Tempting the Sensible Lady Violet
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Eva Shepherd
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Chapter One
Lord Jake Rosemont tapped the green baize table, signalling for another card. His fellow gamblers exchanged disbelieving glances. Jake knew what they were thinking. The cards laid out in front of him totalled eighteen. Surely it was better to sit on that number than to risk going over twenty-one and losing everything.
Even the unflappable dealer rose one eyebrow as if questioning the wisdom of the move.
As usual, Jake wondered how they could not see what was so obvious to him. The game was well-advanced. Many cards had been dealt, but few twos and threes had been played from the deck. His chances of winning were high. The risk was low.
The dealer turned over a card. A three. As one, the men seated at the table groaned, while the young ladies watching twittered and fluttered their approval, letting him know how much they appreciated a winner and how happy they would be to show their appreciation to him.
‘You really do have the devil’s own luck,’ a sailor bearing an anchor tattoo on his brawny forearm said before clapping him on the back, as if hoping to capture some of Jake’s good fortune.
Jake nodded his acknowledgement of the praise and dragged in the coins and notes on the table, adding them to his growing pile.
He could inform the sailor and the other men seated around the table that if they took the time to watch what cards were dealt to each player and performed a few quick calculations, they, too, would know when it was wisest to take a risk and when best to err on the side of caution.
‘My friend is indeed lucky,’ Herbert Fortescue exclaimed. ‘Lucky at cards and lucky in love. Unlike me. I have no success in either area.’
Once again, the men at the table groaned and, once again, Jake knew exactly what they were thinking. Not this again. All night, as they moved around the gambling houses of London, Herbert had told anyone foolish enough to listen about his unrequited love for the beautiful Lady Bianca Maidstone.
Two heavily made-up young ladies sidled up to Herbert and linked their arms through his, cooing in his ears that they knew the perfect way to divert his mind from his troubles. But his lovesick friend would not be consoled and shook them off.
Jake turned back to the cards, knowing that his friend’s assessment of him was wrong on two counts. Luck had nothing to do with it, in either cards or love. With cards, he just played the odds. And when it came to love, that was an area which thankfully remained a mystery to him. Yes, he’d had many women in his life, but love, never. And that was the way he liked it. And as for marriage, the state that Herbert was so desperately seeking, Jake could see no reason why any sane man would want to tie himself down to one woman for the rest of his life. Pure madness.
Some people, including his mother, would say that at twenty-six he should be actively in search of a suitable bride. Jake would beg to differ. He’d seen enough disastrous society marriages, including his parents’ own, to know that such a fate was best avoided.
Fortunately, his mother’s marriage-making focus was currently on his older brother, Luther. Eleven years ago, their father, the Duke of Southbridge, died and Luther inherited the title along with the responsibility of running the estates. All he needed now was the perfect Duchess who could continue the lineage.
Unlike Jake, Luther was eminently suited to the role of Duke. As their father had never failed to point out, Luther possessed all the superior qualities of a nobleman, while Jake had never been anything other than a total disappointment.
He tossed his cards on to the table, causing them to scatter in all directions. Only the quick actions of the dealer prevented them from falling to the ground.
More cards were dealt. Jake continued to win more than he lost and the pile of money continued to grow in front of him. It was coming close to the time when he should leave this low dive. His winnings had attracted the attention of the gaming house owner. Several hands ago, the gruff man had emerged from his lair on the balcony above the gaming floor, where he usually surveyed his domain. He was now intently watching Jake from the bar.
Complimentary drinks had already been sent over to the table, presumably in the expectation that inebriation would ruin Jake’s good fortune. Now a young lady had placed herself on his lap and was running her fingers through his hair while whispering in his ear all the ways she could help him spend his money. All he had to do was leave the table now and disappear upstairs with her.
‘You’re very pretty and extremely tempting, my dear,’ he said, giving her rouged cheek a quick peck and gently lifting her off his lap. ‘But not tonight.’
While these diversions were amusing and were not impeding his ability to win, the owner was far from amused. Like in all gaming houses, winners were appreciated only if it encouraged others to gamble more and only if they went on to lose all they had previously gained. But gamblers who took more from the house than they gave back were never welcome.
In most gaming houses, being the son of a duke would be all the protection Jake needed from the owner’s ire. But in a dive such as this, even if the owner knew his lineage, it would mean nothing. Money was money. It mattered not whether the winner was the son of a duke or a dustman, if he was taking money off the house he was not wanted there. Such anonymity was rather refreshing and another reason why Jake preferred to frequent such low establishments.
Another pile of money was pushed Jake’s way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the owner give an all but imperceptible flick of his head to the beefy fellow standing at the entrance.
The man swaggered across the packed room. The carousing patrons fell silent and hastened out of his way, giving him a clear path towards Jake.
