A Marriage of Notoriety

He led her into a comfortably furnished parlour and extended his arm towards a sofa upholstered in deep-red fabric. ‘Do be seated. I will arrange for tea.’

Before she could protest, he left the room again. Her heart beat at such rapid rate that her hands trembled as she pulled off her gloves.

This was ridiculous. She refused to be made uncomfortable by him. He meant nothing to her. He’d merely been a boy who’d once been her playmate. Defiantly she swept the netting over the brim of her hat. Let him see her face.

He stepped back in the room. ‘We’ll have tea in a moment.’ Choosing a chair near her, he leaned close. ‘I do not know when—or if—Rhys will come back.’

‘Do not tell me he has disappeared as well!’ What was going on?

He touched her hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘He has not disappeared. I assure you.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

He leaned back. ‘He spends most days with Lady Gale.’

‘Lady Gale?’ What did Lady Gale have to do with anything?

Lady Gale was the stepmother of Adele Gale, the silly young woman to whom her brother Ned was betrothed. Both Adele and Lady Gale had been guests at her mother’s ball, so Rhysdale might have met them there, but was there more to that connection?

Xavier frowned. ‘You do not know about Rhysdale and Lady Gale?’

Phillipa waved a frustrated hand. ‘I do not know anything! That is why I am here. My brothers and my father have disappeared and my mother will not tell me where they have gone or why. I came to ask Rhysdale where they were, but it seems I’ve been excluded from even more family matters.’

There was a knock on the door and a manservant entered, carrying the tea tray. As he placed the tray on a side table, he gave Phillipa a curious look.

Because of her scar, no doubt.

Xavier nodded to him. ‘Thank you, MacEvoy.’

The servant bowed and walked out, but not before tossing her another glance.

Xavier reached for the teapot. ‘How do you take your tea, Phillipa? Still with lots of sugar?’

He remembered that? She’d had a sweet tooth as a little girl. That had been a long time ago, however.

She stood. ‘I do not wish to drink tea. I came here for answers. I am quite overset, Xavier. I do not know why everything is kept secret from me. Do I look as if I cannot handle adversity?’ She jabbed at her scar. ‘I am well practised in adversity. My mother—my whole family, it seems—apparently thinks not.’ She faced him. ‘Something important has happened in my family—something more than Rhysdale’s appearance—and I am to be told nothing? I cannot bear it!’ She pressed her hands against her temples for a moment, collecting herself. She pointed towards the door. ‘What is this place, Xavier? Why does my half-brother have a room full of tables where the drawing room should be and a drawing room on a floor for bedchambers?’

* * *

Xavier stared back at Phillipa, considering how much to tell her.

He preferred this version of Phillipa to the one he’d so recently encountered at her mother’s ball. That Phillipa barely looked at him, barely conversed with him, even though he’d danced twice with her. She’d acted as if he were a loathsome stranger.

Her present upset disturbed him, however. Ever since they’d been children, he’d hated seeing her distressed. It reminded him of that summer in Brighton when the pretty little girl woke from a fall to discover the long cut on her face.

He admired Phillipa for not covering her scar now, for showing no shame of it or how she appeared to others. Besides, her colour was high, appealingly so, and her agitation piqued his empathy. He understood her distress. He would greatly dislike being left out of family matters of such consequence.

But surely she’d been told of Rhys’s arrangement with her brothers?

‘Do you not know about this place?’ He swept his arm the breadth of the room.

Her eyes flashed. ‘Do you not comprehend? I know nothing.’

‘This is a gambling establishment.’ All of society knew of it. Why not Phillipa? ‘Nominally it is a gambling club so as to adhere to legalities. Have you not heard of the Masquerade Club?’

‘No.’ Her voice still held outrage.

He explained. ‘This is the Masquerade Club. Rhys is the proprietor. Patrons may attend in masks and thus conceal their identities—as long as they pay their gambling debts, that is. If they need to write vowels, they must reveal themselves.’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘In any event, it is meant to be a place where both gentlemen and ladies may enjoy cards or other games. Ladies’ reputations are protected, you see.’

She looked around again, her expression incredulous. ‘This is a gambling house?’

