Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart

She made the introductions, but was not surprised when her aunt and cousin showed little curiosity. The nieces of a lady’s companion would no doubt be almost beneath their notice.

Hannah looked daggers at Rose, but when Sloane sat in the chair next to her, she brightened a little.

‘We decided we must call upon Morgana,’ Hannah remarked to him, but for all to hear. ‘We have been sadly remiss for not doing so before, but there are so many calls one must make. Today I insisted we must put her first on our list.’

Hannah regarded Sloane with her usual proprietary air, and Morgana pushed away another wave of envy, felt more acutely so soon after experiencing his kiss. Hannah had recently confided that Sloane had not made an offer, but had asked Hannah’s father if he would object to one. Uncle Cowdlin had not objected. According to Hannah it would be only a matter of time before her parents would be giving an engagement ball.

Morgana pressed a hand to her stomach.

Sloane had turned all his attention to Hannah. Katy sat very stiffly, her lips compressed into a tight line. Rose examined a piece of music that had been left on the table. Morgana sat between her grandmother and her aunt, trying to deflect any conversation that might cause her aunt to discover Lady Hart’s infirmity of mind.

After about five minutes, Sloane stood. ‘I have quite overstayed my welcome. It is time for me to take my leave.’

Morgana turned to him with a polite smile. ‘Thank you so much for calling, Mr Sloane. It was kind of you.’ She turned back to her aunt.

He said goodbye to the others and Hannah walked him to the drawing-room door. Sloane did not look at Morgana again.

After he left, Hannah and her mother prattled on for a few minutes about how Sloane was bound to offer for Hannah soon, information that had Rose, Katy and Mary passing surprised glances to each other. Then Hannah announced that she and her mother ought to depart to make their numerous other calls. Morgana saw them to the door and Cripps stood by to assist them.

‘You do come to Almack’s with us tonight, do you not, Morgana?’ her aunt asked.

‘Yes. Thank you so much for including me, Aunt Winnie.’ In truth, Morgana had found the ton’s marriage mart a bit tedious of late.

Hannah gave Morgana a quick hug. ‘Do not worry, Morgana. I will find some beaux to dance with you.’

‘Thank you, Hannah,’ Morgana responded tightly. ‘You are too good.’

Sloane stepped out of White’s after a dinner with Heronvale, during which the marquess had impressed upon him the necessity of a good marriage to succeed in politics. If that were not enough, Sloane’s father had made an appearance, infuriated that Sloane shared Heronvale’s table. The noise of carriages clattering by and the other street sounds were infinitely preferable to the Earl’s grating voice. As was his habit, Sloane glanced around him.

His nephew stood a few steps from the bow window. ‘Do you attend Almack’s, Uncle?’

It was easy to read on David’s countenance that he had something on his mind. ‘I am headed there now.’

‘May I walk with you?’ David smiled tentatively.

‘Certainly.’

‘Does your grandfather know you waited for me?’ Sloane asked as they crossed the street.

‘Never,’ exclaimed David. He glanced at Sloane. ‘He has it in for you, you know.’

Sloane laughed. ‘He always has had.’

‘I think it irrational,’ David said firmly. ‘I disapprove heartily.’

‘But not loudly, I hope.’ The boy was still at the Earl’s mercy, at least financially. Unless he wanted to take the hard road Sloane had taken, he’d best keep his opinions to himself.

His nephew flashed a quick smile and then they walked for a while in silence.

Finally David said, ‘I have called again upon Lady Hannah. I thought you should know.’

‘I’ve made no claim, David,’ Sloane said. ‘She is free to spend time with whom she pleases.’

‘But I respect your interest in her. I—I just wanted you to know my reasons make no infringement on your interest. As I explained, I cannot even think of marrying, so my time spent calling on her and taking her for a turn in the park is mere friendship. If I called upon someone else, it might raise the girl’s hopes unrealistically, but Lady Hannah has no expectation of me. It makes it a good arrangement between us.’

Sloane was glad Hannah had David’s company. The busier she was, the less guilty he felt for avoiding any decision about her.

‘Sounds fair,’ he said.

They arrived at Almack’s and soon entered the assembly room. Lady Hannah was already there. Her eyes lit up when she saw them approaching her.

