Fortune's Son (2 page)

“Mayhap you are right, and she simply mocks me, but still, I am intrigued. In either case, I intend to satisfy my curiosity.”

“You might be
assured
of satisfying a great deal more than curiosity, should you choose to accompany me to Tom King's rather than dallying with trouble.”

“No doubt you'll find enough trouble of your own at that pox-ridden hole-in-the-wall that disguises itself as a coffee house.”

“I hardly think your purse fat enough to become so nice in your tastes, Drake. Besides, if you so choose to involve yourself, mark my words, she'll cost you more dearly in the end than the best whore in Covent Garden.”

Mr. Gogh cleared his throat in mild rebuke at the exchange. “The
lady
is outside in her carriage. A
gentleman
should never keep a lady waiting.”

Philip answered, “I would rather say, a gentleman always awaits a lady's pleasure.”

Her confidence was not misplaced in mere vanity. Susannah, Lady Messingham, was neither a young and simpering miss nor yet a world-weary jade, but at eight-and-twenty was beauty ripened to its prime.

She waited outside the Rose of Normandy much longer than she would have expected. Surely he would not refuse to come. She opened and then closed her painted fan with an exasperated huff. No man of her acquaintance would have passed up such a brazen invitation.

Of course, she told herself, she had cared only for his protection, the callow fool, but if he chose to dismiss her note… She shuddered to imagine his handsome young body bloodied and stripped naked.
Stripped
naked
? Why should that vision have come to mind?

She had nearly decided to depart when the footman opened the door and the young man she had singled out at the hazard table sprang into the plush velvet interior of her coach.

He seated himself lightly at her side and brought her hand to his lips with much exaggerated gallantry. “My lady, I present myself as your most obedient and humble servant.”

“Humble? I fear the young gentleman's swaggering airs belie
that
particular attribute.” She laughed, a low, ironic chuckle. “Now then, pray give my coachman your direction.”

“My direction, my lady?”

“Why, to carry you home, of course.” She could detect his flush even in the dimly lit coach. “Did I not say so very clearly in my missive?”

He tersely repeated her written words: “Fear of cutthroats and footpads has me desirous of your escort.”

“Indeed. I had the greatest fear of cutthroats and footpads when I imagined you departing unarmed from the gaming house.”

He bristled at her disdainful reply. “I shan't stand for your ridicule, madam!”

“Pray do not take such umbrage,
child
,” she laughed. “How do you expect to slay such dragons as Mr. Knight with not so much as a dress sword?”

“I suspected you of mockery when I read your note. I almost didn't act upon it.”

“Is that so, my young buck? Then precisely why
did
you act?”

He paused to consider the truth of it. Curiosity? Bewitchment? He answered quite differently. “I suspect it was a misplaced sense of gallantry, my Lady Disdain. But if not fear for
your
safety, why did you really send for me?”

“Forgive me, child,” she paused, “but I do not yet know your name.”

“I am the Honorable Philip Drake, at your service.”

“Drake? I know not the family, yet you are surely a gentleman.”

“As you say, by birth a gentleman, but also, sadly, an inconsequential younger son.”

“Nevertheless, it is my observation that the ambition of the younger son often exceeds that of the heir.”

Philip laughed. “Therein lies the rub, madam, as I am generally accounted as singularly devoid of any ambition. But now you have me at a distinct disadvantage, my Lady of the Mask.”

“And so you shall remain… until we have come to some agreement,” she replied.

“Agreement?” Philip wondered what she could possibly want with him.

“Or better said, mayhap, I have a proposition.”

An interesting choice of words. He found himself growing more intrigued by the minute. “This, ah,
proposition
is why you invited me into your coach?”

She repeated his earlier unspoken words. “I was most curious, you see, almost bewitched. I was enthralled to know the secret of your dice.”

Philip shrugged. “There is no secret. Luck was simply on my side tonight.”

“I don't believe you. Besides, you owe me a debt of gratitude, you know, after having saved your magical dice from Mr. Knight and his hammer.”

“You thought to have saved me?” His laugh was derisive. “I assure you, madam, the dice were fair. Mr. Knight may have split them to his heart's delight, and I would have rattled any other set of bones in my box to the same result.”

“In truth? Then it is not the dice, but the box? How does it work?”

“
It
doesn't, and devil carry me away should I introduce a lady to such vice.”

“Now don't prose with me. I have seen thee in thy glory at hazard, young Philip.” She moved in closer now, her breasts nearly in contact with his chest, providing him a gratuitous view of her décolletage
.

His nostrils flared unconsciously in response to her proximity and her scent.
Aqua
Admirabilis—
he recognized the essence. This heady fusion of bergamot and womanly musk threatened to overwhelm his senses.

She took firm grasp of his lapel with one hand, and while her warm breath fanned his ear in a seductive whisper, the other snaked slowly down his chest. “Teach me your trick, Philip, and mayhap I'll reciprocate with a lesson of my own.”

