Page 21 of King of Clubs (The Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society #9)

“O h! Excellent! Thank you,” Gwendolyn said. She immediately turned and followed him back to the kitchen.

Mr. Ropier was standing in the middle of the room, watching the men complete the installation.

“Mr. Ropier, thank you so much for coming over,” Gwendolyn said, approaching the man.

He turned and bowed to her. “Dis stove, she is magnifique!” The broad smile on his face said everything she needed to know.

She laughed. “I am so happy you are pleased. We have already ordered the large table that will go where you are standing and…” She turned around the room, admiring all the other fittings. “I think everything is the way you would like it to be?”

“Oui, oui, it is parfait! I am very ‘appy.”

“Excellent,” she said.

“Lord Wickford, ‘e is not so ‘appy, you know,” the chef told her.

“Oh dear, no, I don’t suppose—” Before she could even finish her sentence, the man himself gave a brief knock on the back door and then came in.

“Monsieur Ropier, I cannot allow you to go! You must not! Where is your sense of loyalty, of—” he stopped suddenly, realizing he had more of an audience than he’d realized.

Gwendolyn spun around to escape before he saw her, but she knew already it was too late. She’d reacted too slowly.

“Miss Sherman!” Her name popped out of Lord Wickford’s mouth like a curse.

She stopped where she was before slowly turning back toward him. “Good morning, my lord.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning at her.

“I, er…” she started.

“But she is the one ‘oo ‘ired me!” the chef exclaimed. “I am loyal only to ‘e, or she”—he bowed in her direction—“’oo pays me the most and gives me the beautiful kitchen. Is she not fantastique?” he said, indicating the new stove.

Lord Wickford barely spared a glance for the appliance; he was scowling at Gwen too fiercely. “Hmm… fantastic isn’t the word I would have chosen.”

“My lord, perhaps we should leave the chef and Mr. Jamieson to discuss, er, menus. Mr. Ropier, please inform Mr. Jamieson what food we should procure, so you have all the ingredients you will need to produce the magnificent meals needed for the grand opening next week.” She gave the men a tremulous smile and then walked out of the kitchen, hoping Lord Wickford was following.

She wasn’t disappointed. She paused in the center of the tea room to turn and find him standing just behind her, looking around the room. “What do you think? This is the tea room.” Before he could even respond, she led him around to the dining room. “This will be the restaurant. As you see, there is a separate entrance for those who are not members.”

He took note of the side door and nodded, still not saying a word.

She led him up the stairs. “And this is the card room,” she said, entering the large room just above the dining room. “I’ve had insulation put into the floor in the same way that you have it in the walls, so the noise from one room doesn’t disturb those in the other.”

He crossed his arms, looking around at the green baize tables filling the room with their matching cushioned chairs. “Yet another thing you’ve stolen from me.”

“Er, yes, well, it is something that everyone exclaims over when they speak about Powell’s,” she said softly.

He made an odd noise that sounded surprisingly like a grunt.

“My lord, you do know that copying is the greatest form of flattery?” She had no idea why she was feeling so guilty, why she wanted him to forgive her. She tried to remind herself that she didn’t even like this man. She tried to calm her pounding heart that had leapt with joy, along with the understandable terror, when he’d walked into the kitchen.

His expression softened.

“And you know that the Ryder Street Club is not competition. We serve a completely different clientele,” she reminded him.

“Except for the chef you stole,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes, but truly, I needed something to entice the ladies to come! You don’t know how difficult it is to start something that no one has ever done before. Ladies aren’t used to the idea of going to a club to meet with friends the way men are.”

“It truly is a novel concept,” he conceded.

“I am doing everything I can to encourage ladies to join, and one thing they like most of all is thinking that they are being offered exactly the same thing their husbands and fathers have access to.”

He nodded. “It does make sense. Are you going to serve alcohol as well as tea?”

“Yes. Ratafia, other wines, and perhaps I will make some of the strong liquors available for those who wish to be even more bold and to serve in the restaurant to gentlemen guests—but only in the evenings, of course.”

