Page 14 of King of Clubs (The Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society #9)

J oshua went down to inform Mr. Wainwright that he was leaving. “My mother is up in my rooms. Please mention to the chef, should she want anything, she will ring.”

“Of course, my lord.” A smile twitched on the man’s lips.

“What?”

“Nothing, my lord. It is, er, wonderful that your mother is visiting.”

“Yes, she just arrived from the West Indies. She is quite exhausted from her travels, so please be certain she won’t be disturbed this evening.”

“Yes, of course, my lord,” he said, sobering immediately.

Joshua gave the man a nod and strode out the door just as a few men were coming in. He greeted them and then mounted his phaeton, which was being held for him by his groom.

He made it half way to Lady Ayres’s home, where the Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society was holding a party to celebrate the weddings that had taken place over the past year, before he turned around. He just couldn’t leave his mother all alone, not after the harrowing journey she’d had.

But as he got to the end of the block, he turned his conveyance back toward Lady Ayres’s home. His mother had told him that she would be doing nothing but sleeping, and he believed her. He didn’t believe he’d ever seen his mother so exhausted—and well she should be after such a journey!

This time he got as far as the lady’s home, and had even started toward the house after leaving his phaeton in the capable hands of his groom, before his footsteps slowed.

But what if she woke up and needed something? What if she was hungry, or confused, or… Another man was loitering in front of Lady Ayres’s home. He also seemed undecided as to whether he would be going in to join the party.

“Going in?” Joshua asked the fellow.

“I beg your pardon?” The man turned around, stepping away from the light but not before Joshua caught a glimpse of the mangled left side of his face.

Joshua clamped his mouth shut to keep the gasp of shock from escaping his lips. Clearly, the fellow had suffered some sort of horrific accident, or perhaps he was a soldier who had returned from the war. Whatever it was, surely this was the reason for the man’s hesitation. Joshua couldn’t blame him one bit, but he was damned if he was going to react.

“You’ve been standing out here for a few minutes. I was wondering if you were going in,” Joshua said.

“Oh, er, no,” the gentleman said. “No,” he said more firmly.

“Can’t say that I’m all that eager to do so myself. Something about the air this evening. Usually I love a party. All the gossip, the company, the ladies,” he gave a little chuckle as he realized that he wasn’t ready to share his own personal reasons for not wanting to go in. “Somehow, tonight I’d rather… not.”

“As you can see, I’m not exactly eager either,” the other man admitted.

“I’m Wickford, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He held out a hand.

“Pennyston. No, I’ve been in the army.”

“The Peninsula?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Wickford. I’ve heard that name recently.”

“Really? Who was talking about me?” Joshua’s curiosity was piqued.

“Colburne. Yes, that’s right, he was saying something about a new gentlemen’s club?” Pennyston asked. “One that you own? Am I getting things mixed up—if so, I apologize.”

“No, no, that’s exactly right. I own Powell’s. It’s a relatively new club. What do you say we stop over there instead of…” He waved a hand at the house in front of them.

“I’d like that… only…” Pennyston started.

Joshua waited for him to finish.

“I’d hate to scare away your clientele,” he said softly.

“What?”

Pennyston stepped back into the light.

“Oh! I see. War wound?” Joshua asked pretending he hadn’t even noticed earlier.

“Yes.”

“I rather doubt you’d scare anyone, but if you’d be more comfortable, I think we could find a dark corner for you,” Joshua offered. “As well as some of the finest rum you will taste anywhere.”

Pennyston laughed, sounding incredibly relieved. “I’d like that very much.”

~*~

Moving shadows outside the window of Lady Ayres’s home caught Gwendolyn’s attention. She was supposed to be following the conversation between Bel and the Duchess of Bolton, but the shadows kept distracting her.

She shifted closer to the window in an attempt to make out who was there. It was odd that there were two men just standing outside. Why didn’t they come in, she wondered. The taller of the two men moved into the light spilling from the window.

It was Lord Wickford! Gwendolyn’s heart stuttered for a moment, but she quickly scoffed at herself. She had no interest in the man. Oh, but wait, she did. She’d come up with the idea while wandering Fortnum and Mason, the tea shop, that afternoon. She’d had no idea as to what sort of tea to purchase for her new club. She knew an ordinary tea just wouldn’t do, and that was all they seemed to have. No, what she needed was something extraordinary, like Lord Wickford had at Powell’s with his rum.

And then she had realized, that she really needed Lord Wickford—not the man, necessarily, but the club owner. She needed his advice. But the question was, how to get it without divulging to him the real reason she needed it.

She figured she could somehow divert a polite conversation toward his club, sure the gentleman would be more than happy to talk about it. And then she could ask him what she needed to know in a round-about way.

“Oh,” she sighed in disappointment as she now watched Lord Wickford and the other gentleman turn around and walk away. It didn’t look like he was coming in. How was she going to speak with him now?

“Is there something wrong, Gwendolyn?” Bel asked, claiming her attention.

“What? Oh, no, not at all. Why do you ask?” Gwendolyn said.

“You said something,” her friend pointed out.

“Did I?” Gwendolyn could feel her face heating with a touch of embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. And now that she noticed, it seemed that the duchess had moved off to speak to someone else. How incredibly rude of Gwendolyn not to have even noticed. “I do beg your pardon. I was, er, woolgathering, that’s all.”

“Thinking about your new club?” Bel asked with a little smile.

“Shhh,” Gwendolyn said, her eyes darting around the room to see if there was anyone close enough to have heard what her friend had just said. “Please, you can’t say such a thing in public. What if someone should hear you?” she whispered.

Bel looked around and gave a little shrug. “There’s no one nearby.”

“Still, please, Bel, please don’t talk about it unless we’re alone.” Gwendolyn gave her a pleading look. “I would be ruined should it come out, you know that.”

