The Gamble Read online

  Lady Winterdale had a pointy nose, a pointy chin, and a thin mouth. She looked mean. She did not acknowledge my introduction but turned the whole upper part of her body toward Lord Winterdale, glaring at him in outrage, and said, “I thought you told me she was reasonably presentable.”

  Even though I did not look at him, I could feel his blue eyes fixed upon me.

  “Well,” he said appraisingly, “I think she is.”

  I will not let him irritate me, I thought. I turned to face him at last and said very gravely, “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

  The reckless eyebrows flew upward. “Really? That is not a virtue of which I am often accused, Miss Newbury.”

  The wretch looked as if he were enjoying himself.

  The blue eyes returned to Lady Winterdale and he said amiably, “Are you taking the girls shopping tomorrow, Aunt Agatha?”

  Lady Winterdale looked as if she might be going to have an apoplexy. “Do you really expect me to buy clothes for this . . . this person, Philip?”

  I dug my nails into my palms in my effort to keep my mouth shut. I could not afford to alienate this wretched woman. I needed her too much.

  “I thought we had agreed that you would buy sufficient clothes for a Season for Miss Newbury, and for Catherine, too, of course. And as I also told you, Aunt Agatha, you may have the bills for both girls sent to me,” Lord Winterdale returned.

  One could almost see the monumental struggle going on inside of Lady Winterdale. On the one hand she didn’t want anyone who was going to take attention away from Catherine coming out with her, but on the other hand she didn’t want to foot the bills for the come out either.

  To my relief, greed won out.

  “Very well,” she said tightly. “Tomorrow we will go shopping.”

  I couldn’t prevent a smile of satisfaction from spreading over my face. I had no idea why Lord Winterdale so disliked his aunt, but it was working very much in my favor that he did.

  * * *

  The dining room at Mansfield House was large and elegant. The three apses on each of the long walls were filled with marble statues of classical origin, and the walls themselves were painted a pale green. The doorways, windows, and the chimneypiece of white alabaster were distinguished by the beauty, simplicity, and elegance of their detail.

  The food served by the Mansfield House chef was equally splendid. We had Soupe à la Bonne Femme, fried perch, rolled beef steaks, and pineapple in mould for dessert.

  Unfortunately, the company was not in the same class as the food and the surroundings. Lady Winterdale held forth in solitary monologue as one course succeeded the other. Ostensibly, she was addressing Lord Winterdale, whom she called “dear Philip,” but “dear Philip” did not appear to pay attention to a single word she spoke. He ate his meal as if he were not very hungry and as if he couldn’t wait to be somewhere else.

  In truth, I couldn’t blame him.

  Over the rolled steak, Lady Winterdale began to discourse about the ball. “I should like to schedule it for April 18, Philip,” she said. “That will put us right at the beginning of the Season. No point in waiting, is there?”

  Lord Winterdale looked bored. “The date is entirely up to you, Aunt Agatha. I only ask that you tell Mrs. Hawkins. She will be the one who will be most inconvenienced by so large a party.”

  “You forget, Philip, that Mrs. Hawkins and I were together for many years,” Lady Winterdale said tightly. “You do not need to tell me how to get along with my old housekeeper.”

  For the first time I felt a pang of sympathy for Lady Winterdale. It could not be easy for her, having to beg her nephew for the use of the house she had long reigned over as mistress.

  A flash of brilliant blue darted from Lord Winterdale’s eyes as he shot a quick glance at his aunt. “If you remember, I offered to get another housekeeper and relinquish Mrs. Hawkins to you, Aunt Agatha. You did not wish to employ her.”

  Lady Winterdale drew herself up. “I cannot afford to pay Hawkins’s salary out of my widow’s portion.”

  Lord Winterdale’s mouth curved sardonically. “I might believe that sad tale if I were not privy to exactly how much money my uncle did leave you, Aunt Agatha. So please don’t cry poverty to me.”

  “I have my old age to think about,” Lady Winterdale said with tragic dignity. “I have the future of my child.”