But it was not Hannah who was on Sloane’s mind. The band struck up a waltz, and he waited for David to engage Hannah for the set. He scanned the assembly room, finally spying Morgana sitting alone at the room’s edge, a place for spinsters and dowagers.

He made his way to her. ‘May I have the honour of this dance?’

She looked up at him, her eyes as warm and sultry and melancholic as when they had waltzed earlier that day. Without a word she accepted his hand and held his arm as they walked to the dance floor.

Sloane had all he could do to keep from holding her as close as he’d done in their more intimate waltz. That evening Heronvale had called Morgana unconventional. If he only knew how unconventional she could be, willing to dance seductively for the edification of her courtesan students.

Heronvale made it clear he thought Lady Hannah a good choice for Sloane to marry—in spite of her unconventional cousin. Sloane had wrapped himself up so completely in Morgana’s difficulties, he’d hardly given Hannah a thought. The Season was coming to an end. He must surely make his move soon.

How was Sloane to contemplate marriage to Lady Hannah when his senses were consumed with bedding her cousin?

He shook himself. He was thinking like a rake again. The direction of his thoughts needed turning. ‘Why were you seated alone, Morgana?’ he asked instead.

‘Oh,’ she responded vaguely, avoiding looking up at him. ‘I have the headache, I suppose.’

‘Fustian,’ he said.

She did not reply.

‘I insist you tell me.’ He sounded demanding even to his own ears. Like his father.

She gave him a quick but defiant glance.

His tone softened. ‘Forgive me again, Morgana. I am acting the brute. I meant to say, it is not your nature to sit in corners. You typically enjoy whatever tedious entertainment the ton offers.’

‘Do I?’ She met his eye. ‘Or perhaps, like you, I merely pretend to enjoy myself.’

He nodded. ‘Touché.’

She increased the pressure on his hand, very slightly, but he did not miss it. ‘I am quarrelling again,’ she murmured. She wrinkled her forehead as if deep in thought. ‘I confess I do not find Almack’s to be the seventh heaven of the fashionable world. True, the intrigue of who dances with whom, which gentleman favours which young lady, who will next receive an offer of marriage, is all very interesting. And it does provide me an opportunity to dance.’

He pulled her in an infinitesimal bit closer. ‘You sound as if you are trying to convince yourself to enjoy it.’

She gave him a frank expression. ‘I suppose I am.’

They twirled around the floor, brushing near Hannah and David who were smiling and laughing together.

Morgana inclined her head in their direction. ‘Hannah enjoys your nephew’s company, I believe.’

He glanced back at the young couple. ‘I believe she does.’

They circled half the floor, Sloane enjoying how she moved with him, the scent of her hair, the curve of her cheek. He wondered if he could get Hannah to invite him in the Cowdlin carriage again, if he could walk Morgana to the door and taste her lips again.

‘Does it bother you?’ Morgana broke his reverie.

‘Does what bother me?’

‘Hannah and your nephew.’

He had forgotten them. Besides, he disliked discussing Hannah with Morgana, especially when he was fantasising about seducing her. ‘Should it?’

Her brows rose in response.

Sloane frowned. Hannah and David swept into view again. He need not concern himself with David’s interest in Hannah. His nephew had explained how it was, but Sloane was reminded he must make his offer to Hannah soon. Lord Cowdlin might become desperate enough to select a suitor of smaller fortune, unlikely as that was.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

‘Will you offer for her?’ Morgana asked, as if reading his thoughts.

Her words were like a knife slicing into him. He wanted to offer for Lady Hannah, did he not? Why not simply tell Morgana he intended to do so?

He felt his face harden to stone. ‘A gentleman would first inform the lady in question, not her cousin.’

She flinched as if a blow had been struck, and again Sloane regretted his churlish words.

The music stopped. The set was over. Morgana stepped out of his arms. He reached out to gather her back, to apologise again, but Hannah and David rushed to their side.

‘Everyone is planning an evening at Vauxhall tomorrow,’ Hannah said breathlessly. ‘Does that not sound marvellous?’

He rose and his smile was all for Hannah. Morgana could not bear it.

‘Marvellous indeed,’ he said in an amused tone.

Hannah clutched his arm. ‘We shall include Athenia, my brother Varney… well, everyone! Say you will go to Vauxhall, Mr Sloane?’

