“It’s reckless to meet a strange man in public.” Jane clucked her tongue. “But I know you’ll do it anyway, so good luck. I suppose it’sno worse than the time you snuck into Mrs. Berry’s autumn harvest party without a chaperone. Will you still be done in time to supervise here afterward? I really can’t get away. Gloria gets colicky at night.”
“Of course. Don’t think of it.”
Jane had put in her share of long hours before her confinement and delivery. And she’d scarcely had time to recover before she resumed her practice of handling the bookkeeping every morning, while Eli still returned most evenings to help supervise and deal at the main table. Della couldn’t ask for more. They deserved to have what little rest she could give them.
“Oh!” Jane exclaimed. “And if Mrs. Muller comes in, you have to tell her we’re cutting off her credit and canceling her membership unless she settles her debts.” With a wince, she added, “Sorry. I know it’s not very pleasant, but please don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” Della assured her, blushing. She wished she had Jane’s ability to store every detail in her head, but she’d been known to misplace a page from the betting books or forget to place their champagne order on time. When things got busy and the noise of the crowd overpowered her, it sometimes felt like she was trying to juggle more balls than she had hands to catch with.
No matter. If Jane could do it, so could she.
Her friend slid the leather-bound ledger across the table. “I bookmarked the page with her account for you.”
Della tried not to let her reluctance show as she flipped it open and glanced at the tally. A hundred and twenty pounds. Cold as it might seem to turn Mrs. Muller out, it had to be done. They had a strict policy on such matters. Warnings given if the debt reached a hundred pounds, and swift action if one failed to settle up promptly. Better to cut off the ladies who didn’t know when to stop than to let them ruin their households.
They differed from White’s in that respect.
“I’ll be fine,” Della assured her. She would have to be. Jane couldn’t handleeverythingherself, and they were partners, weren’t they? Partners shared things. “Go home and get some sleep. I’ll take care of everything here while you’re gone, from intemperate gamblers to handsome dealers to gentleman authors.”
“Thank you.” Jane’s sigh of relief was gratifying. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I want the next one named after me.”
Two
Lyman Price was seated before a large window in Verey’s café, overlooking Regent Street. It was a small but expensive establishment in Mayfair that catered primarily to ladies’ luncheons at this hour of the day, though gentlemen could find good French cookery and wines for supper in the evenings. Not a place Lyman would have chosen for a meeting, but it hadn’t been his suggestion. At least it wouldn’t be difficult to find Mr. Danby, even if he had no idea what the man looked like.
Lyman had described himself in his last letter (I’ll be the one with dark hair, wearing spectacles and a brown coat), but Mr. Danby hadn’t seen fit to return the gesture. He might be any of the gentlemen who passed by the window.
Why am I even here?
He needed to get his revisions finished and turn his draft over to his publisher so that he could return to work on his guide to Bath. The sooner he was done, the sooner he’d get his money. Mr. Danby probably didn’t even have anything new to tell him. Half the time, when someone wrote about some perceived omission from the guide,it was only a neighborhood pub with stale bread and warm beer, unworthy of mention.
But there had been something compelling about Danby’s letters—an engaging wit that made him think his correspondent’s ideas might be worth his time—and Danby had insisted that it would be simpler to explain the attraction in person. Better to take a half hour from his day than to miss something his publisher might chide him over later.
A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts, her tone too cheery.
“Excuse me, are you Viscount Ashton?” He looked up to find a lady of his own class standing before his table.
She was small and plump, and exceptionally pretty, with a round face and large, dark eyes. Her honey-brown curls were pinned up beneath a wide-brimmed straw bonnet with a ribbon that perfectly matched her blue gingham morning gown, trimmed with French lace. She looked rather like an expensive doll, right down to the healthy flush of pink that dusted her cheeks.
“I’m Cordelia Danby. I wrote to you.”
Cordelia.The C was for Cordelia. Not Charles or Colin or Christopher.
Lyman blinked, as if the sight before him might transform itself if he only refreshed his eyes.
“I’m not what you expected,” she said, mischief warming her smile. It was a look designed to charm, and it was working. “I apologize. But I wasn’t sure you’d come if you realized you were corresponding with a woman.”
I wouldn’t have.There was no brother or husband with her, nor any lady’s companion. What could she mean by this?
“You aren’t very talkative, are you?” That same smile again, quite devilish. “Would you mind if we walked over to Hanover Square? I would sit, but…”
Evidently she had no objection to meeting him alone, but diningtogether was a bridge too far.
“Forgive me,” Lyman said, rising to his feet. He should’ve stood earlier. “You surprised me, Miss Danby. That’s all.”
Was she a miss? He didn’t see a ring, and she didn’t correct him, so she must be. Besides, if she had a husband, he wouldn’t let her wander about town meeting strange men.