  Lord Winterdale’s black eyebrows flew upward in exaggerated surprise. “Good heavens, have I been mistaken all along? I thought the whole purpose of this Season was to find Catherine a husband so that her future would be secured. Are you planning to keep her single so that she can serve as a nursemaid to yourself, Aunt Agatha?”

  Poor Catherine, who had spoken not a word during the entire dinner, put down her head and looked as if she would like to slide under the table.

  It was time for a diversion, so I said to Lord Winterdale, “I believe I met an acquaintance of yours the last time I was in London, my lord. Do you know Lord Henry Sloan?”

  He turned away from Lady Winterdale, a predator briefly distracted from his prey. “Yes, I know Lord Henry. Where did you meet him, Miss Newbury?”

  “I met him at Madame Tussaud’s exhibit when I was last in town. He was very gallant and rescued me from the attentions of a most unpleasant man.”

  The faintest of lines appeared on Lord Winterdale’s brow, and I could see him turning his mind back to my last visit to London.

  “You only came to London with your maid,” he said abruptly. “What the devil were you doing at Madame Tussaud’s?”

  The remains of the rolled steak and the side dishes were cleared from the table, the cloth was removed, and the pineapple moulds were brought in.

  I said, answering Lord Winterdale’s last question, “Maria and I went to look at the exhibit, of course. I wanted to go to Westminster Cathedral, but Maria was so anxious to see Madame Tussaud’s that I gave in. I must say, I was glad I did. It was fascinating.”

  No one at the table appeared to be terribly interested in Madame Tussaud’s, however. What did seem to exercise their attention was the fact that I had gone there unescorted.

  “Miss Newbury, I will not present you if you continue to behave in so ill-bred a manner,” Lady Winterdale informed me, putting down her dessert spoon.

  “What was happening that Sloan felt that it was necessary to rescue you?” Lord Winterdale asked abruptly.

  “Oh, nothing terrible,” I assured him. “A young man of the merchant classes kept following me around trying to impress me with his knowledge. I wasn’t frightened or anything; I was just annoyed. Lord Henry saw what was happening, however, and soon sent him about his business.”

  “Very gallant of Lord Henry indeed,” Lord Winterdale said with that sarcastic tone in his voice that so intimidated Catherine.

  “I thought so,” I replied spiritedly. “He showed us around the exhibit himself and I told him that I was your ward, my lord, and that I would be making my come out this season with Lady Catherine.”

  “You told him you were my ward?” The sardonic look on Lord Winterdale’s face was very pronounced. “And what did he say to that?”

  “Oh, he just said that we would doubtless be seeing each other as he was spending the Season at his father’s house.”

  “Lord Henry is only the younger son of a duke, but I believe he is to inherit some small amount of money from an uncle,” Lady Winterdale said. “He might be an eligible parti for you, Miss Newbury.”

  “Have you ferreted out the financial dirt on every bachelor in London, Aunt Agatha?” Lord Winterdale asked ironically.

  “It is the duty of a mother,” Lady Winterdale replied with majestic calm.

  Lord Winterdale’s eyes went to Catherine, who had spoken not a single word during the entire meal. “True,” he said, not even trying to hide his amusement.

  I said to Catherine, “Have you ever been shopping in London before, Catherine? I haven’t.”

  Lady Winterdale answered,
“Of course Catherine has been shopping in London, Miss Newbury. She is not a little nobody from the provinces. Her father was the Earl of Winterdale, and until the tragic accident that took his and her brother’s life, she lived in London. In this house!” She glared in loathing at the present Lord Winterdale.

  He looked back, and what I saw on his face frightened me. It must have frightened Lady Winterdale, too, because she looked away from him quickly and turned her pointy nose in my direction.

  She said, “I do not believe I have ever learned how you came to be my nephew’s ward, Miss Newbury. Surely it seems odd that a man as young and as . . . ah, shall we say, notorious . . . as my nephew should be made the guardian of two young women.”