“Why? I’m sure some people would like to have a good strong drink during the day. I know I could use one about now.” His lips quirked up into a little smile that sent Gwendolyn’s heart skittering.

She laughed. “You are funning, my lord, I’m sure. But no, we will serve tea and other light refreshments during the day.”

He gave a little shrug. “Do you have a source for your beverages? I could recommend someone.”

Gwendolyn’s mouth nearly fell open at his generosity. “That would be very good of you, my lord!”

“You aren’t doing all of this on your own, are you? Have you ever run a club before?”

“No. I would hardly know where to begin. I have my majordomo, Mr. Jamieson. He’s been working at Clarendon’s Hotel for some years and is quite knowledgeable. I am merely here to bankroll the endeavor and provide a few ideas and suggestions from time to time.”

He looked at her skeptically and then gave a little laugh. “I don’t believe that for a moment, Miss Sherman. You are the most opinionated young woman I have ever met. You probably have that poor man firmly under your thumb.”

She opened her mouth to refute him, but he held up a hand. “Would you care to come over to Powell’s? I will share the names of my suppliers and answer any questions you might have about running a club.”

“You are too good, my lord!” Why, why, why was this man so nice to her? How could anyone be so handsome and helpful?

He took a step toward her, stopped, and then indicated she precede him out of the room. She did so and then informed Jamieson, who was in the dining room managing a delivery, where she was going.

“Very good, Miss Sherman. When you return, I expect to be able to show you our new dishes,” he said. He looked like a little boy on Christmas morning, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement.

She just laughed, gave him a wave, and then allowed Lord Wickford to escort her down the street to his club.

He directed her down a hall to his office. It was a handsome room, very masculine with deep-red leather wingback chairs and a navy-blue sofa by the fireplace. A large mahogany desk stood by the window. Gwendolyn was thrilled to see how messy it was. Finally, something he didn’t do perfectly!

He stood at his desk and shuffled among the papers, searching for something. With an “Ah-ha!” he pulled forth an invoice. “Here we are.” He handed her the paper to look at.

In very neat writing, it listed the different types of liquor Lord Wickford had purchased for his club in the past month along with the prices. Gwendolyn looked it over. “This company is completely reliable?” she asked.

“I’ve been working with them for the past five years, and they’ve never missed a shipment,” he told her.

“Excellent. Could you write their name out for me and who Jamieson should contact?”

“I would be happy to.” He paused and looked at her. “You do realize just how damaging it would be to your reputation should anyone find out—”

“I know,” she sighed. She’d been waiting for this conversation, certain it would come sooner or later.

“It’s a great risk, Miss Sherman.”

“But I simply had to do something! Do you know how boring it is to be a young lady of society? I had nothing to do!”

“Do you not visit with friends? Go on outings and to parties?” he asked incredulously.

She gave a little shrug. “I did all that and shopping too… and then I got this incredible idea for a club for ladies.”

“It is a unique idea,” he agreed.

“And I figured if you could be an active member of society and run a club, I certainly could as well,” she stated.

He smiled, and her heart melted a little more. “It’s not easy, I can assure you. It took me years to be able to juggle everything, and I have a very reliable man who is here whenever I am not.”

“I figured that had to be the key,” she nodded. “It’s why I hired Jamieson. He is wonderful. Very knowledgeable. Very capable.”

“You are also very capable. Incredibly so.”

Gwendolyn was suddenly very aware of just how close they were standing—practically toe to toe. He leaned forward, narrowing the gap between them. “What is it about you, Miss Sherman? Why can I not stay away from you?” he whispered, moments before his lips feathered across hers.

“I’m certain I don’t know,” she breathed before rising on her toes a little, so he wouldn’t have to lean down quite so much to reach her.

His lips pressed down upon hers once again. They were warm and supple and moved in the most delicious way. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, but somehow it climbed to cup the back of his neck as he nibbled sweet little kisses against her lips. She could feel his hand on her waist and another on her back. He was sweet as—

“Joshua, I—Oh!” a woman’s voice interrupted.

