Titan found the proprietress ensconced in her office, her hat resting on the edge of the desk as she stood at one of the windows in the back. Her gaze was directed down on the main gaming floor, and from her pinched expression, Titan thought she was witnessing someone winning against the house. Then she placed a hand on her chest and sighed with relief.
He suppressed a grin. “We have a possible librarian,” he said without preamble.
Bessie tore her attention from the game of cards she was watching and said, “Where?”
“The Temple of the Muses. Apparently Miss Kingston is neither young nor old, and according to Teddy, she’s pretty,” he said. “Says she just started working there this morning.”
Grinning at hearing this bit of information, the matchmaker moved to her desk and pulled a sheet from atop one of the neatly stacked piles. “So… usually the question becomes, does she have a dowry?” She waggled her brows. “One decent enough to makeme some blunt while large enough to pay off Lord Wingfield’s debts?”
It was Titan’s turn to wince. “Begging your pardon, but I hardly think this approach to finding a match is very viable,” he murmured.
“How much has it cost us?” she asked, as if she thought Titan’s comment had to do with money.
He shrugged. “Six farthings, so far,” he replied.
She dipped her head. “There was a time I didn’t have six farthings to my name,” she said. “There are times I feel as if I still don’t, but I assure you, this match will pay handsomely.”
Startled to hear her claim, Titan scratched his cheek with a forefinger before flexing and fisting his hand.
“Does it still bother you?” she asked.
He knew right away she was asking about his hand. Injured in the war, his left hand had healed on the outside, but it tended to stiffen on the inside if he didn’t keep it moving. Playing guitar helped when he wasn’t working, but when he was, he found he needed to flex it frequently. “It’s getting better,” he replied.
“Perhaps one of the dealers can massage it for you,” she suggested. “I’m quite sure at least one of them find you rather appealing.” She waggled a brow.
Titan knew his face reddened. Every table host Mrs. Dove-Lyon employed in the gaming hell preferred men over women. He was fairly sure Oberon did, too. She passed as a man by wearing a mask over most of her face. “I’ll take it under consideration,” he murmured. “Would you like me to go and meet the librarian?”
“What’s therealreason for your hesitance on this one?” she asked. “Is there something you know about Lord Wingfield? SomethingIshould know?”
Titan gave a start. “It’s not him,” he assured her. “I know him from school. He’s one of the good ones.”
“So… what has you so vexed?” she pressed.
He inhaled and let the breath out in awhoosh. “Usually you wait until a rich woman comes to you in search of a man,” he stated. “And then men just come because they’re desperate for a wealthy wife. This one feels as if… as if you had to solicit him and now, because his desires are so specific, you won’t be compensated in the usual sense.”
Bessie shook her head as she returned to the window. “Perhaps I’m feeling charitable regarding Lord Wingfield,” she said, her attention once again on the card game taking place in the gaming hell below. “Probably because the house has done rather well this past week,” she added in a whisper. “Or…”
Titan arched a dark brow. “His father didn’t owe you any money, did he?” he guessed.
Lifting a shoulder, Bessie sighed. “On the one hand, I suppose I should be offended the old coot didn’t prefer to play hazard here in my establishment. I think he was here only twice.”
“But on the other?” he prompted.
“Collecting funds from His Lordship would have been next to impossible. I think Frank at the Jack of Spades gave up before the old coot had even died.”
“Why?”
“Wingfield refused to pay, but Jack has a long memory. He’s no doubt sent dunning notices to the heir,” she replied.
“Did he have debts elsewhere?” Titan asked.
Bessie nodded. “For a time, but when he threatened to expose what Watson’s was doing, well, they quietly marked his account paid in full.”
Titan knew exactly what she meant. The operators at Watson’s, a gaming hell in St. James’s Street, frequently cheated their players by employing sleight of hand. The waiters made sure to distract a player’s attention when a cheat was in progress,which was easy given how they encouraged more drinks and kept the glasses full.
Despite rumors of cheating, they had continued the practice for some time, and then, after Lord Wingfield’s rather public warning, they ceased the practice.
Bessie suddenly straightened. “I need to run an errand, so I’ll see to meeting with Miss Kingston,” she said. She picked up the black hat from the end of her desk and placed it on her head at a jaunty angle, making sure the netting covered her face.