  I remembered what I had heard Lord Winterdale tell her when I was hiding behind the drapery in the library and said glibly, “My father was a good friend of Lord Winterdale’s father, you see. That is how it came about.”

  Lady Winterdale looked incredulous. It came to me that this was a reaction I was going to have to deal with all Season long. Perhaps Lord Winterdale and I could come up with a better tale.

  I tried again with Catherine. “What is your favorite color, Catherine? Mine is pink.”

  “Catherine looks well in blue,” said Lady Winterdale. “It matches her eyes.”

  I said evenly, “I believe I asked Catherine what her favorite color was, Lady Winterdale, not you.”

  Lady Winterdale’s nose and chin became pointier than usual, and she looked so surprised by my impertinence that she did not reply.

  Catherine said in a small thin voice, “Mama is right, Georgie. Blue is my favorite color.”

  “Then perhaps we can get a come-out dress in blue for you and one in pink for me,” I said cheerfully.

  “Miss Newbury, obviously you are unaware of the fact that young girls at their first ball always wear white,” Lady Winterdale said, clearly pleased that she could once again score over the “little nobody from the provinces.”

  Lord Winterdale stood up. “This has been such a delightful family dinner, but I fear that I must tear myself away. Have a pleasant evening, ladies, discussing the ways in which you are going to spend my money tomorrow.”

  The three of us watched in silence as he walked toward the door. His hair was as black as his evening coat, and as I observed his lithe dark figure, the image of a panther came irresistibly into my mind.

  For the first time I fully understood Sir Charles’s comment that he would not want any daughter of his residing under Philip Mansfield’s roof.

  After dinner was over, the three of us ladies retired to the green drawing room, which was one of the less formal drawing rooms on the second floor. It was lined with portraits of family and friends and the paneling on the wall was painted a pale green with white trim. There were half a dozen gilt armchairs with green-tapestry embroidery scattered around the room, a pianoforte in one corner, and a harp in the other. There was a rosewood writing desk between the tall, green-silk-hung windows and a rosewood sofa table in front of the green-silk sofa.

  “Catherine will play the pianoforte for us,” her mother announced as she ensconced herself in one of the tapestry chairs. “She is very good on the pianoforte.”

  I waited for Catherine to creep timidly toward the pianoforte, but she surprised me by approaching it with more authority than I had ever seen her display. She sat down on the bench, arranged her skirt, turned to me, and asked, “Is there anything in particular that you would like to hear, Georgie?”

  “No,” I answered. “Play whatever you like, Catherine.”

  She flexed her fingers, placed them on the keys, tilted her head for a moment as if she were listening to an unheard note, and began to play.

  I sat as one transported. This was not the kind of playing every young miss learns in the schoolroom. Even I, who am not notably musical, could hear that this was the real thing.

  “That was absolutely wonderful, Catherine,” I said when she had finished. “You didn’t tell me you were a musician.”

  My words were simple, but Catherine flushed with pleasure. She said, “The pianoforte is not in perfect tune. I shall have to ask my cousin if I might have it seen to.”

  Nothing could have made it clearer to me how important the pianoforte was to Catherine than her willingness to brave Lord Winterdale to ask for something.

  “She would play the pianoforte all day long if I did not make her stop,” Lady Winterdale announced, partly with pride and partly with annoyance. “She has quite ruined her eyesight from peering at the notes.”

  “I don’t peer at the notes, Mama,” Catherine said. “I have told you that many times.”

  Lady Winterdale waved her hand, dismissing her daughter’s words as unreliable. “I have never approved of your spending five and six hours a day practicing, but it did keep you occupied while you were a girl. You are a young woman now, however, and there will be many other things to occupy you while you are making your come out into society.” Lady Winterdale gave her daughter a gimlet stare. “It is always desirable to make a good impression with an instrument, Catherine, but you must take care that people don’t think you odd.”

  I stared at Lady Winterdale in astonishment. Couldn’t she see what a brilliant musician she had in her own daughter. Wasn’t she proud of Catherine?

