give marriage a serious thought? A more respectable house and neighborhood? Set up his nursery?
The idea of attending the Marriage Mart events to find a bride never appealed to him. So many young, giggling girls and their ferocious mamas.
Maybe the right woman was not rushing from event to event looking for a husband. Perhaps as he’d noted previously, and as Dante had so casually mentioned, the true woman—for him—was right under his nose.
He smiled.
* * *
“There’s no getting away from it, Newton, you have to start attending these fancy ton balls and find your sister. I’m losing my patience.” Daniel Lyons took another sip of brandy and stared bleary-eyed at his drinking partner.
Randolph waved his hand, almost knocking over the bottle of brandy that sat between them. “I doubt I would be accepted at any respectable event. And I haven’t attended one in months. Years, maybe. Not really sure.”
“Nonsense. You are a viscount; you will be welcomed at any fancy affair. Especially with all the desperate mamas looking for husbands for their darling daughters. I hear there are dozens of wealthy girls from America anxious to marry a title. At least you’re young and passable in looks. More than most others who are hoping to save their hides by marrying money.”
Randolph burped. “I’m not that far down that I need to sell my title to some American chit with beady eyes and a large nose. Anyway, I don’t know why you think Amelia would be at any of those things. I’ve told you dozens of times, the girl doesn’t know anyone in London.”
Lyons slammed his glass down, sloshing liquid onto the table. “Bloody hell, man, she knows someone. She had no money to go anywhere else.” He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Unless you’re lying to me about the blasted girl disappearing and don’t want to make good on your bet.”
Randolph’s jaw dropped. “How dare you accuse me of being dishonorable! I would never renege on a bet.”
“Dishonorable enough to sell your sister into prostitution.” Malcolm Pringle, up to now the silent member of their little imbibing group lazily slouched in comfortable chairs in White’s, spoke up. “Not well done, Newton. She is your stepsister.”
“Mind your business, Pringle. This doesn’t involve you,” Lyons snapped.
Pringle shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Well, say it to yourself. The chit is under Newton’s control. He can do with her what he wants.”
“Sad life women have.” Pringle stretched out his long legs and crossed his ankles. “Doesn’t seem right that she can be bartered away like a horse. Or slave.”
F
or a fleeting second Randolph felt an embarrassed twist in his stomach. Then he pushed the thought away to dwell on something else. Maybe he should attend some of these ton events. He doubted Amelia would be at one, but perhaps he could find himself a wealthy wife. Like Lyons said, he had a title, and never had a problem attracting the ladies.
Of course, he’d never before tried attracting one of the respectable ones. But he could always try.
“Lady Broomfield is holding some sort of ball next week. I’m sure there’s an invitation in the pile most likely sitting on your desk at home,” Pringle said, reminding Randolph of the stack that he almost never went through. Warm lemonade, giggling debutantes and marriage-minded mamas bored him to tears. The girls were so well guarded a man was lucky to even get a kiss.
Randolph stretched. “I just might do that.” He grinned at Lyons. “Maybe I’ll find a rich wife and then I can pay you off and forget about Amelia.”
Lyons shook his head and glared at him, his snifter of brandy halfway to his mouth. “No deal. I want the girl.”
“You said you would take payment if she didn’t turn up.”
Daniel shrugged. “I’ve changed my mind. I want Amelia, and I want her soon. I don’t care what you have to do. Just find her.” He rose and left the club, swaying on his feet, not looking back.
“What are you going to do now, Newton?” Pringle asked.
“Find the bitch.” He gulped the rest of his drink.
* * *
Amelia took one last look in the mirror to admire herself. The ringlets framing her face gave her an impish look. The new pale green linen dress, one of the several she’d purchased while on her shopping trip with Driscoll fit her well. The white embroidery on the cuffs of the sleeves and the bottom of the dress made it look like the perfect morning dress a young lady of Quality would wear.
And despite her current circumstances, she must remember that she was a lady of Quality. She’d been born that way, raised that way, and would one day return to that status.
She hoped.
Although it wasn’t promising. With no family to speak of, no friends in London in the upper crust, it would be quite the challenge to find an acceptable husband. She could most likely secure a position as a companion to an older lady, or a governess to a lord’s children. That would certainly be a proper position for her, but a suitable match would be almost impossible from there.
The fairy tales and the romance novels of Miss Austen and the Bronte sisters, where all works out well in the end for the poor heroine, were fiction. Amelia had to deal with real life. Her original plan to save enough money to move elsewhere was still foremost in her mind. Hopefully in her new location—maybe a cozy little village—she might attract a vicar or kindly shop owner. She didn’t need a wealthy or titled husband. Just someone she cared for and who cared for her. A home of her own. Children to love and nurture.
All of those dreams were, unfortunately, dependent on not being forced to comply with Randolph’s intentions. She shuddered remembering how close she’d come to being passed off as a mistress.
She left her bedchamber and made her way to the dining room, which was empty. Generally, Driscoll and Dante were present having their breakfast. But food sat in covered dishes on the sideboard, as well as pots of tea and coffee, so she assumed they would join her shortly.
She fixed her tea and took a seat, inhaling the satisfying aroma, the steam from the cup misting her face. She missed this one little indulgence when she’d been forced to leave her country home to live in London.