‘Not this floor. These are Rhys’s private rooms, but he is not here very often these days.’

She pressed fingers to her forehead. ‘Because he is with Lady Gale.’

He nodded. Rhys’s connection to Lady Gale ought to have been roundly discussed at the Westleigh residence.

He could tell her this much. ‘Sit, Phillipa. Have some tea. I will explain.’

He reached for the teapot again but she stopped him with a light touch to his hand. ‘I will pour.’ She lifted a cup and raised her brows in question.

‘A little milk. A little sugar,’ he replied.

She fixed his cup and handed it to him. ‘Explain, Xavier. Please.’

‘About Lady Gale and Rhys,’ he began. ‘Earlier this Season Lady Gale came masked to the Masquerade Club.’

She lifted her cup. ‘She is a gambler? I would not have guessed.’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘Out of necessity. She needed money. She attended often enough for Rhys to become acquainted with her. In learning of her financial need, he began paying her to come gamble.’

‘Paying her?’ Her hand stopped before the teacup reached her lips.

He gave a half-smile. ‘He fancied her. He did not know her name, though. Nor did she know his connection to your family.’

She looked at him expectantly. ‘And?’

‘They became lovers.’ He took a breath. ‘And she is with child. They are to be married as soon as the licence can be arranged.’ He paused. ‘And other matters settled.’

‘Other matters.’ Her brows knitted. ‘Ned’s courtship of Lady Gale’s stepdaughter, do you mean?’

He nodded. ‘And more.’

Rhys’s gambling house and his affair with Lady Gale had hardly caused her a blink of the eye. Surely she was made of stern enough stuff to hear the whole of it.

She gave him a direct look. ‘What more?’

‘Do you know of Ned and Hugh’s arrangement with Rhys?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I am depending upon you to tell me all of it, Xavier. All of it.’

How could he resist her request?

Ever since her injury. What age had he been? Twelve? She’d been about seven and he’d never forgotten that summer.

How it pained him to see that little girl so wounded, so unhappy.

If only he could have prevented it.

He’d felt it his duty to cheer her up. He’d learned that summer that one should act, if one could. Not hold back.

So he’d made her his responsibility and worked to cheer her up.

It was not his place to tell her about her family’s affairs, but....

He set his jaw. ‘This past April Ned and Hugh came to Rhys and asked him to open a gaming house. They had scraped together the funds for it, but they needed Rhys to run it.’

‘They asked Rhysdale to run a gaming house for them?’ She sounded incredulous.

He took a sip of tea. ‘Out of desperation. Your family was in dire financial straits. Did you know of that?’

She shook her head.

He might as well tell her all. ‘Your father’s gambling...and carousing...brought your family to the brink of ruin. You, your mother, everyone who depended upon the Westleigh estates for their livelihood would have suffered terribly if nothing had been done.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I had no idea.’

‘So Ned and Hugh hit upon the idea of a gaming house. Rhys agreed to run it, although your father gave him no reason to feel any sense of loyalty to the family. Besides taking half the profits, though, Rhys asked that your father publicly acknowledge him as his natural son.’

‘Hence my mother’s ball.’ She caught on quickly.

‘Indeed.’ The ball was part of Rhys’s payment. ‘The scheme worked perfectly. The element of masquerade has made this place successful beyond anyone’s hopes. Your family is rescued.’

She looked askance. ‘If all has gone so well, where are my father and brothers?’

‘They went to the Continent. To Brussels.’ Ought he tell her this part? He peered at her. ‘Phillipa, are you close to your father?’

She laughed. ‘I dare say not.’ She glanced away, her face shadowed. ‘Should he chance encounter me, he looks through me. Or away.’

His heart constricted.

‘Your father made trouble for Rhys, I’m afraid. He detested Rhys being the family’s salvation.’ She did not need to know all the details. ‘Suffice to say your father challenged Rhys to a duel—’

‘A duel!’ She looked aghast.

‘It did not take place,’ he assured her. ‘Your brothers stood by Rhys and together they forced your father to relinquish all control of the family’s money and property to Ned.’ Either that or publicly shame the man. ‘They offered your father a generous allowance, but only if he moved to the Continent. Your brothers travelled with him to make certain he reaches his destination and keeps his word. He is to remain there. He will not come back.’

