“I thought you were supposed to be courting all the money in England?” Octavia said as she gestured for Thomas to enter Miss Ivy’s.
The club had just barely opened for the evening, so there were only a few patrons and the club staff milling about. Thomas kissed Octavia on the cheek, then took her elbow and guided her to the bar. “Do you have time for a drink?” he asked as they walked.
“With the most charming man in London? Certainly,” Octavia replied, her cheeky smile reminding him just why he liked her so much.
The barkeep knew both their orders, and quickly set their drinks up on the bar. Thomas held his glass aloft, waiting as Octavia picked hers up.
“What are we drinking to?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in question.
“To my luck,” he replied, taking a deep breath.
He tapped his glass against hers, then took a sip. The whisky burned going down his throat, and it reminded him of Jane coughing after she drank. And then doing it again, entirely undaunted by the alcohol’s intense flavor.
“What are you smiling like that for?” Octavia asked, sounding suspicious.
“Nothing,” Thomas replied, quickly shifting his expression to something more neutral. “I am going to try my luck at your tables.” He’d been almost violently opposed to such an action, given that it was his father’s gamble on investments that had brought the family to their current straits. But he was reaching the point where he had to take some sort of action to change the situation—either for better or for worse—and he’d decided to follow Lady Jane’s lead and take a risk.
Octavia frowned as she placed her glass back on the bar. “Pardon me for saying so, but if you lose, you will have even less money than you do now.”
“That is how gambling works, thank you,” Thomas replied in a dry tone. It was what had kept him from the tables before.
“So why risk it? Why not find some safe woman to gamble on?”
Thomas paused as he thought about how to explain it to Octavia. Though she, of anyone, would understand risk, having been at Miss Ivy’s since a young age.
Now, having kissed Jane and seen what an unencumbered future could look like—well, it was worth a gamble, literally, if it meant he could stave off having to woo and win a bride. Perhaps by the time his family needed more money, he would have figured something out that didn’t require selling himself to the highest bidder.
The only way he knew to get a large sum of money quickly was to gamble. At least, the only legal way he knew; he wasn’t prepared to start picking pockets, or engage in contraband smuggling or the like.
Not just because those things would send him to prison, where he’d be no help to his family, but also because he knew he would be terrible at both those things. He likely wouldn’t be able to disguise himself enough to rob the bank, and he didn’t have money to buy the contraband goods in the first place, let alone know where or from whom to buy them and then where to sell them.
He was good for one thing: being charming.
But that could also play out to his advantage at the gambling tables.
“I have positioned myself as a person who is a good companion, the dinner guest you always want to have at your table, the person you want to ask your wallflower young lady or ancient aunt to dance. I never say anything unpleasant, and I am adept at making people feel special, as though they are the only person in the room.”
“True,” Octavia admitted. “Which is why you are ideal for finding a wealthy bride. You’ll be able to charm both her and her likely suspicious parents.”
“But being that charming requires a certain effort of observing people.” Thomas gestured around the room. More guests were arriving, and a few tables were already full. “If I can observe people while they play games of chance—”
“You can predict what kind of play they will make,” Octavia finished in a triumphant tone of voice.
“Hush, don’t reveal my secrets,” Thomas said. “But yes.”
Octavia gave a firm nod. “I will help. Lady Montague over there is loaded to the gills with money,” she said, gesturing discreetly toward where an older lady sat with two younger gentlemen, “and she gets distracted by a pretty face such as yours.”
Thomas finished his drink as he rose. “Then I will join Lady Montague’s table.” He paused. “I want to assure you I have the money to pay, should I be so unfortunate to lose.”
Octavia made a shooing gesture. “I know, I would expect nothing less. Go. See if your powers of observation are as strong as you believe them to be.”
Two hours later, and Thomas had won enough to pay his family’s bills for another month. Not quite the windfall he’d hoped for, but a bit of breathing room—thirty days’ worth of breathing room, in fact—so he wouldn’t feel the constant dread that walked with him anytime he walked outside of his club.
