Читать книгу Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 17

Chapter Seven

‘Are you certain this is where the auction is being held?’ Jasper asked as they ascended the stone stairs into the building in Somers Town.

‘The paper was quite clear on the matter.’ To Jane’s amazement, he’d been incredibly solicitous in accompanying her here, despite her having woken him from a deep sleep this morning. Over the last two weeks, Jane and Jasper’s lives had settled into a quiet routine. They spent afternoons and evenings in preparation for the opening of the club, then dined together before retiring upstairs for more intimate discussions. Afterwards, Jasper would go to the gaming room and remain there until dawn when he returned home to sleep while Jane rose.

‘From what I remember of London, this seems an odd place for a lady of, what did the advert say?’

‘Fine breeding fallen on hard times.’ Jane read from the cut-out advertisement for the auction to sell the goods of a genteel lady who’d recently died without heirs. Despite the very questionable neighbourhood, the quality things being sold to clear the deceased woman’s debts included a fine set of china Jane hoped to purchase for the club. As a married woman with her husband by her side, she was free to travel here and to bid on anything she liked. It was a welcome change from the last auction she’d attended.

From an open upstairs window, the knock of the gavel against the wood and the auctioneer’s booming voice announcing ‘Sold’ carried out over the noise of the street.

‘Hurry, before we miss the best items.’ She took Jasper’s arm and pulled him inside, eager to reach the auction and get him away from the gaudily dressed woman across the street trying to catch his attention.

‘I’m coming.’ He bounded up the stairs past her, pulling her along. At the top, he tugged hard enough to make her skip over the last tread and land with a bounce in front of him on the landing. He caught her other hand and pulled her against him and away from the drop. The rumble of his laughter rose up to meet hers, the joy they’d taken in one another over the last weeks increasing. Whatever doubts she’d entertained about Jasper before the ceremony had long been destroyed by his constant humour and the hours they’d spent together. He wanted to be with her and they were revelling in their newfound freedom.

A balding businessman in a light coat mumbled his apologies while he passed them on his way out. His presence forced Jasper and Jane to assume a more professional air before they entered the room. It was a large one in the old house, a ballroom maybe, converted like the rest into a private apartment. True to its past it was embellished with chipped wainscoting, scrolled doors, tall windows hung with thick curtains and an abundance of gilt furnishings and knick-knacks.

‘It looks like your office,’ Jane whispered as they slipped behind the gathered crowd and gawked at the massive amount of baroque mirrors.

Jasper lowered his head to hers. ‘Maybe this is who purchased all of my old things.’

‘If you recognise anything, don’t buy it back.’

‘Why not? Aren’t you eager to own a sofa with this much red brocade?’ His breath tickled her ear while he motioned to the sofa behind them. ‘Think how it would go with our bed and what we could do on it.’

‘We could be quite wicked.’ Jane slid him an enticing sideways look, almost ready to abandon the auction for home and more carnal pursuits when the auctioneer announced the next item.

‘A large lot of French china in a classical pattern.’ A man held up a plate and bowl. The china was the only thing of style and taste in the entire room.

‘The set is perfect for the club and enough to get us started in the dining room.’

‘Are you sure you want something from here?’ Jasper fingered the tag of a very strange statue on the table beside them. The bronze couple was locked in an embrace worthy of the red sofa.

‘I do.’ The auction began, and only when she’d made the opening bid did she wonder at Jasper’s question. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

His eyes danced with mirth. ‘No reason. Continue on.’

With the auction in progress, she couldn’t pause to interrogate him. Winning the china proved easier than securing the Fleet Street property and it didn’t come with a parcel of censorious looks from the other gentlemen crowded into the apartment. Whatever had enticed the other attendees here it didn’t include a sizeable set of French porcelain. In a few bids, she’d won the lot at a price she couldn’t wait to boast about the next time she dined with Philip.

‘Congratulations, my dear. You’ve made quite an acquisition.’ Jasper raised her hand to his lips and brushed it with a kiss. It sent a tingle down her arm and into places deeper down before the tight press of a restrained smile made her cock her head at him. He knew something she didn’t and it was amusing him to no end.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘About the allure we’ll offer to our clients. They can brag to their friends about eating beef off the notorious Mrs Greenwell’s china.’

All Jane’s plans to brag to Philip about her splendid purchase vanished. ‘What?’

He pointed at the portrait of an almost-naked woman hanging on the wall behind them and surrounded by a number of other works to make her blush. Then it struck her why the address seemed so familiar. At one time, Jane and Mrs Hale had followed the famous courtesan’s exploits in the papers, sniggering together at her boldness and quick to hide the stories whenever Laura or Philip had entered the room. It had been years since the woman’s name had appeared in the gossip columns, but there was no forgetting her antics, including a dip in the Vauxhall Gardens lake in nothing but her chemise.