‘He is gone?’ She turned pale, making her red scar more vivid. ‘I had no notion of any of this.’

He feared she would faint and he rose from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her. ‘I know this is a shock.’

He remembered how he’d held her as a little girl, when she cried about being ugly. He’d never thought her ugly. Certainly not now, although to see her face, half-beautiful, half-damaged, still made something inside him twist painfully.

She recovered quickly and moved from his grasp. ‘How could I have been so unaware? How could I have not had some inkling?’

‘It is not your fault, Phillipa. I am certain they meant to protect you,’ he said.

‘I do not need their protection!’ she snapped. She looked at him as if he were the object of her anger. ‘I do not need pity.’

He admired her effort to remain strong.

‘I must leave.’ She snatched up her gloves and stood.

He rose as well. ‘I will walk you home.’

Her eyes shot daggers. ‘I am fully capable of walking a few streets by myself.’

He did not know how to assist her. ‘I meant only—’

She released a breath and spoke in an apologetic tone. ‘Forgive me, Xavier. It is unfair of me to rail at you when you have done me the honour of exposing my family to me.’ She pulled on her gloves. ‘But truly there is no need to walk me home. I am no green girl in need of a chaperon.’

‘If that is your wish.’ He opened the door for her and walked with her down the stairs.

She stopped on the first-floor landing and pointed to a doorway with a half-closed door. ‘Is this the game room?’

‘It is.’ He opened the door the whole way. ‘You can see the card tables and the tables for faro, hazard and rouge et noir.’

She peeked in, but did not comment.

As they continued down the stairs, she asked, ‘Why are you here in a gaming house, Xavier?’

He shrugged. ‘I assist Rhys. As a friend.’

He was useful to Rhys. Because of his looks, men dismissed him and women were distracted. Consequently, he saw more than either sex imagined and, for that, Rhys paid him a share of his profits.

‘Do you have the gambling habit, then?’ she asked.

Like her father? ‘Not a habit,’ he responded, although once it had been important to prove himself at the card table. ‘These days I play less and watch more.’

They reached the hall and Xavier walked her to the door. When he turned the latch and opened it for her, she pulled down the netting on her hat, covering her face.

The action made him sad for her.

He opened his mouth to repeat the offer to escort her.

She lifted a hand. ‘I prefer to be alone, Xavier. Please respect that.’

He nodded.

‘Good day,’ she said in a formal voice and stepped away.

Xavier ducked inside and grabbed his hat. He waited until he surmised she would have reached the corner of the street, then stepped outside and followed her, keeping her in sight, just in case she should require assistance of any kind. He followed her all the way to her street and watched until she safely entered her house.

It was a familiar habit, looking out for her, one he’d practised over and over that long-ago summer in Brighton, when his duty towards her first began.

Chapter Two

Phillipa walked briskly back to her family’s town house, emotions in disharmony. Her mind whirled. Rhysdale’s gaming house. Her father’s shameful behaviour.

Xavier.

She had not expected to see Xavier and her face burned with embarrassment that it had been he who exposed her family’s troubles to her.

Her family’s shame. Did there ever exist such a father as hers? What must Xavier think of him? Of them?

Of her?

She hurried through the streets.

How could she have been so insensible? Her family had been at the brink of ruin and she’d not had an inkling. She should have guessed something was awry. She should have realised how out of character it was for her father to hold a ball for anyone, least of all a natural son.

Seeing Xavier there distracted her.

No. It was unfair to place the blame on Xavier. Or even on her family.

She was to blame. She’d deliberately isolated herself, immersing herself in her music so as not to think about being in London, not to think of that first Season, that first dance with Xavier, nor of dancing with him again at the ball.

Instead she’d poured everything into her new composition. With the music, she’d tried to recreate her youthful feelings of joy and the despairing emotions of reality. She’d transitioned the tune to something bittersweet—how it had felt to dance with him once again.