And Lady Montague didn’t seem at all annoyed he’d won against her. In fact, she’d invited him to join her the following week when she returned.
But the entire time, he’d been in a panic, realizing that his risk, his gamble, was jeopardizing everything and everyone he cared about. Even though he was doing it for them. He didn’t think he could make a habit of it, not without having his heart in his throat every time he turned a card over. But at least he had won this evening. That would do for now.
Octavia was waiting as he made his way to the door. “Well?” she asked, holding his hat in her hand. He took it from her and placed it on his head.
“Well,” he replied, “I was able to win just enough.” He took a deep breath for the first time in hours.
“You can’t stake your future on this, you understand,” Octavia said in a concerned tone of voice. “Plenty of people have tried, and none have succeeded. The house always wins, you know. Eventually.”
“I know.” He paused. “I won’t be doing it again anytime soon.”
It was terrifying that only a few pounds stood between him and utter bankruptcy.
“Miss Grosvenor,” Jane exclaimed as she saw the lady. It was evening, and Percy had wanted to take an evening off from carousing with his economics friends, so he had agreed to escort Jane to her event—tonight it was a party celebrating the engagement of an acquaintance of Jane’s, a lady who had come out the same year and was now going to marry the second son of a member of Queen Victoria’s cabinet.
The room they were in was festooned with flowers, vases and swaths and buckets of them studding the tables and walls. The bride-to-be wore a gown that matched the decorations, an ebullient gown with a veritable garden embroidered on it. She wore a headpiece with flowers on it, and her cheeks were, suitably, flushed a rosy pink.
There were rumors that the queen herself would attend, but there were always rumors that she would attend, and she seldom did. The guests in attendance included several other of the young ladies in Jane’s debutante year, most of them married by now and a few of them clearly with child.
If she hadn’t had her eyes opened by RatTavish’s weak idiocy, she would likely have been one of them. Thank goodness she had not.
Though some of them had married for love, and it was obvious, from seeing them with their husbands, that they were happy.
She envied that. It would be even more difficult now to find someone to fall in love with—someone she could marry, that was. She’d already found someone she might possibly fall in love with, but there was no chance he would marry her.
He couldn’t afford to.
“Good evening, my lady,” Miss Grosvenor replied. She wore a lovely evening gown made of a cream-colored silk, small ruffles edging the hem, while diamonds glittered at her ears and wrist.
Jane was wearing something she’d worn two years ago, back when she had parents invested in her having a remarkable wardrobe so she could capture the best man as her spouse.
It was still a pretty gown, but she’d had to rework some of the tulle overskirt, since it was rather the worse for wear.
“I didn’t realize you knew Miss Carnady,” Jane said, gesturing to where the engaged lady was holding court, showing off her engagement ring and her husband-to-be. In that order.
Miss Grosvenor shook her head. “I don’t, but my father is acquainted with Mr. Townshend’s father.” Mr. Townshend was the groom, a serious gentleman who seemed prepared to follow his father’s footsteps into government.
“Who are you here with?” Lady Jane asked. Mostly because she didn’t recall Miss Grosvenor having a chaperone, but of course she must have—all respectable young ladies did, even if said chaperone frequently decamped to gamble in another room or sit on the sidelines falling asleep.
“My stepmother,” Miss Grosvenor said, wrinkling her nose. “My father is in London, of course, but is always too busy to accompany me to something so frivolous.” She gave Jane a significant glance. “My stepmother is never too busy for frivolity.”
As though on cue, Jane heard a shriek of feminine laughter, and Miss Grosvenor winced. “That is my stepmother.”
They turned to view the source of the laughter—Mrs. Grosvenor was likely only half a dozen years older than her stepdaughter. She was remarkably, vibrantly pretty, and wore a stunning gown in a bright green satin.
“Ah,” Jane said diplomatically.
“She is very kind,” Miss Grosvenor added hastily. “She is just—well, I find we have little in common.”
Mrs. Grosvenor shrieked again.
“It appears she finds things amusing, at least?” Jane offered.