He stared at Jake, down the crooked nose that marked him out as a fighter. ‘This table is now closed,’ he said, crossing his arms over his enormous chest, the tattooed muscles of his arms bulging.
The other gamblers threw down their cards, scuttled off and disappeared into the throng. It was now definitely time to leave.
Jake flicked a coin towards the dealer as a tip, scooped up his winnings and, with a sleight of hand, placed them in the bouncer’s pocket.
‘Thanks, Lord Jake,’ the broken-nosed pugilist whispered out the corner of his mouth, while keeping his face suitably aggressive. ‘Just doing my job, you know.’
‘I know,’ Jake whispered back. ‘And, yes, I’m leaving. I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.’
The bouncer gave a quick nod and took Jake’s arm, as if forcibly ejecting him from the room.
Jake had known Bill since his days as a bare-knuckle boxer. He’d won a tidy sum on the man, who had been both fleet of foot and strong of arm. But after a life taking more punches than he could stand, Bill had retired from the ring and had found the only job open to him, throwing drunks and dandies out of gambling clubs.
The man had been a great success in the ring, winning many a bulging purse, but a charlatan manager and poor investment advice had left him with no financial compensation for the battering he had taken for others’ entertainment.
He needed this job, but did not need to get into any more fights. Bill had a family to support and was trying to establish a boxing gym so he could provide greater financial security for them than the tenuous existence of a bouncer ever would.
‘How are the children?’ Jake asked, as Bill performed a convincing act of dragging him out of the club.
The man almost broke character and smiled. ‘Wonderful. Little Maisy won a writing competition at the Sunday school last week. Teacher says she shows real promise and is a right clever little girl.’
‘Good to hear it,’ Jake said, still assuming the posture of a man cowering in the face of a beating. ‘Use those winnings to buy her a present as a reward.’
‘Will do and thanks again, Lord Jake, you’re a proper gent,’ Bill whispered. ‘And you’re not welcome back here,’ he added, loud enough for the owner to hear, as he opened the door and thrust Jake out into the night-time air.
A contrite Herbert joined him and stared anxiously at the door, as if he expected a band of ruffians to jump them at any moment. ‘That was a lucky escape. You wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that man’s fists. Did you see the size of them? And as for his arms, like legs of ham, they were.’
Herbert looked up the alleyway, then at Jake. ‘So, what shall we do now? We’re running out of places like this that will let you play.’
Herbert, unfortunately, was correct. Jake possessed only one skill, the ability to win at cards. But there was no point having a skill if no one would let you exercise it. Now that he had been ejected from this particular back alley den, he was fast running out of options.
He looked up at the sign hanging above the door and laughed. The Queen Victoria. Last time he had visited it had been called the Hangman’s Retreat. It seemed it had been changed in a misguided attempt to give it some class. If the ageing Queen knew that such a low establishment frequented by gamblers, thieves, vagabonds and ladies of the night bore her name, she would be putting her nose in the air and declaring ‘we are not amused’.
‘I know one thing we could do,’ Herbert said, his face lighting up like a puppy who had been given a toy to play with. ‘We could go to Norfolk this weekend for the Maidstones’ house party.’
Jake groaned in much the same way as the men at the gambling table had and commenced walking up the dimly lit alleyway.
‘Don’t be like that, old chap. It will be fun,’ Herbert said, racing to keep up with his friend.
Jake doubted that. The Season was about to begin. The house party would merely provide an opportunity for young women to get in ahead of their peers and try to secure a future husband as quickly as possible. Jake avoided as much of the Season as he could and was not about to subject himself to the unwanted attentions of the many husband-hunters on the prowl. Luther might be the main prize, but as the second son of a duke he, too, was in more demand than he would wish.
They turned into a side street and Herbert grabbed his arm, his eyes pleading. ‘You’d be doing me such a favour. I’d be in your debt for ever.’ He blinked repeatedly and, to Jake’s horror, he was sure his friend was holding back tears, but in the dim light he could not tell. ‘All I need is some time alone with my beautiful Bianca to tell her how I feel, and I can’t do it without your help.’
Jake shook his head in pity at what so-called love did to a man. One pretty little debutante had reduced this somewhat sensible man to a blubbering wreck.
‘Please, Jake. You must come. Her sister is the most overbearing chaperon I’ve ever met and she’s made it clear she doesn’t like me. I’m sure Bianca has some attraction to me. All I need is for you to distract the chaperon so Bianca and I can have some precious moments alone together.’
They emerged from the labyrinth of side streets into a bustling main road and Jake hailed a hansom cab to take them to their private club. As they rode through the busy London night, Herbert’s expression changed from sorrowful to chagrined. ‘If it wasn’t for that sister, I might even be betrothed to my darling Bianca already. When we met during their visit to my parents’ estate, it was love at first sight for me and I’m sure it was for her as well. But I never got a chance to find out for sure. That sister was always there, getting in the way.’