She whirled on Jasper, who continued to smile like a sly fox. ‘Why didn’t you say something sooner, or stop me?’

‘Because I enjoyed watching you bid. You have a flare for auctions.’

‘But think of the money we’ve wasted. If anyone finds out where we got the service they’ll be horrified.’

‘Or intrigued.’ Jasper nudged her with his elbow. ‘The china is the closest most men will ever come to a famous courtesan and we’ll offer it to them. It’ll make our club the talk of the Fleet.’

No, this was not at all as she’d imagined. It was better. ‘You think so?’

‘I do.’

‘Then let’s purchase the couch and really give them something to discuss.’

* * *

Jasper sat at his desk in the gambling hell, signing off on letters of credit. Through the wall behind him, a great cheer went up. Someone must be doing well at the Hazard table. He returned his pen to the gilded holder of a peacock with full plumage and reached for an equally ornate duster. He didn’t wish the winner ill despite what it meant for the night’s takings. After his day with Jane, it was difficult to be in a bad mood. Jane’s joy at the auction, and the zeal with which she’d acquired a few more of the scandalous old woman’s things, had been a delight to see. Afterwards, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon writing adverts for the club, the work drawing them closer together and hinting at a far better future than the one he’d imagined more than a week ago. With regret he’d left her to come here, eager to return to his bed and her arms come the sunrise.

A series of loud groans from the night’s boisterous crowd began to puncture the quiet of Jasper’s sanctuary. The player’s luck must have given out.

Jasper reached for the grocer’s bill when raised voices and an argument made him halt.

‘Damn you, man, I’ll do as I like. Spin the wheel.’

‘Sir, please, listen to reason,’ came a dealer’s voice.

‘Spin, you bastard.’

Mr Bronson rushed into the office. ‘Captain Christiansen is playing too deep and losing and he isn’t happy about it. I tried denying him credit, hoping it would be enough to discourage him, but he has his own money tonight, more than I’ve ever seen him bring here.’

‘Where did he get it? He hasn’t been to sea in months,’ Jasper asked, rising from the desk.

‘Don’t know, but he won’t have much of it if he keeps playing the way he is.’

Jasper traced the edge of the brass peacock’s fan. ‘All right, cut him off. Take Adam with you and escort Captain Christiansen downstairs as discreetly as possible.’

‘That’ll be hard. He’s likely to make a fuss.’

‘Then try to appeal to his gentlemanly sense of embarrassment and do what you can. I’ll wait down there for you and tell him he’s banned from playing here.’

‘You sure you want to make yourself known?’

Jasper twisted his wedding band on his finger. ‘This place will soon be yours. Better he have a grudge against me than you.’ It would be Jasper’s first steps out of the shadows, one of the many he’d have to take to leave this life behind.

Mr Bronson headed back into the game room to orchestrate the delicate removal of Captain Christiansen while Jasper made his way downstairs. He waited in the dim light of the warehouse. The scratch of a rat scurrying through the few crates stacked along the wall was barely audible over the laughter and voices drifting down through the ceiling. As much as he hated these encounters they were necessary. If he’d stepped in and taken similar action with Mr Robillard, and heaven knew how many others, so many things might be different now, including his view of himself.

He didn’t need to wonder if Captain Christiansen was being disagreeable. His loud protests as Mr Bronson and Adam, the bulky footman, escorted Captain Christiansen to the ground floor were proof enough.

‘How dare you treat me like a pickpocket?’ Captain Christiansen wrenched out of Adam’s firm grip. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘The second son of Lord Fenton,’ Jasper announced, stepping into the lantern light near the back door to meet the men.

‘And who are you?’ Captain Christiansen demanded. He was tall and round faced like his father the Earl, but with a higher forehead and more hair. His skin was tanned from his years at sea and would never lighten to a more aristocratically preferred pallid white.

‘Mr Patrick, the owner of this establishment.’ It was one thing for Captain Christiansen to meet him, but he wasn’t ready for the man to spread his identity all over London. Jasper might be working to leave this life, but he still couldn’t risk his family learning of it. ‘I thank you for your patronage, but it cannot continue.’

‘You think I don’t have enough to play in your rotten room, but I have more money than you can imagine.’ He poked one finger in the air at Jasper.

‘I’m sure you do.’ Jasper allowed the man his dignity in an effort to make him more compliant. ‘But I don’t permit men to ruin themselves here. I must insist you no longer frequent this establishment.’