‘I shall consider it,’ he said, prevaricating, and wishing he could speak to Morgana alone.

Hannah pursed her lips like a petulant child. ‘You must say yes.’ She tossed him a pert smile. ‘Athenia’s parents will come so Mama and Papa will have company. They will pay little mind to me!’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Say you will come with us, Mr Sloane.’

‘Very well.’ Anything to be rid of her.

‘Will you act the host, Mr Sloane?’ Hannah persisted.

This was an impertinence. If he had offered for her, she might have a right to ask. Sloane disliked being forced to be the gentleman.

‘If your father permits,’ he said tightly.

His tone went completely over Hannah’s head. She clasped her hands together happily. ‘That is splendid!’

Somewhat belatedly, she seemed to notice Morgana standing next to him. She touched Morgana’s arm. ‘You must come as well, Morgana. I insist upon it.’

Morgana gave her a pasty smile, which Hannah must have taken for assent. Hannah turned away from her cousin and back to Sloane, begging him to lead her out in the next dance. Again Hannah had trapped him.

He acquiesced politely, but when he turned to Morgana, she was walking away. She did not look back at him.

Chapter Eleven

Mrs Rice sat in the room behind her glove shop, sipping a glass of claret and mentally calculating the amount of money she could wring from her girls this night.

She frowned. She’d recruited one new girl, who was almost useless. Fit for nothing but streetwalking. Without Katy and Mary business had definitely slowed. Profits were down. At this rate, she might make more blunt with gloves than with harlots.

Trigg, the procurer who had let the maid slip through his hands, entered, wearing a smug look on his face.

‘I hope this means you have girls for me,’ Mrs Rice muttered.

‘I have information.’ He sauntered over to her table and leaned in close. She detested the odour of the man.

‘Well, what is it?’ She would love to get rid of Trigg, who was a bit too clever for her to control completely.

He grinned, showing yellow teeth. ‘Word is out that a society lady has them.’

‘A society lady.’ She could guess which society lady. ‘Her name?’

Trigg took a step back. ‘I will discover the name soon.’

Mrs Rice drummed her fingers on the table. ‘It is that woman.’ She hissed. ‘The one who charged in here big-as-you-please.’

Trigg’s brows rose. ‘Describe her.’

Mrs Rice huffed. ‘I cannot. She obscured her face.’

‘A Long Meg?’

‘Why, yes, she was a bit tall.’

He frowned and rubbed his head. ‘I know the one.’

A few minutes later Trigg stepped out into the street, pausing to take a swig from the bottle of gin he carried in his pocket. He headed for a pub he knew of, the place where an acquaintance had heard from another man that some footman spoke of females more like harlots who were guests in his lady’s house. It was thin evidence, and the man said the next day the footman denied it all, but Trigg did not relish hearing Rice ring a peal over his head. Besides, he wanted to believe it was that lady in the park. He’d be pleased to consign her to the devil, quick.

He stepped into an alley, for another quick taste of gin. Suddenly hands grabbed him from behind, dragging him deeper into the dark and he felt a cold edge of steel against his throat.

A sinister voice said, ‘I hear you’ve been asking questions about some missing doxies.’

Trigg nearly casting up his accounts, knew better than to show fear. ‘What of it?’ he growled.

The blade’s edge pierced his skin and he felt his blood trickling warm down his neck. ‘Stay out of it,’ the voice—a familiar voice, he realised—snarled. ‘If you want to keep your head.’ The knife made another slice, not deep, but Trigg was afraid to move lest it sever more than his skin.

‘What’s it to you?’ He tried to sound fierce, but his voice rose like a girl’s.

The man laughed and it was enough to make Trigg taste his own vomit. ‘I have them. The maid and that other one, too. The one who knocked you out. They are mine and the man who takes them from me will not live.’

Trigg tried to laugh, too, but succeeded only in making a gasping sound. ‘Why should I listen to you? Who are you?’

The chilling laugh returned. ‘I am the devil. Touch what is mine and I’ll have my due.’

Trigg was pushed forward, and he fell to his knees into a puddle of filth. By the time he scrambled to his feet and turned around, the man—the man from the park—had disappeared.

