“Know what?”
“I no longer work for him.”
“You don’t? But what are you doing now? And where is he?”
“I’m the proud owner of my very own gaming salon, Miss Pen.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m very, very successful.”
“A gaming salon!”
“The Perpignol’s. With His Grace’s help, of course. He is my patron.”
“Perpignol’s! His Grace!” Pen felt a stone sink in her stomach. She remembered Alworth saying Perpignol’s was one of the worst gaming hells that only people like the Duke of Rochford frequented.
“So it is true,” she whispered. “Marcus is the Duke of Rochford?”
“You didn’t know? Oh. You might not. He didn’t want anyone to know of his identity while he travelled to India. He was the Earl of Fenton. We always thought of him as Mr Smith, didn’t we? Then, as soon as we put our foot on English soil, it turns out he’s one of the most powerful dukes in the country.” Fariq looked more than satisfied with his lot. “He came into his title shortly after he dropped you off at that school. I continued working for him for a while, but then, there is more to life than dressing a person and sorting his waistcoats. It’s damnably boring. Remember how we used to play cards on the ship? There was nothing better to do?”
“We gambled for seashells, and when we ran out of those, we used fishbones. One fishbone worth a shilling. Horrendously high stakes.”
Fariq grinned at her. “I remember you cheated most awfully, Miss Pen.”
“And I’ve never seen a worse loser than you. Remember the tantrum you threw when you lost a three-day game against me?”
“Me? Bad loser? Where would you get that idea?” His eyes sparkled with memory. “Ah, life was hard then, but we did have our amusing moments, did we not?”
“It was all thanks to Marcus.”
“Aye. I owe him my life. I was a street boy pickpocketing His Grace’s pockets when he caught me. And now, look at me! I’m the true king of London.” He bent over and whispered, “The people just don’t know it yet.”
He was right. Fariq sparkled with confidence and success.
“His Grace taught me everything, and I quickly became the best gamester in London. He was most gracious in helping me acquire the locality for my club. It was an overnight success. The games at White’s and Brooke’s, pah, are paltry. We dip deep. Fortunes are made and lost within the hour. Perpignol’s a very exclusive club where admittance is by card, only. People are scrambling over themselves to set their foot inside.” He flicked away a speck of dust on his arm sleeve. “And even then, we turn away half of the people who are begging to join.”
But Pen didn’t listen. She felt wretched. “Marcus is the wicked duke.”
“Wicked!” Fariq pushed out his lower lip in contemplation. “I wouldn’t exactly call him wicked. But, true, lately he’s been playing hard, and he’s been looking too deeply into his cups. Can’t help but wonder what ails the old man.”
“Where is he now?” She searched the crowd.
“I have no idea. Is he here? I am here on another errand.”
“Can I find him at Perpignol’s, then?”
“If he does play, this is where he is, naturally. Though I haven’t seen him for the last few days. He tends to disappear. One simply has to wait until he reappears.” Fariq shrugged. The butler had said something similar.
“I’ve heard all sorts of stories.” Pen knit her forehead in worry.
Fariq evaded her eyes. “It’s just stories, Miss. But tell me about you.”
She gave him a summary of her situation. “What am I to do? I can’t stay at those lodgings forever. And the butler at Grosvenor Square won’t let me in.”
“No. Old dour face has strict instructions not to let anyone in the house. You are in a pickle, aren’t you? I will give Rochford a message when I see him.IfI see him. It will be taken care of. I promise.”
Pen sighed in relief. “Tell him I’m in lodgings in Oxford Street. I await instructions there. After all, he is my guardian.”
Fariq nodded. “I will tell him when I see him. Until then, do you need anything, money, perhaps?”
Pen shook her head. “For the time being, I am fine.”
