Page 5 of King of Clubs (The Ladies’ Wagering Whist Society #9)

“I don’t know. Someone must have guessed and spread the word or something.” The duchess paused in her march across the room. “Oh, look, there’s your father.” She changed directions and headed toward him.

“Papa,” Gwendolyn said as they approached him.

He turned with a bright smile on his face. It quickly disappeared as he took her in. “What’s happened? You look pale and… and…” he said, trying to discern what he was seeing.

“Angry,” she supplied.

“Angry? Why angry?” he asked.

“We just had the misfortune to overhear some very rude people discussing Miss Sherman directly behind us. We left the vicinity immediately,” the duchess told him.

“They were discussing my ‘significant dowry’,” Gwendolyn told him. “How do people know what my dowry will be?” She narrowed her eyes at him as a horrible thought crossed her mind.

He had the grace to look slightly guilty. “I didn’t think it would hurt to mention it to one or two gentlemen,” he said quickly, defending himself.

“Yes, it did!” Gwendolyn said, doing her best not to shout it.

“Calm down, my dear. You cannot fight with your father here,” the duchess said. Her voice was quiet but firm.

Gwendolyn took in a deep breath. “Now the only gentlemen I’m going to get interest from are those who need the money, Papa.”

“No, I can’t believe that. You’re a very pretty girl. They’ll be coming for that reason,” her father said, giving her cheek a tap with one finger.

Clearly, he thought this was the right thing to say, but it only made Gwendolyn fume even more. Her looks! It was all he ever thought was important. What about her brain? What about her intelligence, her charm, her sense of humor? Did none of that matter? She clasped her hands to keep it from being too obvious that she was indeed shaking.

He clearly sensed that he’d said the wrong thing. “And your talents. You learned so many refined talents at that school I sent you to, didn’t you? Er, painting? And singing? And you’re an excellent dancer,” he added.

But Gwendolyn had had enough. She turned on her heel and walked away. There were some times when she simply could not understand why she went to such lengths to please that man. Oh, she loved him. She loved him with all her heart. He was her father. The man in whose arms she’d curled up as a little girl. The man who’d taught her arithmetic and how to balance the books of his business. The man who shared with her exactly how his business ran—important things, meaningful things. Fun things.

But sometimes he was also a complete idiot. This was one of those times.

~April 7~

Gwendolyn settled onto the Duchess of Bolton’s comfortable sofa after accepting a cup of tea from the lady.

“Well, I’m certain last night went very well,” the lady said, giving the door a side-long glance as if willing it to open.

It didn’t, so Gwendolyn gave the duchess a smile. “I thought so too. I met so many gentlemen, I’m sure I won’t be able to keep them all straight in my head.”

“And you danced too. How many times?” the duchess asked, beginning to sound a little more enthusiastic.

Before Gwendolyn could answer, however, a footman came in. “Lord Roseberry and Mr. Henry Hershawn, Your Grace.”

Two gentlemen Gwendolyn had met the previous evening came in with bright smiles, looking like they were ready to greet a crowd. A quick look around the room told them that they were the first to arrive.

Gwendolyn nearly laughed out loud as their faces fell in unison. She stood and gave them a curtsey as the duchess rushed over to greet them. “Gentlemen, I knew I could count on you to be here on time.”

“Always, Your Grace,” Mr. Hershawn said. “Miss Sherman, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, sir,” Gwendolyn answered. She was saved from having to attempt to make small talk by the door being opened once again. This time the footman announced Lady Penderton and her daughter. Very quickly after that, Gwendolyn was surprised to find the large room nearly filled with people. Most were younger people like herself, but there were a few older ladies. Some were members of the duchess’s Wagering Whist Society, and there was one woman, a Lady Findlater, who the duchess leaned over to Gwendolyn and whispered, “Watch that one. She’s a notorious gossip.” Gwendolyn made it a point to do just as the duchess said and managed to avoid the lady altogether.

“You must tell us how you find London, Miss Sherman,” a gentleman named Lord Portland asked as he settled himself down in the tiny bit of space between Gwendolyn and Miss Penderton.

Miss Penderton, who was speaking with Lord Roseberry, had no choice but to shift dangerously close to the edge of the sofa.

“Very well, my lord,” Gwendolyn answered giving him a smile. “Do you enjoy the Season?” she asked in return.

“I do! I haven’t missed one in the past ten years!” he said with a great deal more enthusiasm than Gwendolyn would have thought warranted.

“Ten years? My goodness, I wouldn’t have thought you old enough to have been coming for so long,” Gwendolyn answered.

He burst out laughing and grabbed hold of her hand. “You are a wonderful one!”

As delicately as she could, she extracted her hand from his grasp. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“Oh, no, it is you who are so very special.” His eyes narrowed as he smiled, but it almost looked as if he were calculating exactly how much she was worth.

“Miss Sherman, how did you enjoy last evening’s entertainment?” another gentleman asked, saving Gwendolyn from Lord Portland.