‘You can’t ruin me. My brother is sick, the wasting disease.’ He seemed to relish his brother’s impending demise.

‘I’m sorry for his ill health.’ Even with the lingering estrangement between Jasper and Milton, he’d never wish death on him, even if it meant Jasper and not Milton would inherit his parents’ wealth and business. It made the need to be rid of Captain Christiansen all the stronger.

‘My almighty father settled a great deal on me to make me resign my commission. I’m suddenly precious to him when before he didn’t think twice about throwing me to the horrors of the Navy at thirteen.’

Jasper exchanged a wary look with Mr Bronson. Captain Christiansen hadn’t been playing with his money, assuming he had any left, but his father’s. In the last few days, Jasper had heard disturbing rumours about the Fenton family’s mounting debts. He had no idea how much of Lord Fenton’s already diminished wealth this man had lost.

Captain Christiansen mistook the silence. ‘Already regretting kicking a future earl out of your filthy gaming room?’ The captain was reaching far into the future and his lineage to try to assert dominance over Jasper—it didn’t work. He’d lost his respect for nobility in America.

‘I’m safeguarding the legacy your father has settled on you, the one you’ll some day pass on to your son.’ The Charton family might not have a manor house or a title, but his parents had always valued family and the business Milton would one day inherit, the one his father had inherited from Jasper’s grandfather.

‘There’s your legacy.’ Captain Christiansen spat at Jasper’s feet. ‘I could crush you and your little hell if I wanted to and I might just.’

He stormed past Jasper and out of the warehouse door into the thick fog blanketing the neighbourhood.

‘I think that went well,’ Mr Bronson said, his voice echoing in the dark room.

‘As well as can be expected. Adam, please return to the gaming room.’

The footman hurried back upstairs.

Mr Bronson took his pipe and tobacco pouch out of his pocket, but did nothing with either. ‘He can’t ruin us. What we’re doing isn’t illegal.’

‘I never thought you a legal scholar,’ Jasper joked, trying to shake off the tight worry in his shoulders and Mr Bronson’s words.

‘I’m not, but I’ve been doing things like this long enough to make a habit out of knowing the local laws. Captain Christiansen can’t do anything more than bluster.’

‘No, but Lord Fenton could make things difficult for us, perhaps even see us closed. Earls have a way of wielding influence. Let’s hope he doesn’t take an interest in his son’s evening activities.’

‘How long do you think the son’s been playing with his father’s money?’

‘I have no idea, but I’ll have to find out.’ He wasn’t sure how he’d do so. He didn’t know anyone in the Admiralty who could tell him when the captain had resigned his commission. Mr Rathbone might be on good terms with someone there, given his vast network of connections, but it would mean telling him about the club. Perhaps Jane could assist him, but he refused to drag her into the mire of his gambling affairs. He’d have to find a way to discover it on his own. ‘How much did Captain Christiansen lose before you cut him off?’

‘Two thousand. I was distracted by another matter and the Hazard man is new and didn’t know to tell me.’

‘Two thousand might be enough to catch an earl’s attention.’ He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. As pleasurable as his mornings with Jane were, he was tired from missing a great deal of his usual sleep since the wedding. ‘Uncle Patrick wouldn’t have been this sloppy about managing clients.’

‘He didn’t exactly manage them as much as he fleeced them,’ Mr Bronson snorted.

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘I know.’ He shoved the tobacco pouch back in his pocket and tapped the pipe bowl against his palm. ‘What are we going to do about Captain Christiansen?’

‘Nothing tonight.’

‘Then go home and get some sleep.’ Mr Bronson clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You look like hell.’

Mr Bronson headed back upstairs, leaving Jasper alone in the warehouse. He didn’t make for his carriage, but stared at the emptiness around him, broken only by the gaudy furniture in the corner. The furniture was some of the last tangible remnants of his life in Savannah, except for his uncle’s ring on his finger, the one he’d won from a tobacco merchant. Jasper had no idea how much of the man’s other goods and wealth his uncle had taken from him or how much of what Jasper had inherited had come from a similar source.

He twisted the ring on his finger. Jasper might have stopped Captain Christiansen from ruining himself, but he couldn’t say how many other men had thrown their livelihoods away in Savannah without his knowing.

They chose to throw it away.

Even if he left the business it wouldn’t stop men from chasing luck or betting on cards. Better they do it under the eye of a man who intervened rather than the many in London who’d bleed them dry. These were the tales Jasper had told himself, the ones he hoped Jane never discovered.