A Masquerade in the Moonlight(54)
“Once again, dear Perry, you are so wise.” And so easily led, just like the others. Marguerite looked forward to the box, as if to show she wished to be certain the driver could not hear what she was to say next. Sir Peregrine leaned forward so that she would not have to speak loudly. “It’s Arthur, Perry,” she said, her tone low and urgent. “I had forgotten that I had asked him to join me last night. He and Miss Rollins—well, they seemed to enjoy each other’s company exceedingly and—Oh, how can I say this without you thinking I trust my own silly judgment more than I do Arthur’s?”
Totton frowned, then slowly his features cleared. “She has well-lined pockets, I imagine?” he inquired, shaking his head.
“Why, yes, I believe so. She mentioned a wealthy guardian in the country, and her diamonds were most impressive. Really lovely.”
Totton spread his hands, palms up, as if to indicate that he had uncovered the source of any confusion. “There you have it, my dear. Arthur would fall top over tails in love with any woman of fortune who so much as vaguely encouraged his suit—which, might I insert, no woman has done in more than a score of years. She is doubtless a rich tradesman’s offshoot in search of marrying a title. Will that overblown fool never grow up? Say no more, my dear. I shall handle things from here.”
Marguerite held out her hand, laying it on Totton’s forearm. “Such a good friend you are, to all of us. You won’t press him too hard, will you, Perry? I mean, Arthur is—as you yourself have just said—still a child in many ways. If you tell him not to see this Georgianna creature again he might persist in his acquaintance simply because you warned him off.”
“You have a point, my dear,” Totton responded, patting her hand. “And you’re a good friend. I’ll keep a close eye on our overage Lothario and step in only if things look serious. Money or not, we cannot have Arthur wedding anyone who smells even remotely of the shop! Ah,” he said, looking to his left to see they were once more entering Portman Square. “Here you are, my dear, home again, safe and dry. I should come in and speak with Sir Gilbert for a moment, save that I have an important appointment later today in Richmond. Government business,” he whispered confidentially. “Vastly important government business.”
Marguerite kissed Totton’s cheek after he had helped her to the flagstones. “I cannot tell you how much safer I feel, how much safer all of England feels, with you and Arthur and Perry holding the reins on the King’s business.”
And then she left him there on the flagway and hurried inside to rinse her mouth.
Thomas stood off in the corner of the large room, an untouched drink in his hand, watching Lord Chorley win hand after hand against his opponent, a crafty-looking gentleman of indeterminate age whose streak of bad luck would have long ago reduced a lesser man to tears.
Thomas had been surprised at first Lord Chorley would not be suspicious of his good luck, but then he remembered the old Irish saying that fit his lordship like a fool’s cap: The pig does not look up to see where the acorns are falling from.
Not that the stakes were so very high, for they were not. It was just the sheer number of hands the seemingly down-at-the-heels gambler Lord Chorley faced lost over the course of two hours. No one could be that unlucky.
Thomas and Dooley had followed Lord Chorley from his mansion in Grosvenor Square to the ramshackle gaming hell on the fringes of Piccadilly, amazed his lordship would lower himself to gambling with such an obviously common creature in such an equally common establishment. This was a place, Thomas was sure, greenheads flocked to from the country, eager to be stripped of their quarterly allowance. It wasn’t the sort of venue a peer of the realm would seek out—especially not a friend of the Prince Regent’s.
But then, Thomas also imagined, a man with dreams of winning and little money to lose might choose to play where no one he knew could see him.
“We’ve been here for close on to three hours, Tommie, skulking in corners so as not to be seen. Are we going to stand here all the afternoon, our feet stuck to this filthy floor? My Bridget would have taken a mop to the place long since.” Dooley said, stifling a yawn. “And the place reeks of gin.”
“Quiet, Paddy,” Thomas warned, stepping even deeper into the shadows and pulling the Irishman along with him. “Chorley and his friend are leaving now. Just stay here a minute, and then we’ll follow.”
“Why? We already know where he lives. Followed him here from there, didn’t we? There’s a precious lot of sense outside your head, Tommie, do you know that?”