Miss Grosvenor gave a pained smile. “Very often. Oh, there is Mr. Sharpe.” Miss Grosvenor nodded toward the front of the room.
Jane tried to look delighted as he approached them determinedly. Because this was the whole point, wasn’t it? For him to persuade some wealthy lady to get married? And not only was Miss Grosvenor very wealthy, but she also seemed to be kind, which could not but be a bonus in the situation.
“Ladies,” he said as he joined them. “I am pleased to see you.” Was it her imagination, or did his eyes linger on her mouth?
“Good evening, Mr. Sharpe,” Miss Grosvenor said. “I am so glad you are here—I know so few people having just arrived.”
“Where are you from?” Jane asked.
Miss Grosvenor uttered an aggrieved sigh. “Wessex. Far, far away from anywhere civilized. Father didn’t want to bring me to London until I was prepared to make my debut. He was concerned some devious gentleman would convince me to elope with him so he could get his hands on my money.”
“There are plenty of devious gentlemen about, Miss Grosvenor,” Jane said, careful not to meet Mr. Sharpe’s eyes. “If you have any questions about anyone, please feel free to ask me. I have been in and among Society for two years now, and consider myself a good judge of character.”
There. That should lay the groundwork for later on, when she could inform Miss Grosvenor that Mr. Sharpe was extremely fond of a certain young lady, but wasn’t certain his suit would be well considered.
She wished she didn’t dread the day some lady would say yes. She also wished that Miss Grosvenor’s father wasn’t absolutely correct about several of the young gentlemen who would swarm around his daughter. Including Mr. Sharpe.
He was pursuing this course for altruistic reasons. But did that make it any better?
She wasn’t enough of an ethicist to decide that, but she did know she wanted him to succeed. Even though she also did not.
“Lady Jane is indeed an excellent judge of character,” Mr. Sharpe said in a mild tone. Jane shot him a sharp glance, which he responded to with an innocent lift of his eyebrows. As though he were saying, “who, me?”
Yes, you.
“Mr. Sharpe is very kind,” Jane replied.
Mr. Sharpe smothered a snort of laughter.
Miss Grosvenor remained blissfully unaware of the undercurrents of conversation happening between them, thank goodness.
“There is no dancing this evening, is there?” Mr. Sharpe said as he gazed around the room. “Though I believe we will have a few speeches from the future bride’s father and the groom.” He paused in thought. “Why doesn’t the bride herself get a speech?”
Jane gave him an appreciative look. Which, honestly, was the look she gave him most often, what with being the handsomest man in the room, but this time it was for his words, not his appearance.
“I did not realize you were aware of the frequent imbalance of the sexes, Mr. Sharpe,” she said.
“I endeavor to right that balance in my own life,” Mr. Sharpe replied, his tone silky. “For example, if there is something I’ve received, I will give that same thing back to a lady, if she desires it.”
Jane’s eyes widened, and he returned her look with a slow, knowing smile. As though he was completely aware of what he might be saying, and was intent on teasing her.
“Oh,” she said, her voice higher and breathier than usual. This was the anticipation portion of her learning. And now that she knew some of what might happen during the actuality of it all, her body was even more responsive.
Her breathing quickened, and it seemed as though she could feel his hand on her breast, which felt tight in her gown. Aching for his touch.
“And I often take measures to ensure the lady has more than a few of whatever she wants. Even if I go without. It is the right thing to do.” He paused, his intent gaze locked on her face. “And it brings me satisfaction as well.”
“Oh,” she said again, more softly this time.
“I don’t believe it would bring me any kind of satisfaction to engage in any public speaking,” Miss Grosvenor declared. She wasn’t looking at either one of them, instead looking at Miss Carnady.
Jane’s heart leaped as his gaze shifted, lower to her mouth, and then lower still, traveling lazily back up to her eyes as though he was drinking her in. And was parched.
It was intoxicating to be looked at like that.
So she did the same back at him, making his mouth curl up into a wry smile.
“Equality in all things, Mr. Sharpe,” she murmured.