Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart. Diane Gaston
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gracious,’ cried David. ‘Can we not converse in a civil manner? It would bring credit to us all if we presented the appearance of congenial relations.’
From the mouths of babes, thought Sloane.
David’s rebuke had effect. Both the Earl and his son leaned back and sipped their drinks.
His father began again, in quieter tones. ‘What are your intentions toward the Cowdlin chit? Cowdlin’s a friend of mine and I demand to know.’
Sloane bristled at his father demanding anything of him. He was about to retort in kind when he caught the pleading expression on his nephew’s face.
He answered as mildly as he could contrive. ‘I have made no offer for Lady Hannah at present, but Cowdlin will not oppose my suit. He approves of my fortune, if not of me.’
‘Hmmph,’ muttered the Earl. ‘Then he is a bigger fool than I thought.’
‘Oh, I am certain he is indeed,’ agreed Sloane with equanimity.
The Earl of Dorton leaned forward again. ‘You do not belong here, Cyprian. You do not belong among the quality. Go back to whatever cellar or… or gaming hell you came from, and leave decent people alone.’
‘Grandfather!’ David whispered in a shocked tone.
Sloane felt his body flinch, just as it used to when he was a boy. ‘I do belong here, Father,’ he said coolly. ‘You gave me the right when you acknowledged me as your son. As your son, I am invited to all the society events. I have vouchers for Almack’s and a box at the opera. As your father’s grandson, I am a member of White’s. I have you to thank for all this, Father.’
For a moment his father looked like an old man, but the moment was fleeting.
When he stood, he looked as formidable as ever. ‘I will not have you here, boy, do you hear me?’ His voice was equally as strong. ‘I will not have you here.’
With another flick of his fingers, the Earl signalled his son and grandson to leave with him. Sloane stood as well, making sure his father felt his eyes boring into him. As all three walked away, the Earl in the lead, David turned back and gave Sloane a look of sympathy.
* * *
‘They are gone?’ Mrs Rice looked up from her desk in a room above her glove shop.
The man, solid and stocky, brushed off the sleeves of his brown coat. ‘We have searched all the rooms and they are nowhere to be found.’
‘I sent them to the shops. Did no one see them return?’ Mrs Rice laid down her quill pen, displeasure seeping into her voice.
‘No one, ma’am.’ He shifted from one foot to the other. ‘The other girls think they ran off. There’s some belongings missing.’
‘Things of mine?’ Her voice rose. ‘I will not tolerate it if they have stolen from me.’
‘Worthless trinkets, ma’am,’ he responded. ‘Their own trifles, the girls say.’
Mrs Rice stared vacantly. ‘It does sound like they have run away.’ She waved her hand at him dismissively. ‘Well, search for them, Trigg. Bring them back. I will not have my girls coming and going at a whim. It vexes me.’
‘As you wish, ma’am.’ He turned and left.
Mrs Rice slammed her palm down on the desk and rose from her seat. With two girls short, she might have to turn men away this night. That was not good for business. She could kick herself for not having moved faster to bring that maid into the house before her mistress came calling. The termagant. That one had enough tongue for two sets of teeth, with all her talk about needing a tutor. A tutor for what?
At first Mrs Rice thought the lady was asking for lessons on how to set up a molly shop of her own, but that was too ridiculous for words. She’d since decided that a long Meg like that one probably wanted to learn how to get a man for herself.
It was a good thing, because she would not have made a good madam or a good molly. She’d talk the gentlemen right off the bed to run screaming down the street.
Mrs Rice gave a little laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. Still, it would have been a lark indeed to see a lady of that one’s ilk making her living on her back.
Mrs Rice wiped her eyes as her laughter subsided. She’d have another stab at the maid, if she got the chance, if Trigg could discover where she was employed.
And when she got those other girls back, she’d give them such a flogging they would never dare leave, at least not until they were too worn out to be of any use.
Chapter Seven
When Morgana woke the next morning, it seemed the very air was charged, as if the house were inside a huge electrifying machine, but Morgana knew any sparks that flew would be due to her own decisions. The porcelain clock on her bureau chimed six times. Morgana threw off the covers and was halfway dressed when Amy crept in, expecting merely to tend the fire.
Did Amy know of their guests? She must, but the girl did not reveal it. She did not even remark upon Morgana rising so early. Morgana meant to breakfast with her grandmother and Miss Moore, who always rose at dawn.
After breakfast she begged Miss Moore to take a walk with her. Miss Moore settled her grandmother in her sitting room with her maid for company, and the two ladies walked the short distance to the park, one of the footmen providing a discreet escort.
‘Goodness, it is chilly this morning,’ said Miss Moore as they crossed the park. ‘It is fortunate Lady Hart did not come with us. It would be bad for her lungs.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Morgana, uncertain how to begin.
She’d tossed and turned all night, even rising once and wandering to the window at the exact moment Sloane returned to his house. Realising he would be undressing and climbing into a bed so close by had not helped her fall back asleep. But those wakeful hours did yield the semblance of a plan.
Morgana had decided that she needed to speak to Miss Moore before Mr and Mrs Cripps or any of the other servants. She had a reasonable expectation that generous salary increases would ensure the servants’ co-operation and silence. But if prim Miss Moore could not be persuaded to go along with this scheme, Morgana did not see how she could proceed.
Morgana could not force a respectable lady like Miss Moore to endure a situation abhorrent to her. And she could not send Miss Moore away. With Miss Moore went her grandmother. Without her grandmother, Morgana would be forced to go to her Aunt Winnie’s house, and the girls, Lucy too, would have nowhere to go except to Mrs Rice.
Morgana glanced back at the footman, who, enjoying the fine morning air, seemed uninterested in the conversation between the two ladies. Still, she spoke quietly so he could not overhear. ‘I must talk to you, Miss Moore.’
Miss Moore gave her a fond smile. ‘Is it about the three young ladies who are staying in the house?’
‘You know about them?’ Morgana glanced at her in dismay.
‘Oh, yes.’ Miss Moore nodded. ‘Dilly told us first thing that there were three new girls. How did she put it?’ Miss Moore paused, but there was a twinkle in her eye. ‘The likes of which she’d never seen.’
Morgana inwardly groaned. Dilly, her grandmother’s lady’s maid, was an old retainer, nearly as old as her grandmother.
‘Oh, I suppose everyone knows.’ Morgana gave a helpless shrug. ‘But I suspect they do not know the whole, and that is what I must tell you…’
Morgana explained to Miss Moore as well as she could. She withheld her plan to seek Harriette Wilson’s assistance as a bit too much information, emphasising instead