Bel looked appropriately chastised. “Of course. I do. I’m sorry. I won’t say another word.”

“Thank you!”

“But who were you looking at outside?” Bel asked, turning to look out the window. There was no one there any longer, much to Gwendolyn’s relief. She wasn’t about to admit to her friend that she’d been hoping Lord Wickford would come in to the party. She wasn’t quite ready to admit her desire to speak with the gentleman, not even to one of her closest friends, not even despite the fact that she only wanted to speak to him about his club.

“There was a gentleman there I didn’t recognize,” Gwendolyn told her, neatly omitting Lord Wickford’s presence as well.

“Oh, but he didn’t come in?” Bel asked, looking out the window.

“No. He just left,” Gwendolyn said.

“Who left?” Lady Blakemore asked, coming up to join them.

“There was a gentleman outside. He looked for a moment like he was going to come in, hesitated, and then left,” Gwendolyn told her.

“Who could that have been, I wonder,” the older lady said.

“He looked to be a gentleman—at least he was dressed well,” Gwendolyn said.

Lady Blakemore frowned at her. “Not everyone who dresses well is a gentleman—or a lady for that matter.”

Gwendolyn wondered if her words were a veiled rebuke of her attempt to enter society when she was not from a noble family. She thought it in her best interest to ignore it if it were. “I feel bad for him, actually,” she said. “He looked rather lost, forlorn. But then Lord Wickford came along, and the two of them went off together.”

“Lord Wickford was here but did not come in?” Bel asked, turning back toward the window.

Gwendolyn just nodded.

“This all very odd,” Lady Blakemore announced. “I do hope there is nothing wrong, otherwise such behavior might be considered extremely rude.” She strode away leaving Gwendolyn and Bel watching her leave to join some other conversation.

“She terrifies me,” Gwendolyn whispered to Bel. “She’s so very particular about proper behavior.”

Her friend giggled. “She can be rather intimidating. But don’t worry, I’m sure she wasn’t remarking on your behavior. You’re doing an excellent job so far this Season.”

“Thank you. Now I just have to make sure I don’t make any mistakes. I’m certain that one small foot out of place and…”

“Don’t worry, I said I wouldn’t speak of anything in public again,” Bel said quickly.

“No, no, I wasn’t just talking about that, but generally.” Gwendolyn put a hand on Bel’s arm.

“Oh, good. You are an intelligent, accomplished person, Gwendolyn. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

~*~

Joshua enjoyed a pleasant conversation with Lord Pennyston in a darkened corner of the club, but he was called away too soon to deal with two gentlemen who had a disagreement regarding a wager. It was a common enough problem but needed to be dealt with in the most diplomatic way.

“Wickford,” Lord Touffington said, as Joshua passed him on his way out of the card room.

“My lord, I hope you are enjoying some good luck this evening?” Joshua asked, giving the man a smile. He didn’t like the fellow, but he dropped a good bit of blunt in the card room at least three times a week. Joshua nodded to the other men around the table.

“I am, thank you,” Touffington said, putting down a card with a nod. “Have you heard the latest?”

“Regarding?” Joshua asked. With Touffington, who loved exalting in the misfortune of others, the news could have been anything.

“The Rakehell Club down the street. It’s gone out of business.”

“Really? That’s a shame.”

“Well, I imagine it’s good for your business,” the man said with a sly smile.

“Not really. Having another club so close by brought in quite a few curious gentlemen. And I am never happy to hear about the failure of a club. Knowing how much time and effort is put into starting one—”

“Not to mention the expense,” Touffington added.

“Indeed, there is that as well. So no, I am indeed, very sorry to hear the news,” Joshua said.

Lord Touffington looked rather put out that he hadn’t succeeded in upsetting Joshua’s evening.

Joshua took advantage of the pause in the conversation to excuse himself. As he wandered about the club, checking to ensure that everything was going well and everyone content, he wondered at the closure of the Rakehell. What he’d said to Lord Touffington had been absolutely true. He was sorry to hear of its demise. On the other hand, he rather thought the gambling den had brought down the neighborhood which, for the most part, held only clubs of refinement like his own.

He also couldn’t help but wonder who might move in.

~April 24~

Hannah Powell, Lady Wickford, looked with disgust at the gown she’d been wearing for the past five days. She could not, would not, don it again! It was awful enough to have had to wear a stinking dress that had been soaked with rain, sea, and filth for her entire journey to London, but she absolutely refused to wear it again.

She picked up the offending garment and handed it to Joshua’s man, who was looking impossibly awkward just inside the bedchamber. “Take it away and burn it,” she commanded.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, taking the gown.

“Where is my son?” she demanded.

“He is in the dining room, my lady. Eating breakfast. Would you like me to—”

She waved his words away. “I shall find it. This house does not seem to be overly large.”

“Yes, my lady. Er, no, it isn’t, my lady.” He bowed, leaving her alone, taking that awful rag with him.

Hannah appreciated that Joshua’s man treated her with the utmost respect. It was exactly what she would have expected, but one never knew how a servant would behave with someone unfamiliar to them. It was clear, however, that her son had trained his people well. Clearly, despite the fact that he’d left her when he was merely eight years old, he remembered her lessons. That was gratifying.

Her only problem now was that she had nothing to wear. Clad only in Joshua’s night gown, she strode out of her room with her head held high—which really was the only way one could face the world when in such a predicament. She found the dining room easily enough. There were only three doors on the floor below the bedchambers. One she knew was the drawing room; he’d shown her that room the day before. She tried the door farther toward the back of the house.

“Mother!” Joshua jumped to his feet. He’d been sitting at the far end of a smallish table, a nearly empty plate and a small pile of newspapers in front of him.