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

Lucy pulled away, fat tears filling her eyes. She rose to her feet. From under her wide-brimmed garden hat her smooth complexion turned a becoming shade of pink. A breeze blew her simple maid’s dress against her body, showing the lush shape of her figure. The bow of her mouth trembled and one tear slid slowly down her cheek.

Morgana could easily imagine what that man had seen in the girl. God help her, could Morgana witness another girl lost to such a life?

She could still see that young Portuguese girl who’d climbed over the wall into her father’s property. Morgana brought her food and spoke to her in her halting Portuguese. Morgana had been thirteen and the girl of a similar age. As two children in a garden would naturally do, they played together. The Portuguese girl carried a rag doll and Morgana ran to get her doll as well. They’d spent a pleasant hour, feeding and rocking their dolls. Morgana impulsively traded her fine china doll for the girl’s dirty rag doll, and she could still remember the light in the girl’s eyes as she looked upon the gift.

Morgana had made a friend, one her own age. It had been an event so rare she could scarcely recall any others.

Then the housekeeper had discovered them and chased the girl away. As she scrambled over the wall, the doll fell from her arms and shattered on the ground.

She’d seen the Portuguese girl a year later, leaning out of a window, her breasts almost bare, her eyes hard and empty, while another woman, dressed equally shockingly, called to the soldiers in the street to come to have a good time.

Morgana stood and again placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Lucy, please do not do anything rash. Do not go back to that man.’

Through her tears, Lucy gave her a rebellious look. ‘I already gave a boy a penny to take the dress back, but I dunno how long I can stay.’

‘You may stay as long as you like, Lucy,’ Morgana said quietly.

The girl shook her head fiercely. ‘You don’t understand, miss. I liked what the man done to me. I liked the money. Men pay lots of money. Why would I want to be hauling water and mucking out fireplaces and scrubbing and dusting all day when men give me more money for a few minutes of frolicking?’

It was true a maid’s life was not an easy one, but what would be the cost of Lucy selling herself for a man’s pleasure? ‘There is no future for you with a man like the one in the park. That is no good, Lucy.’

‘I won’t go with that man, miss. Not after what he done, with that knife and all, but more I cannot say.’

Morgana had to content herself with that. Lucy whirled around and ran back into the house while Morgana turned, crossing her arms over her chest.

A man’s face appeared through the bushes where the brick wall should be. She gave a startled cry.

‘The mortar,’ he said.

‘Mortar?’ Through a gap in the wall separating her garden from the one next to it, she saw a young man dressed in a dark brown coat and fawn trousers.

‘The mortar must have been inferior. This part of the wall has crumbled.’

That fact was obvious now. She’d not spent enough time in the garden to notice before.

He smiled apologetically. ‘I beg your pardon, miss. I… I did not mean to eavesdrop.’

‘You heard everything?’

‘I heard enough,’ he admitted, blushing scarlet.

‘Then I must ask for your silence.’ She stared at him, attempting to assess his character.

He bowed. ‘Aaron Elliot at your service, miss. I was examining the property. It is for sale. I must note the wall.’

Elliot? That was the name of Sloane’s secretary. Her curiosity increased.

She extended her hand through the wall. ‘I am Miss Morgana Hart.’

He shook her hand self-consciously, letting go quickly. ‘Will your maidservant be all right?’

Morgana shrugged. ‘I do not know. For the moment, I hope.’

‘Poor creature,’ he whispered, instantly endearing himself to her and leaving her certain he would not spread tales about Miss Morgana Hart’s maid.

‘I may rely on your silence, then?’ She was already sure of his response.

‘Indeed. You have my word upon it.’

She nodded. ‘I thank you, sir.’ She gave him a faint smile. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’ Then she turned and went back inside the house, entirely approving of Mr Sloane’s selection of secretary.

She’d always believed that the quality of the servant reflected the quality of the employer, though what it said about her that she would wish to hang on to a maid who’d admitted such a moral lapse as Lucy had done, she could not guess.

Another thought crept in, one that put completely out of her mind the intention of informing Cripps about the wall. What if Mr Sloane purchased the property next door?

That evening Sloane surveyed the unremarkable décor and the predictable company, and lamented the sacrifices he must make in his quest for respectability.

Almack’s. Was there any place so tedious?

Still, he crossed the room to pay his respects to the patronesses. Lady Castlereagh and Lady Jersey were keeping watch over their domain this night.

He bowed before Lady Castlereagh, not missing Lady Jersey’s disapproving frown. ‘Good evening, ma’am.’ He turned to Lady Jersey. ‘And to you, ma’am. It is an honour to be here this evening.’

He hoped his deference to the great Lady Jersey, who was known for her high opinion of herself and arbitrary opinion of others, would inch him towards her approval. Her frown eased just a bit.

‘Good evening, Mr Sloane.’ Lady Castlereagh offered her hand and he raised it lightly to his lips. ‘I am so pleased you have come. Tell us, what do you think of our young ladies? Is there anyone to whom I might present you?’

Sloane gave his most polite, agreeable expression. ‘I would be honoured to be introduced to any young lady you think suitable.’

Lady Castlereagh turned to her companion. ‘Who do you suggest, Sally?’

Lady Jersey puffed up in importance. ‘You, sir, are acquainted with Lady Hannah, Cowdlin’s girl. She is an unexceptionable choice for you, but we might also introduce you to Miss Simpson, Lord Kettleton’s youngest. There is a tolerable dowry there, I am sure, though the family has launched three other daughters. Lady Kettleton is an annoying person, a bit common in her manner, but you could do worse in her daughter.’

‘The girl is a shy little thing,’ Lady Castlereagh added. ‘But a nice well-mannered girl.’

He could not think of a young lady who suited him less than a shy, nice, well-mannered girl. ‘If you both desire it, I shall be happy to make her acquaintance.’

Lady Jersey herself led him over to where Miss Simpson sat with her mother. Sloane saw the mother’s flash of disfavour and the daughter’s eye-widening fear as that notorious rake, Cyprian Sloane, approached her. The poor child had little to fear from him. He was reasonably certain he would make formal his interest in Lady Hannah, but to be respectable he must not appear to show favour until ready to declare himself. He was not certain precisely why he was not yet ready.

He bowed politely to Lady Kettleton and her daughter, and just as politely asked the girl to join him in the set that was at that moment forming.

With a frightened glance to her mother and Lady Jersey, Miss Simpson nodded and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

They took their places for the country dance near where the musicians played in the balcony. Sloane leaned towards his terrified partner. ‘I beg your assistance, Miss Simpson. Tell me if I make a misstep. I become a bit nervous in a crowd such as this.’

Her eyes widened even more. ‘You become nervous?’

No, truthfully, Sloane never became nervous. And he hardly ever turned the wrong way in a country dance or trod on a lady’s toes. He merely wished to put the girl at ease. If she saw him as less than an ogre—or less than a shocking rake—she might relax and at least enjoy the set.