It was a tale of woe Jake had heard many times already and would no doubt hear again before the night was out.
Herbert slumped down on the bench. ‘She’s such a miserable old maid and she just wants everyone else to be as miserable as she is.’
‘And that’s the woman you want me to spend the weekend entertaining? A miserable old maid?’
‘Only you could do it,’ Herbert said, sitting up straighter. ‘I’ve never seen a woman who was able to resist you once you turned on the charm. All you have to do is keep the spinster occupied so I can get some time alone with Bianca.’
‘And what of the spinster? How do you think she’s going to feel about a man she’s never met trying to charm and distract her?’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll be delighted. It will give her some nice memories to cherish on her long, lonely nights. She’ll think back to those few precious days when one of London’s most eligible young men flirted with her and she will sigh with contentment.’
The cab pulled up in front of their club and Jake paid the driver.
‘Please, please say yes,’ Herbert cried out as they entered the club. ‘I’m desperate, Jake. I really do need your help. Please.’
‘Oh, all right,’ he said, to save his friend the embarrassment of begging in front of the other club members, and, heaven forbid, from starting to cry again.
‘Thank you, thank you. You’re the best friend a chap could ever have. Perhaps Bianca and I will name our first child after you.’
Herbert followed him into the billiards room, still smiling like a gormless lovesick fool, and commenced listing off other potential names for their future children.
Jake racked up the balls and took a shot, amazed at how love could ruin a man, and pleased he had never experienced such a debilitating condition.
‘You’ve done what?’ Violet stared at her younger sister, who continued to smile as if she had not a problem in the world.
‘I’ve organised a house party for this weekend,’ Bianca repeated. She had stopped Violet as they passed each other in the hall and imparted this piece of information as if it was something rather unimportant that only needed a casual mention.
‘And what exactly has your organisation entailed?’
‘Well, I sent out invitations to all my friends and several eligible gentlemen. They’ve all agreed to come. There will be about twenty of us. It will all be such jolly fun. Oh, and I’ve thought about what sort of parlour games we should play.’
‘And?’
Bianca shook her head, her brow furrowing. ‘And what? That’s enough, isn’t it? Or do you think we should have some dancing as well? Yes, you’re probably right, dancing will be so much fun.’
‘How do you intend to feed them?’
Bianca looked as bewildered as if she’d asked her how she intended to fly to the moon. ‘Well, the servants will do that, won’t they?’
‘If you remember correctly, Bianca, we gave Cook the week off to visit her sick sister in Scotland.’
Bianca smiled. ‘Yes, she was so pleased about that. Cook said her sister has been poorly for some time and what she needs is feeding up with plenty of healthy broth, and nobody makes more delicious soup than Cook. I’m sure her sister will be better in no time at all.’
‘Bianca, with the cook away she won’t be able to prepare food for your friends.’ Violet forced herself to rein in her impatience. ‘Plus, there will be the servants your friends bring with them. Each young lady will most likely be accompanied by her own maid and each gentleman his valet. That will be at least an additional twenty people who will need feeding. And some are likely to bring their own carriages. They’ll have drivers and possibly footmen with them, plus, there might be additional chaperons as well. And we have no cook.’
‘Well, someone else can do the cooking, can’t they?’
‘Who?’
Bianca shrugged one slim shoulder. ‘I don’t know. One of the other servants. We do seem to have an awful lot of them. Some of them must know how to cook.’
As if to prove her point, two maids hurried past, carrying brooms and dusters, and Bianca smiled at her sister as if the problem was solved.
‘Cooking is a real skill and preparing breakfast, lunch, dinner, morning and afternoon tea for forty or more people takes a lot of experience and expertise. That’s why we have a cook. She has the specialised ability to do this.’
Bianca’s face went blank. ‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh.’
Bianca shrugged again and smiled. ‘You’ll be able to sort it out, though, won’t you, Violet? You’re so good at that sort of thing.’
‘No, I won’t. You’re going to have to uninvite them.’
‘No,’ Bianca cried out, tears springing to her eyes. ‘No, no, I can’t. I just can’t. Anyway, they’re probably already on their way and will be here this evening. You have to make this better. Please, please.’ She gripped Violet’s arm, her eyes beseeching.
As much as Violet loved Bianca, sometimes she really was exasperating. It was often hard to believe they were actually sisters. They were both tall, but that was where the similarity ended. Bianca was willowy and elegant, with the fair complexion, blue eyes and blonde hair of their mother, while Violet was buxom, with brown hair and eyes, and an unfashionable olive complexion, but their personalities also couldn’t be more different.