  Catherine’s eyes were downcast. She looked quite desperate. “No, Mama,” she said.

  The tea tray came in and both Catherine and I sat and listened to Lady Winterdale discourse on the day she had planned for us tomorrow. We would go to the shops on Bond Street during the morning. “That is the time for ladies to shop,” Lady Winterdale informed us. “The shops belong to the gentlemen after two and it would not do for us to be seen on Bond Street then.”

  This seemed odd to me. In a country village one could shop at any time one wished, but I wasn’t going to question Lady Winterdale’s superior knowledge.

  “In the afternoon, we will write out the invitations to the ball,” Lady Winterdale said. “And I must begin to see about ordering the flowers and arranging for the food. We must serve only the best champagne. And I believe I shall have lobster patties for supper.”

  I thought of all the money that the shopping expedition and the ball was going to cost Lord Winterdale and wondered again what he must hold against his aunt that causing her any kind of discomfort was worth it.

  CHAPTER

  five

  WE SPENT A WEEK SHOPPING UP AND DOWN BOND Street. I had never in my life seen so many pretty clothes and I have to confess that I enjoyed myself hugely. We bought morning dresses to wear for when gentlemen called upon us at home in the morning and walking dresses and pelisses to wear if we should go on an expedition outdoors in the afternoon. We bought carriage dresses to wear should we go for a drive in Hyde Park and both Catherine and I got a new riding habit to wear should we prefer to ride. Needless to say, all of these garments required matching bonnets and boots, for which we visited a variety of Bond Street milliners and bootmakers. Then we shopped the Pantheon Bazaar for gloves and stockings.

  I must confess that I took to shopping like a duck to water. While it would have been much nicer if I had not been forced to bear the company of Lady Winterdale, whose personality definitely did not improve upon further acquaintance, and whose taste I had constantly to overule, as it was execrable, I had been poor all my life and nothing could destroy my pleasure in the lovely and elegant garments that began to fill the great mahogany wardrobe in my dressing room.

  Unfortunately Catherine did not share my pleasure. Nothing could have been clearer to me as we bustled from shop to shop, that she would much have preferred to be at home playing the piano. She did play the pianoforte for us after dinner, but her mother always made her stop after an hour, and it was so apparent that an hour was not enough for her that my heart ached for her pain and frustration.

  It was becoming more and more obvious to me that Catherine needed to marry a man who loved music, who would be proud
of her talent and who would let her practice for as long as she chose.

  There had to be such a man somewhere in this vast city, I thought. We would just have to find him.

  I saw little of Lord Winterdale during the two weeks before the ball, except for an occasional glimpse as he went into the library or left the house completely. He dined at his club most nights, leaving his three female guests to their own company. I thought this was excessively rude of him, but then I had come to expect rudeness from Lord Winterdale and I tried not to let it irritate me. After all, I told myself firmly, if it was not for him I would not be making my come out at all.

  I also reminded myself that he did get someone in to tune the pianoforte for Catherine, which led me to hope that perhaps he was not as utterly insensitive as he appeared.

  I had been thinking and worrying about the story he had concocted about my being named his ward, and on the day before the ball I managed to catch him in the library before he disappeared for the day so that I could discuss my concern with him.

  I opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, going through an extensive pile of what looked like bills. I felt the faintest twinge of guilt as I thought that they were probably the bills for our many shopping expeditions.

  “Yes, Miss Newbury?” he asked, looking up as I said his name.

  “Might I speak to you for a moment, my lord?” I asked politely.

  “Come in,” he said, folding his hands on top of the pile of papers and preparing to bestow upon me the honor of his attention.

  The Mansfield House library was not as grand as the rooms in the rest of the house. The bookshelves that lined the room were made of chestnut wood and the walls above them were painted a dark gold. The ceiling and the moldings were painted white and the Turkish rug on the floor was green and gold and red. The fireplace was the most impressive thing about the room. It was dark green marble and above it hung a picture of a thoroughbred on Newmarket Heath that looked as if it had been painted by Stubbs.