Her mind had been filled with him and she’d not spared a thought for her family. In fact, she’d resented whenever her mother insisted she receive morning calls, including those of Lady Gale and her stepdaughter. It surprised her that she’d paid enough attention to learn that Ned intended to marry the artless Adele Gale. The girl reminded Phillipa of her school friends and that first Season when they’d been innocent and starry-eyed.

And hopeful.

Phillipa had paid no attention at all to her father, but, then, he paid no attention to her. She long ago learned not to care about what her father thought or did or said, but how dared he be so selfish as to gamble away the family money? She would not miss him. It was a relief to no longer endure his unpleasantness.

Phillipa entered the house and climbed the stairs to her music room. She pulled off her hat and gloves and sat at the pianoforte. Her fingers pressed the ivory keys, searching for expression of the feelings resonating inside of her. She created a discordant sound, a chaos, unpleasant to her ears. She rose again and walked to the window, staring out at the small garden behind the town house. A yellow tabby cat walked the length of the wall, sure-footed, unafraid, surveying the domain below.

Her inharmonious musical notes re-echoed in her ears. Unlike the cat, she was not sure-footed. She was afraid.

For years she’d been fooling herself, saying she was embracing life by her study of music. Playing the pianoforte, composing melodies, gave her some purpose and activity. Although she yearned to perform her music or see it published for others to perform, what hope could she have to accomplish that? No lady wanted a disfigured pianiste in her musicale. And no music publisher would consider an earl’s daughter to be a serious composer.

There was an even more brutal truth to jar her. She was hiding behind her music. So thoroughly that she had missed the drama at play on her family’s stage. All kinds of life occurred outside the walls of her music room and she’d been ignoring it all. She needed to rejoin life.

Phillipa spun away from the window. She rushed from the room, startling one of the maids passing through the hallway. What was the girl’s name? When had Phillipa begun to be blind to the very people around her?

‘Pardon, miss.’ The girl struggled to curtsy, even though her hands were laden with bed linens.

‘No pardon is necessary,’ Phillipa responded. ‘I surprised you.’ She started to walk past, but turned. ‘Forgive me, I do not know your name.’

The girl looked even more startled. ‘It is Ivey, miss. Sally Ivey.’

‘Ivey,’ Phillipa repeated. ‘I will remember it.’

The maid curtsied again and hurried on her way.

Phillipa reached the stairs, climbing them quickly, passing the floor to the maids’ rooms and continuing to the attic where one small window provided a little light. She opened one of the trunks and rummaged through it, not finding for what she searched. In the third trunk, though, triumph reigned. She pulled it out. A lady’s mask, one her mother had made for her to attend a masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens during her first Season. It had been specifically designed to cover her scar.

She’d never worn it.

Until now.

Because she’d decided her first step to embrace life and conquer fear was to do what Lady Gale had done. She would wait until night. She would step out into the darkness and make her way to St James’s Street.

Phillipa would attend the Masquerade Club. If Lady Gale thought it acceptable to attend, so could she. She would don the mask and enter a gaming house. She would play cards and hazard and faro and see what sort of investment Ned and Hugh had made in Rhysdale.

He would be there, of course, but that was of no consequence. If she encountered Xavier, he would not know her.

No one would know her.

* * *

That night Phillipa stepped up to the door to Rhysdale’s town house. No sounds of revelry reached the street and nothing could be seen of the gamblers inside, but, even so, she immediately sensed a different mood to the place than earlier in the day.

She sounded the knocker and the same taciturn manservant who’d attended the hall that morning answered the door.

‘Good evening, sir.’ She entered the hall and slipped off her hooded cape. This time she did not need netting to hide her face; her mask performed that task.

The manservant showed no indication of recognising her and she breathed a sign of relief. The mask must be working.

She handed him her cape. ‘What do I do next? I am new to this place, you see.’

He nodded and actually spoke. ‘Wait here a moment. I will take you to the cashier.’

The knocker sounded the moment he stepped away, but he returned quickly and opened the door to two gentlemen who greeted him exuberantly. ‘Good evening to you, Cummings! Trust you are well.’

Cummings took their hats and gloves and inclined his head towards Phillipa. ‘Follow them, ma’am.’

The gentlemen glanced her way and their brows rose with interest. How novel. Without her mask most men quickly looked away.

