Blackheart lifted his quizzing glass to one eye. “That, my dear friend, is Miss Charlotte Jackson—the American Whiskey King’s only daughter and heir.”
“American.” Jules said the word with more disdain than he normally would have. Although he himself had added her father to the guest list, he wasn’t all that pleased with her or any of her countryfolk at that moment. Not so much because the upstarts had defeated England’s best in their blasted revolution but because her hair had just cost him hundreds of pounds. He’d seen a few ladybirds wear similarly colored wigs, but he was certain Miss Jackson’s was her own. He allowed himself one last glance and then dismissed his baser self for musing as to whether all of her hair was as red…
“Is Mr. Jackson here, then?” Chase lifted one brow in question.
Jules nodded. Indeed, he’d quite anticipated meeting the man. How could a person not be interested in someone who had built up a fortune distilling something so very necessary to the survival of all mankind? “Mr. Daniel Jackson.” Jules hadn’t realized the American even had a daughter.
“Rumor is he’s more than doubled his whiskey fortune at the card tables since arriving in England,” Stone added.
“Here’s a wager for you, Jules old man.” Stone eyed him with a cunning expression. “If you can walk away from the card table this evening with so much as a pence of Jackson’s fortune, we’ll call it even.”
Jules nearly laughed at the challenge, as did Chase, Mantis, Greys, Blackheart, and even Peter, who was mostly quiet.
“You must be joking,” Jules taunted.
Julesneverlost at cards. He’d gone nearly a decade since he’d walked away from a night of gambling with empty pockets. And on that occasion, he’d been but a student at Eton.
“You’re on.” He held out one hand.
Charley studied the ceiling.It was nearly three stories high and decorated with elaborate paintings of vines and birds and divided into quarters by strips of intricately carved molding.
“How long have you been in England, Miss Jackson?” Lady Bethany, the elder of the Countess’s daughters, drew her attention back to the ladies who’d approached immediately after her father left her side.
“Two weeks.” Charley forced a smile, her gaze flitting to the back of her father’s head, where he conversed with a tight cluster of elderly gentlemen standing near the hearth. She hated that she couldn’t take part in such discussions. If she had been a son, she’d not be dismissed so easily.
“Have you been enjoying the sights in London then?”
“I’ve been a guest at Thornton Park since my arrival. My grandparents’ home lies on the outskirts of London and they’ve… Well, I haven’t had any opportunities to explore.” Had she been allowed to escape the mind-numbing lessons for even one day, then this entire journey might have been somewhat more palatable.
“You have family, then, who are English?”
“On my mother’s side.” Oppressive ones.
Charley kept herself from grimacing as she answered Lady Bethany’s seemingly innocent inquiry. Her grandmother had essentially demanded her father bring her to England to stay with them and then ended up disappointed in Charley immediately after meeting her. Obviously, they’d expected her to be more like her mother had been—blonde, petite. Refined.
Charley was very much her father’s daughter and very much American.
Ahmherican.The half hiss, half admonishing sound her grandmother made when she spoke the word sounded in her head.
The fact that Charley was American was only slightly less problematic than the color of her hair. Oh, but her first two weeks in England had been wearisome, to say the least. When her father had returned from London and informed her they’d attend a house party, she’d nearly fainted in relief. Because following the party, her father promised they’d journey to Scotland to tour some distilleries. In Charley’s mind, such an excursion was sure to make the long ocean journey from America worthwhile.
Grandmother had argued at first, insisting that Charley, having already—and most unfortunately—achieved the advanced age of four and twenty, lacked the poise necessary to mingle with society. She’d hardly begun to learn even the most basic rules required to participate in a Season.
But then Charley’s father had offered the name of their destination.
“WesterleyCrossings, you say?” A cunning look had entered her grandmother’s eyes. “Perhaps I am being hasty.”
Charley nodded vaguely as Lady Bethany regaled her with all the places in London that she must visit when the house party ended and Lady Tabetha offered—seemingly irrelevant—details about who surely must be every eligible bachelor in all of London.
Charley shifted her gaze to the paintings around the room and then out the windows. This estate was horrendously vast. And ridiculously opulent. Even more so than Thornton Park.
“Must you, Tabetha?” Bethany scowled in her sister’s direction. “Forgive my sister’s… eagerness to discuss every eligible gentleman she’s ever met.”
The blonde girl rolled her eyes.
“Was the crossing from America dreadful?” Lady Bethany changed the subject. “I can’t imagine being confined to a ship for days and days.”
“Journey by sea is many things but never boring. In the daytime, it feels as though the ship is the only place in the world. Alarming, almost. But I loved standing at the helm, I could almost believe I was flying. And after the sun sets, stars light up the sky, making a person realize how utterly insignificant she really is.” No, she had not found it boring.