Randolph had refused to allow Cook to buy tea since his preference was coffee on his rare visits, but Cook had kept her own supply of tea and offered a cup to Amelia on occasion. Too embarrassed to let the lovely women know she had no funds with which to purchase her own tea, she accepted the treat without comment.
“Good morning, Amelia.” Driscoll entered the room. “You are looking lovely today.”
She felt the blush rise from her middle. “Thank you.”
He went directly to the sideboard and filled his plate. “Aren’t you eating?” He nodded at her empty place while he settled in his seat across from her and shook out his napkin, placing it on his lap.
“Not yet. I’m enjoying my tea first.”
A slight sense of unease settled over her. As much as she’d enjoyed the kisses they’d shared, she was still troubled, hoping that Driscoll did not think her an easy woman who gave her favors to any man.
Driscoll, on the other hand, seemed quite cheerful and not at all concerned. But then, she was quite sure he’d kissed plenty of women, while his was her first kiss.
Dante strode into the room, a glower on his handsome face.
“What’s wrong, brother? I expected you to be in the best of moods,” Driscoll said. “Or didn’t you spend the night—” He glanced over at Amelia and added, “Never mind. We’ll talk later.”
Once Dante was settled with a cup of coffee in front of him, Amelia stood and moved to the sideboard to fill a plate. She could hear mumbling behind her between the two brothers, but they spoke low enough that she could not make out the words. All she could tell was Dante was angry.
She joined them and almost groaned when she took her first bite of the fresh bread.
“Amelia, I did some work on the books last night and it looks like your table did outstandingly well.” Driscoll smiled at her, almost like a proud parent, and again she blushed.
“Congratulations,” Dante offered.
“But I didn’t work the entire time.”
Driscoll laughed. “That’s the amazing part. The table returns dropped once you left the table.”
Amelia smiled. “I guess I did all right.”
Driscoll covered her hand with his and regarded her with a look that had her heart thumping and her insides fluttering. “Yes. You did.”
They smiled at each other.
“Enough for me.” Dante rolled his eyes and stood. “I have work to do.” Coffee cup in hand, he left the room.
Speaking of work reminded Amelia of her promise. “I plan to help you with the books today. I know watching me last night took you away from your work.”
Instead of arguing with her as she thought he would do, he said, “I would appreciate that.”
When she flushed and studied her lap, he said, “Amelia, look at me.”
She glanced up, sure that her face was red as a ripe apple. “What?”
“Please don’t be embarrassed with me. I liked kissing you and I hope you enjoyed it, too.”
She shrugged and drew circles on the table. “It was nice.”
“Just nice?” He studied her, his deep brown eyes boring into hers. “I guess the next time I shall have to do better.”
Amelia gulped the last of her tea and stood. “I will see you in the office.”
Next time?
13
Three weeks later
“We have a problem, brother.” Dante strolled into the office, pulled out the chair in front of Driscoll’s desk and threw himself into it, his long legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles. Although he appeared relaxed, the tension in his brother’s body was palpable.
Driscoll’s muscles tightened. He had a good idea what problem Dante referred to and he wasn’t yet ready to discuss it. It had kept him awake the past two nights.
Feigning ignorance was his choice of reaction. “And what is that?”
Dante studied him for a minute. “I think you already know.”
Driscoll pulled his spectacles off and rubbed his bleary eyes. He’d been going over the receipts for the past three weeks and no matter how many times he added and re-added, the answers were always the same.
“If you’re referring to the drop in house receipts, I am aware of it.”
Dante straightened and leaned forward. “Not the house receipts, Driscoll. Specifically, Amelia’s table receipts. They were quite robust her first ten days, but the past week and a half they’ve slipped considerably. Ev
ery night.”
That very point had been bugging Driscoll for days. “I am aware of that. However, it’s quite possible the novelty of having a woman dealer has worn off and things have settled down.”
“Good try.” Dante grinned, despite his obvious annoyance. “I realize you haven’t been watching her table as closely since you’ve had words with the few men who had been harassing her, but from what I’ve seen her table has been just as popular this past week and a half as it had been her first ten days. The only difference is now she is counting her money and turning it in herself instead of you helping her with it.”
When Driscoll didn’t comment, Dante continued, his voice lowered. “We have to once again consider that Amelia arrived here with nothing more than the clothes on her back, with no apparent home or relatives searching for her.”
Driscoll cleaned his spectacles and put them back on. “I know all of that. But I sincerely believe she is not stealing from us. She has been nothing but pleasant, hard-working, and grateful for the help we’ve provided her.”
Dante jumped up from his seat. “She could also be a former member of a well-trained cast on Drury Lane and a fine actress.”
“Are you suggesting everything we’ve seen of Amelia in the past month has been a lie?” The amount of anger he felt at Dante’s criticism startled him.
Running his fingers through his hair, Dante paced the room. “I don’t know. I have to agree that aside from this missing money, she has not shown any indication of nefarious intentions.”
Driscoll reflected on the problem as his brother continued to pace. If only he could convince Amelia to trust him with her secrets. Holding back as she was only made the drop in her receipts suspect.
He’d gotten very close to her in the past few weeks and was rather enjoying the feeling. They’d spent time together at the end of each shift, and they’d taken a few trips to Bond Street for shopping. He loved the enjoyment on her face when she remarked about how proud she was to be purchasing things with money she’d earned herself.
A Lady’s Trust Page 9