Sloane watched Trigg from the depths of the alley, the man silhouetted against the lamplight coming from St James’s Street. As he’d anticipated, Trigg broke into a run. Sloane figured he’d run all the way to whatever dirty hovel he called home.

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the blood from his knife. Tossing the handkerchief away, he put the knife back in its sheath in his coat pocket. He left the alley from the back and made his way to the street.

When he stepped on to the pavement of St James’s Street, he looked like any other gentleman pursuing his nightly interests.

It was fortunate Sloane had refused Hannah’s offer of a carriage ride home. The day’s episodes with Morgana had left him disordered, restless, on edge. Having made his way to his post at Mrs Rice’s window, what he’d overheard fuelled his already taut nerves with something more dangerous. The violence of the underworld had taken a step closer to Morgana, and Sloane needed to push it back hard. It was a good night for intimidation. He’d halfway wished for an all-out brawl.

His tactic was misdirection. Trigg would now abandon his search for the ‘lady’ and begin looking for a tougher customer. Sloane wagered the man would not guess it was a resident of proper Culross Street who, as easy as the roughest rookery thief, used a knife to draw blood.

Sloane would return to spy on Mrs Rice’s place again, to make sure his trickery worked.

After thinking about it half the night, Morgana quite sorted it out in her mind that Sloane’s familiarity towards her had been her own fault. He’d seen how unladylike she could be, and, therefore, felt less gentlemanly restraint in her presence. She could still enjoy his company, but she must never mistake it for something more, not when he was intent on marrying Hannah. Better Morgana throw her energies into her girls.

They were gathered in the library, Madame Bisou having just arrived. Morgana happened to mention her invitation to Vauxhall.

Katy flung herself down on the settee. ‘Can we not all go to Vauxhall with you? I am sure I shall die if I spend one more day in this house.’

Morgana regarded Katy with sympathy. Her charges had indeed been trapped within the confines of this house, able to go no further than the tiny garden or the privy. Only Lucy had ventured beyond, but that was merely to the patch of land next door to assist Mr Elliot with his plantings.

‘We cannot chance Mrs Rice seeing us, Katy.’ Mary was at her most earnest. ‘She would make us go back to her.’

Katy waved her hand dismissively. ‘It is not as if Mrs Rice would go to Vauxhall. Besides, we could wear masks. They wear masks at Vauxhall Gardens, do they not?’

‘They do indeed,’ answered Madame Bisou, who gave Morgana a thoughtful look. ‘As I think of it, our girls could do with a bit of practice. We ought not to launch them upon the world without a trial. Do you not agree, Miss Hart?’

How could Morgana agree when she really had no wish to launch her students at all? Sloane’s words echoed in her mind—they would sell themselves to the highest bidder and still be at the mercy of a man’s whims. What if they could not match the success Harriette Wilson had achieved? What happened to failed courtesans?

She feared they would wind up in shops like Mrs Rice’s. Would all her hopes for the girls come to naught?

She had come too far to lose hope now.

‘I do not know.’ Morgana finally answered, her voice trailing off as Katy’s mournful eyes bore into her.

She wished she’d never mentioned Vauxhall Gardens. She certainly did not want to go there and watch Hannah flirt with Sloane. Perhaps Hannah and Sloane might disappear down one of those dark walks that were so whispered about. She would sit in the box with Aunt Winnie and imagine what might take place between Sloane and Hannah.

She gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself again that Sloane had always been Hannah’s, not hers.

‘I have never been to Vauxhall Gardens,’ Miss Moore piped up in a dreamy tone, merely adding to the growing pressure.

Morgana grasped at straws. ‘We do not have clothes for you yet.’

She intended to ask Madame Emeraude to come to the house to measure the girls and make up some dresses for them, but had put this off. It was another task she must do before they could leave her.

Cripps knocked on the door. ‘A trunk has been delivered, miss.’ He announced this as formally as if the Regent had come to call.

‘A trunk?’ Any delivery was unexpected. Morgana certainly did not expect her father to send her anything. He’d barely written to her.

‘From Paris, miss,’ Cripps added.

‘Paris!’ Morgana laughed. Her lost trunk!

‘What is funny?’ Katy grumbled.

Morgana walked over and tweaked Katy’s chin. ‘Your new wardrobe has arrived.’