But perhaps Bianca’s temperament was Violet’s fault. She had been the closest thing Bianca had to a mother since their own mother died ten years ago, when Violet was sixteen and Bianca only eight. She had pampered and indulged her younger sister in a desperate attempt to make up for being left motherless at such a young age. Was that why she was now so impractical and overly emotional?
Violet had no time to find an answer to that question. ‘Oh, all right, but don’t invite anyone else, will you? And next time you think about doing something like this, consult me first.’
Her sister clapped her hands together and resumed smiling. ‘Thank you, thank you. Oh, this weekend is going to be fabulous. I’m so looking forward to it and so are all my friends.’ She wandered off down the corridor, singing a cheerful tune as if she had not a care in the world, while Violet strode off in the other direction towards her father’s study.
She knocked on the door and entered before he had a chance to reply.
‘Bianca has invited twenty people to the house this weekend and Cook won’t be back for another week.’
Her father looked up from the piles of astronomical charts spread out on his table. ‘Oh, that’s nice, dear. I hope you all enjoy yourselves immensely.’
Violet sighed. Why did she even bother informing her father of anything? He seemed to think that the estate ran by itself, or at least, that’s what he wanted to think. As long as she took care of everything, he was happy to be left alone in his chaotic study, buried in his piles of books and charts. That had been another reason Violet had felt the need to assume the mantle of caring for Bianca when their mother had passed away. Her father might be a loving man, but he had never been up to the task of raising two young girls. He was much more comfortable in the company of academic men, discussing the latest scientific advancements, than he ever would be consoling a little girl because she had lost her favourite dolly.
‘We need to get someone from the village to help over the weekend, or even several someones. Women who can cook for large numbers of people.’
‘Yes, you organise it, there’s a good girl. Oh, and we also need to do something about finding a new estate manager, the sooner the better, and to fix up the problems at the tavern.’
Like Bianca, her father mentioned this as if he was merely indulging in a bit of idle chatter, but Violet’s shoulders tensed, knowing more demands were about to be placed on her.
‘What problems with the tavern? What’s wrong with the estate manager?’
Her father moved from the charts on his desk to the bookshelf, ran his long finger along the titles, searching for some elusive tome. ‘Ah, there it is.’ He pulled out the book and rifled through the pages.
‘Father, what happened at the tavern and what’s wrong with the estate manager?’
‘What?’ He looked up as if surprised to see Violet still in his study. ‘Oh, that. Yes, it seems Charles has left us. Bianca knows all about it. One of the young women in the village told her that Charles was...’ He screwed up his face as he struggled to find the words. ‘Shall we say, romantically involved with the barmaid at the Golden Fleece.’
That, at least, was one thing Bianca was good at. She loved nothing better than a good gossip, which meant the family always got to hear about any grievances the tenants might have. Not that Bianca ever did anything to solve those grievances, other than occasionally remembering to tell Violet.
‘Isn’t the barmaid married to the tavern keeper?’
‘Exactly. Rumour has it that Charles and the barmaid have run off to parts unknown and the tavern keeper is not too happy.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
Her father replaced the book and pulled another off the shelf, then looked up at Violet. ‘He’s in a bit of a funk, apparently, and is refusing to open the tavern. The men in the village are furious. Or so Bianca said. The local women told her there might be a riot if it doesn’t open soon. And not just from the men who can’t wet their whistle. Apparently, the women are sick of having them under foot while they’re trying to prepare the evening meal. It’s quite unsettling for the entire village.’
‘Well, the tavern keeper will just have to open up and tend to his broken heart at some other time.’
‘Yes, yes, quite. Perhaps you should sort that out, Violet.’ He waved his hand in the air, as if such things were achieved by magic. ‘And the sooner the better. We don’t want the tenants rioting in the streets, do we?’
‘So you want me to find a cook by this evening. Hire a new estate manager. Mend the tavern keeper’s broken heart, make sure the tavern opens again and as soon as possible to prevent the villagers from rioting in the streets.’
‘Yes. I know you’ll find the time. It’s not as if you have anything else to do.’ Her father turned his full attention to her for the first time since she’d entered his study. ‘I don’t say it often enough, Violet, but I don’t know what we’d do without you. Thank goodness that man...’ He paused and looked upwards, as if searching his memory for a name, then lowered his eyes and smiled. ‘Thank goodness that Randolph Simeon fellow left you at the altar. Bianca and I would be so lost if he’d actually gone through with it, married you and taken you away from us.’
Vice-like pain gripped Violet’s chest, but she clenched her teeth tightly together in a well-practised manner and waited for it to pass. Her father hadn’t meant to hurt her and she would never let him, or anyone else, know just how humiliating that memory was.
‘I suppose I had better get busy then,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Very good, dear.’
She left the study, leant against the wall, closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deeply to release the tight knot lodged in the middle of her chest. Then she squared her shoulders and marched down the corridor, trying to think of which problem to fix first.