Gwendolyn jumped backwards out of Lord Wickford’s arms.

“Mother!” he said, clearly as surprised as she. “You really should knock.”

“I do beg your pardon! I didn’t realize you had Miss Sherman here,” Lady Wickford said. One side of her mouth lifted in a little smile. “I’ll leave you…” she started to back out of the room.

“No, no. It’s all right. I, er,” Lord Wickford said.

“I was just leaving. Thank you very much, my lord. And, er, you’ll share the name of your supplier…” Gwendolyn said quickly, filling in when his words petered out.

“Yes! Yes, I will drop that off to your man, er, Mr. Jamieson, is it not?” he said.

“Yes. Thank you.” Gwendolyn came around to the other side of the desk and gave Lady Wickford a curtsey. “It was lovely seeing you again, my lady.”

~*~

Joshua’s mother closed the door after Miss Sherman, turning a broad smile back toward him. “She’s a very nice girl, although I’m not entirely certain she should have allowed you to kiss her in that way.”

“Mother…” Joshua dropped his face into his hand. After a moment during which he attempted to calm his pounding heart, he looked back up. “She is a very nice girl, and honestly, I… I should not have kissed her. It was very wrong of me. I am thinking of courting Miss Hanslow.”

“What? Why, when you are clearly attracted to Miss Sherman? I do not understand what games you are playing, Joshua.” She came forward, no longer smiling, quite the opposite, in fact.

“I’m not playing any games. Truly. I… I didn’t intend to kiss her. She just looked… well, that’s irrelevant. I am planning on asking Lord Hanslow for permission to court his daughter.”

“And I ask again, why?” His mother crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared at him.

“Because Miss Hanslow is the sort of girl I should marry.”

She drew her eyebrows down farther. “What sort of girl is that?”

“From a good family, one who has been members of the nobility for generations. Lord Hanslow’s lineage can be traced back to William the Conqueror. He is the eighth Earl of Hanslow.”

Lady Wickford shook her head. “What does that have to do with his daughter?”

“Don’t you see? I need to marry someone from a good, well-respected family. Papa was a distant cousin of the last Lord Wickford. He was never supposed to inherit. He never expected to do so. In order to secure my hold on… on my title, my status in society, my position, I need to marry someone from an old and well-respected family.”

His mother just shook her head. “You need to marry someone whom you love.”

“No, I don’t. Love has nothing to do with who one marries in English society,” he told her sadly.

“I married for love—against my father’s wishes!”

“I know, and it pained both you and your father didn’t it?” he asked. “When you left Africa, you never heard or saw him again.”

She dropped her gaze but only for a moment. “I was happy with your father. He was a good man. We loved each other and made each other happy every day—until he left for England.”

Joshua couldn’t say anything. It was too painful remembering his mother’s screams and cries when his father had informed her he was leaving for England. He’d wanted her to come with him, but she’d refused. She hadn’t believed she could live someplace so cold—both in temperature and in temperament. She hadn’t thought she would be accepted.

She had probably been right. It was because of his own hard work that she was as welcomed as she had been. Society was now used to seeing him, a dark-skinned man, as one of their own. Extending that courtesy to his mother wasn’t too much more to ask of them. That she was, in truth, a princess didn’t hurt, either.

“And what is the position of this Miss Sherman?” his mother asked, bringing him back to point.

He could only shake his head. “She is the daughter of a cloth manufacturer, not even a member of society. It’s only because she’s friends with Lady Sorrell, who introduced her to the Duchess of Bolton, that she has been allowed to enter society. In short, she is precisely the sort of person I want to avoid being associated with. She could taint me and destroy all the work I’ve done to establish myself in society.”

“That is harsh and cruel, Joshua,” his mother spat.

“But it is the sad truth.”

“If you were a stronger man, you would not care.” With that parting shot, his mother strode from the room.

Joshua dropped down into his chair and knew she was right.