Mr. Gerard hammered the table. “Huzzah. Vingt-et-un!” He scooped up his winnings, then dealt again. “As I was saying, gentlemen, Mr. Leak, the father, is rich from the cotton fields but too rich to find time to marry the lass’s mother.”
“None of this matters.” Bridgetower’s fingers curled into a fist. “Miss Mary is divine. Say no more of this rubbish.”
“It matters, young man. It will always matter until abolition takes hold.” The sour look on Mr. Gerard’s face told the silent story that pervaded the Blackamoor community, one of coercion or dark promises of freedom for trapped colored women in the colonies.
The butler took a napkin and wiped at his mouth as if it held vomit. “Origins aside, thetondoesn’t want an illegitimate bride unless they’re very desperate for income. Those concubine wife arrangements from the West Indies are too much for the earl’s church folks.”
“You mean the churchgoers who sow oats, procreate, then fret the mixing of bloodlines.” Mr. Anthon’s words held bitterness. “Holy hypocrites.”
Daniel understood this problem firsthand. His uncle, the late earl, tried everything but murder to keep him from being the rightful heir. He hoisted his glass again. “Miss Mary Leach-Leak is lovely with a beautiful face, a glowing olive complexion, one that might’ve turned my head if—”
“If you hadn’t decided to mourn forever and become a monk?” Bridgetower clinked his glass with Daniel’s, then spread his winning cards on the table. “Vingt-et-un, my lord!”
Laughs filled the room. Daniel chuckled but cringed inside. It was best two years ago to be a monk, to mourn harder and longer and produce ample testimony and witnesses of what a good father he was in case questions about Hope’s guardianship or theMinervaever arose.
He’d done a good job. No one would ever think of sending the child to grandparents who never asked anything about her.
Rubbing at his brow, he examined his cards, stewing over why he was still a monk.
A tug on his leg explained all.
At his boot was little Hope, smiling big with freckles on her bronze nose. “Pa-Papa read?”
She’d crawled to him, not walked. That meant she’d gotten down those slick stairs. Readying to offer a light admonishment, he scooped her up.
She clung to his neck as if he’d disappear. That took the steam out of any fuss. It always did.
“Gentlemen, you know my Hope, the little lady of the house.” He shuffled her into the crook of his arm, her favorite position. “Now, princess, we have another hour before story time. Papa is playing with his friends. Right, men?”
“Oh, yes.” They all said, while grinning at how this little thing could have him wrapped about her pinkie.
“Pa-Papa, story. You said it was for sleepy. I sleepy now.”
Her speech was slow but catching up, and her small patience reminded him of a certain duchess.
Mr. Anthon oversold his deal with a draw of a queen that blasted him past twenty-one. “Can you still play, sir?”
That was the question of the day.
Bridgetower looked at him, then hummed the tune he had as he entered. “ ‘He’s my rock, my defense. I shall not be moved, in the trembles, by the waves. My rock.’ ”
Miracles of miracles, his hardened, drinking friends sang too. Anthon’s falsetto blended with Mr. Gerard’s baritone and Bridgetower’s words. “ ‘He’s my rock, my defense. My rock. Oh, my rock. My rock.’ ”
Cynical Beef smirked, downed another glass of rum, and made eyes at Hope. “You’ll have a handful, Ashbrook, when she’s older.”
His little angel smiled like she understood, but the unfinished hymn had her yawning. She pressed against his chest and clutched his buttons.
When Mrs. Gallick stepped into the room, all went silent but Daniel. “ ‘I shall not be moved in the trembles, the waves. My rock.’ ”
His housekeeper had seen him too many times gentling this angel to sleep.
His friends mustn’t want their reputations softened. This, Daniel mused, wiped Hope’s mouth with his handkerchief, then handed the drooling child to his housekeeper.
Humming Bridgetower’s song, Mrs. Gallick tiptoed out the door.
“Gentlemen, I think you’ve helped me past my ten o’clock curfew.”
“Good.” Beef said, “I want more of that earl money, since I’m not looking to ensnare an heiress, yet. I’m having too good of a time with my ladybirds. Consider joining the fray.”