‘Is this your first time here, ma’am?’ one asked in a polite tone.

‘It is.’ She made herself smile.

The other gentleman offered an arm. ‘Then it will be our pleasure to show you to the cashier.’

This was how she would be treated if not disfigured. With pleasure, not pity.

How new, as well, to accept the arm of a stranger when she’d been reared to acknowledge gentlemen only after a formal introduction took place. Would he think her fast for doing so? Or did it not matter? The gentleman would never know her.

She’d already defied the conventions of a well-bred lady by walking alone on the streets at night. She’d gathered her cloak and hood around her and made her way briskly, ignoring anyone she passed. Gas lamps lit most of the way and there had been plenty of other pedestrians out and about to make the trek feel safe.

Taking the arm of a stranger for a few seconds seemed tame after that.

He and the other gentleman escorted her to one of the rooms that had been hidden behind closed doors earlier that day. It was at the back of the house and, judging from the bookshelves that lined one of the walls, must have once been the library. Besides a few lonely books on the shelves, the room was as sparsely decorated as the hall. A large desk dominated the room. Behind the desk sat the man who had served her tea.

‘MacEvoy,’ one of her escorts said. ‘We have a new lady for you. This is her first time here.’

MacEvoy looked her straight in the face. ‘Good evening, ma’am. Shall I explain how the Masquerade Club operates?’

‘I would be grateful.’ She searched for signs that this man recognised her. There were none.

He told her the cost of membership and explained that she would purchase counters from him to use in play in the game room. She could purchase as many counters as she liked, but, if she lost more than she possessed, she must reveal her identity.

This was how patrons were protected, he explained. They would know who owed them money, and those who needed their identity protected dared not wager more than they possessed.

Phillipa had little interest in the wagering, but hoped she purchased enough counters to appear as if she did.

‘We will take you to the gaming room, ma’am,’ one of her escorts said.

‘That would be kind of you.’ She knew the way, but did not want the gentlemen to realise it.

When they entered the room, it seemed transformed, a riot of colour and sound. The rhythm of rolling dice, the hum of voices, the trill of shuffling cards melded into a strange symphony. Could such noise be recreated in music? What might be required? Horns? Drums? Castanets?

‘Ma’am, do you wish to join us in cards?’ One of her gentlemen escorts broke her reverie.

She shook her head. ‘You have assisted me enough, sir. I thank you both. Please be about your own entertainment.’

They bowed and she turned away from them and scanned the room as she made her way to the hazard table. To her great relief, she did not see Xavier. A pretty young woman acted as croupier at the hazard table, which surprised Phillipa. She’d not imagined women employed to do such a job. She knew the rules of hazard, but thought it insipid to wager money on the roll of dice. Phillipa watched the play, interested more in the people than the gambling. Several of the croupiers were women. The women players were mostly masked, like she, but some were not. She wondered about them. Who were they and why did they not worry about their reputations? Perhaps she was in the company of actresses. Opera dancers. Women who would not hide from life.

There certainly seemed to be great numbers of counters being passed around in the room. Those who won exclaimed in delight; the losers groaned and despaired. Happy sounds juxtaposed with despairing ones. She’d never heard the like.

She glimpsed Rhysdale. He circulated through the room, watching, stopping to speak to this or that person. He came close to her and her heart raced. He looked directly at her, nodding a greeting before passing on. She smiled. He had not recognised her.

She walked over to the faro table. If hazard was an insipid game, faro was ridiculous. One wagered whether a particular card would be chosen from the deck. If you placed money on the banker’s card you lost, if on the winning card you won double.

Still, she ought to gamble. To merely gape at everything would appear a bit suspicious.

She stifled a giggle. Out in society, people treated her as if she did not exist. Here she feared them noticing her.

She played at faro and became caught up in the spirit of the game. She cried with joy when she won and groaned at her losses, just like the other patrons. She was merely one of the crowd. Even her deep-green gown blended with the tableau as if she were a part of the décor of reds, greens and glinting golds. Her anonymity became like a cloak around her, protecting her so well she forgot that, besides Rhysdale, there might be someone at the club who could recognise her.