‘New wardrobe?’ Katy asked cautiously. The other girls looked up in interest, even Lucy, who was beginning to lose some of her maid-like demeanour.

Morgana nodded, still astonished that her missing apparel should have come at this very moment. ‘Unless I am mistaken, it is a trunk filled with the latest Paris fashions, and it has arrived exactly in time to dress you in style.’

‘Paris!’ shrieked Katy, reverting to less-than-ladylike behaviour. ‘Give us a look at it.’

Fate, apparently, had decided to shove Morgana forward. Her girls would go to Vauxhall, after all, and would practice for the coming day when they would leave her house and go to some gentleman’s bed.

Morgana told Cripps to have the trunk brought in to them. Barely had the two footmen set it down in the middle of the room than the girls begged to open it. They pulled out dress after dress of fine muslin and silk. Day dresses, evening gowns, walking dresses. Morgana had forgotten how many her new stepmother had insisted she purchase.

Katy squealed in delight as each one emerged from between layers of tissue paper. Rose took a deep wine-red gown and held it against herself. If such a thing were possible, her features shone even more beautifully with its rich colour. Mary fingered a pale blue muslin, a shade as soft as her voice. Lucy held back, but Morgana handed her a pink confection and made her slip it over her plain grey dress, transforming her into as fresh and innocent a miss as had ever had her come-out.

‘We have the dresses, Miss Hart. Do we go to Vauxhall or not?’ Katy stood hands on hips, ready for battle.

Morgana glanced at Madame Bisou. ‘Who would escort us? We cannot go unprotected.’

‘Robert will come with us,’ assured the madam.

Mary glanced up at the mention of his name.

‘Perhaps Mr Elliot would come as well,’ Lucy added. ‘We could depend on him.’

‘We can dance and have a high old time.’ Katy pulled a paisley shawl from the trunk and wrapped it around herself. She danced around the room as if already at the pleasure gardens. Rose joined her, holding the red dress as if she were wearing it.

‘Oh, very well!’ Morgana smiled, resigned to seeing her fledglings spread their wings. ‘But I will go with you, as will Miss Moore, and we shall all wear masks.’

‘Hurrah!’ cried Katy.

Rose ran to the pianoforte and began a rousing tune. Katy grabbed Morgana while Mary and Madame Bisou pulled Lucy and Miss Moore on to the floor as well. Even Morgana’s grandmother rose to her feet and clapped her hands to the music. Rose began to sing: ‘Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove…’

The others joined in: ‘That hill and valley, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield…’

Sloane frowned as he stepped onto the pavement in front of his house. He could hear Morgana and her girls singing.

The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing;

For thy delight each May morning:

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me and be my love.

Anyone passing by could hear it. In fact, people two streets away could hear it. Someone was bound to comment. Foolish Morgana. He’d told her to be more discreet.

Live with me and be my love echoed in his brain as he crossed the pavement and headed towards Bond Street. He had no particular errand, just a restlessness that he hoped to walk off. Perhaps he might look in at Lock’s for a new hat or drop in at White’s.

He gave a glance over his shoulder. Instead he might walk round to Morgana’s rear door and join in their gaiety.

He was not sure why he suddenly thought he ought to avoid them. He lengthened his stride.

It was due to Morgana. His rakish interest in her was growing at an alarming rate. He could barely be in her company without exceeding the bounds of civility. Like kissing her as though he meant it. He had meant it, that was the rub—damn Penny for that little stunt. He wanted to dance with her again, not as he had at Almack’s but as he’d danced with her in her parlour. He wanted to feel her body next to his.

This was hardly the way to think when he ought to be heading to Lady Hannah’s to ask for her hand in marriage. Hannah would make a creditable wife. He had faith she would develop into a successful hostess and a pleasing bed partner. As Heronvale said, she would be an asset to any man with political plans.

So why did the idea of even spending a whole evening in her presence at Vauxhall make him want to head back to a smuggling den?

Sloane might have begged off, sent a note around that urgent business prevented him from keeping the Vauxhall engagement. Only one reason prevented him. He longed to see what Morgana thought of the place.

He shook his head in dismay at this thought, and crossed the street. A carriage, his father’s crest on its side, rolled past him and came to a rather abrupt stop.

His father leaned out the window. ‘Cyprian! I desire to speak with you. Get in, if you please.’