She was pretty sure this was Mr. Teviot, but as he’d come in with Lord Ainsby, she wasn’t entirely certain which was which. Before she could answer him, however, another gentleman, Lord Sommets, if she wasn’t mistaken, had come forward and asked her the very same question. Gwendolyn could only laugh, and the two gentlemen eyed each other. This business of searching for a husband might very well end up being entertaining after all.

The two men turned toward her, each losing his frown in the face of her laughter. “You are both so good,” she said, not wanting either to feel bad. “I enjoyed myself a great deal. If I’m not mistaken, Lord Sommets, I owe you a dance at the next party I attend, and Mr. Teviot, may I save a dance for you as well?”

Both men brightened considerably.

“You are so very thoughtful, Miss Sherman,” Mr. Teviot bowed.

“And what of me?” Lord Portland asked, clearly affronted. He took her hand again. “Shall I be shunted aside? You would not be so cruel, Miss Sherman?”

“No, no, of course not, my lord,” she said and pulled her hand back again. “I would be more than honored to save a dance for you as well.”

“You are too good. Too kind,” he said. He seemed to be making doe eyes at her, but she wasn’t sure, and he certainly looked very odd doing so. She wondered if it were some trick he’d learned from a sister.

“Of course. Do you have a sister, my lord?” she asked, unable to contain herself.

He blinked a few times in confusion. “I do. She is a few years older than I, though. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason. I was just curious, er… I wanted to know more about you,” she said. Thank goodness she could think on her feet. It would have been extremely awkward otherwise.

“Ah!” He seemed to like this answer very much.

“I have two sisters, Miss Sherman,” Mr. Teviot said, claiming her attention again.

“Do you?” she asked and turned back to him.

“They are just fourteen and sixteen, but I imagine Marigold will be making her debut in another year or so,” he told her.

“I assume Marigold is the elder?” she asked.

“Yes. The younger one is Daisy,” he said.

“How sweet. Your parents clearly like flowers.”

“Er, yes. My given name is Pine and my brother is Ash,” he admitted.

Gwendolyn did her best not to laugh, but she could feel her lips twitching with it. “So trees for the boys and flowers for the girls. How very sweet.”

“It’s damned embarrassing is what it is, but we manage,” he said with resignation.

“Lord Sommets, what is your given name, if I may be so bold to ask?” She turned to the gentleman next to him.

“Stanley, Miss Sherman,” he answered. “It’s a family name. My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all named Stanley as well.”

“How wonderful that you carry on the tradition,” she said. She also wondered how long she would be able to maintain such inane conversation. She was rather pleased that she’d managed so far.

All she’d learned in school was clearly coming in handy. She didn’t quite remember the young men she’d met there being so fawning or empty-headed, but it had been a couple of years since she’d left school. She could only hope that not all men she would be meeting would be this way.

Inane chatter, fawning gentlemen—how was she ever going to make it through this Season and actually find a husband who wouldn’t kill her with boredom?

~April 8~

Three days. That was all Joshua could stand in bed, sitting in the drawing room, wandering around his home. Three days. It was probably the longest he’d ever been away from his club, and he just could not stand it another moment. Yes, his head still hurt, but it was a lot easier to deal with a headache than the extreme boredom he was suffering now.

He hadn’t taken two steps into the club before he heard feet running—running! Who would dare run within his club? But he didn’t even have time to go searching for the culprit before the door to the reading room opened, and all the footmen came pouring out into the hall. A moment later, it was the gaming room and all the attendants from there.

Thirty to forty men all crammed into the foyer applauding. Joshua had never felt more appreciated—nor grateful they were all wearing gloves, which muffled the sound of their hands.

“Oh, thank God!” Franklin Wainwright, Joshua’s majordomo worked his way through the footmen. “Thank God you are returned.” The way he said it made Joshua wonder if the man was about to burst into tears.

Joshua patted the fellow’s shoulder and gave a little laugh. “I am back. Thank you, thank you all.”

“You’re doing all right, then, my lord?” Jonathan asked. He was in charge of the vingt-et-un tables in the gaming room.

“I am doing much better, thank you,” Joshua said. “My head still hurts a bit, but nothing I can’t live with.”

“We’re all very relieved you will survive,” Michael, the doorman said.

“Heard it was a nasty fall,” Frank said, from halfway down the room.

“It was,” Joshua agreed. “But I think if I stay convalescing any longer I’m just going to go mad.”

There were chuckles.

“Well, now, get on back to work, all of you,” Joshua said, making a shooing motion. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

“My lord, if I may have a few moments of your time?” Wainwright asked gently.

“Of course. How have things been going?” They headed toward the back and his office.

“Er… well… fine. I just have a few questions and, er, things that need your attention.”

It felt good to be sitting at his desk once again. “All right.”

A stack of at least five closely written sheets of paper were placed in front of him. Joshua glanced through them. “Just a few questions, eh?”

The man gave an embarrassed little laugh as his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Lord Colburne threatened me with bodily harm should I come to you before you were ready to return on your own.”

Joshua chuckled and shook his head. “Remind me to send the man a couple bottles of rum and a threatening letter not to interfere in my business ever again.”

Wainwright laughed. “Very good, my lord.”