Philip swallowed hard, fighting the incipient stirrings of arousal.

Roaming freely, her fingers continued a steady exploratory descent.

He closed his eyes, his body rife with anticipation, but that's where it ended, as her hand darted into his pocket and snatched out the dice box.

“She-devil!” Philip cried an imprecation of disappointment and growing frustration.

She turned away with a triumphant chortle, holding the box just out of his reach. “Now I have taken your magical box and shan't return it until you reveal its secrets.”

Philip glowered, considering how to turn the tables to his advantage. “If that is your pleasure, my lady, I propose an exchange.”

“Exchange?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of exchange?”

“I'll reveal the trick of the dice when you reveal your face.”

“No. I don't think that would be wise.”

“Why not? Are you disfigured?” he goaded.

“Of course not!” her vanity cried out. “I only wish to remain incognito until I am assured I can trust you.”

“Why should you have such a need for anonymity?” he asked.

“I am a widow, and a ready target for gossipmongers.”

“You'll simply have to trust that your secret is safe with me.”

She paused, biting her lip in indecision, considering whether the dim light of the coach would keep her sufficiently in shadow if unmasked; but if he agreed to do her bidding, it would scarcely matter. “Very well,” she decided and removed the domino.

Philip peered closely at her face. Her profile was well-defined in the dim light, even if her features were indistinct. The clean lines of her forehead, nose, and chin left no doubt she was as lovely as he had imagined. First his good fortune at the tables, and now he was alone with Botticelli's Venus herself. Surely his guardian angel looked fondly on him this night! Now, if only he played his cards right…

She regarded him expectantly. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“All right. Give me your hand. You must master the proper technique.” His long, slender fingers stroked her palm as he placed the cool ivory cubes upon it.

“The technique?” she repeated blankly, acutely aware of his touch on her skin.

“The outcome of the dice, of course.”

“Of course,” she said. “But how can it be done?”

“Retaining one die, whilst dropping only the second into the box, ensures that only one of the two should tumble. Mastering the technique allows one to better manage the number of pips that turn up, thereby significantly reducing the odds.”

“So you are able to predict what will fall?”

“Not precisely. One can never know for a certainty what will turn up, but with skill, one may greatly increase the odds in one's favor. The first trick, however, is to retain one die.”

He delicately placed one of the cubes between her thumb and index fingers, and then pressed the other between the joint of her thumb and palm. He took her hand in both of his and turned it over, instructing her to drop only the first into the dice box. Both dice fell.

“Oh!” she cried her dismay. “'Tis not near as simple as you make it appear.”

“Practice, dear lady, practice.” He took the dice back from her to demonstrate and repeated the gestures so fluidly that she could barely follow the motions. He then cast the dice from the box onto the carriage seat, rolling up six and five.

“Thusly.” He waved his free hand with a flourish.

“I know what you did, but could barely follow it.”

“Precisely the point of this exercise. It is an art not easily mastered, and if clumsily executed it is practiced at one's greatest peril. I dedicated my entire youth to the technique as assiduously as the most ardent scholar to his Ovid and Homer.”

“So while your Eton schoolmates were reading the Greeks, you were studying to become one? A wicked confession indeed, that you so squandered a proper and genteel education.”

“Harrow,” he corrected with a frown. “I attended Harrow, at least until embarking on a more worldly education.”

“You left school for the Grand Tour?”

Philip laughed outright at the suggestion. “My
Grand
Tour
was limited to the lower gaming hells of London, interspersed with spring and autumn forays to the racetracks. I was dismissed,” he explained, with more than a trace of bitterness.

“What would prompt the son of a gentleman to become an adventurer?”

“What would prompt me, madam?” His voice grew harsh. “I was induced by several most inconvenient necessities—sustenance and shelter, for example.”

“How can one of your tender years have grown so cynical?” His revelation tinged with hurt behind the cynicism mysteriously moved her. She instinctively reached for his face, but he caught her palm and grazed it as smoothly as any courtier.

She regarded him, bewildered yet fascinated. One moment he was a wounded boy, and the next he would play at seduction. The sensation of his warm lips, coupled with the intensity of his dark gaze, made her wonder vaguely if she might be losing the upper hand. The confines of the carriage seemed at once too close.

“You too would be my lover, Philip? Others greater than you have vied to be my protector, and I would have none of them. And you? You can't even have reached your majority.” She laughed to dismiss the notion, but wondered at her own discomfort at this burgeoning sense of intimacy.

“Let not my years belie my experience,” Philip replied.

“La! How you talk, as if I am some artless tavern maid!”

Philip flushed. “I have done with your scorn, my lady. If not for want of a lover, why did you ask me alone into your carriage?”

She paused, considering just how much to reveal. “Is it not evident? I wish to learn to master the cards and the dice.”

He surveyed her dress, her jewels, and the elegant carriage with an arched brow. “Why the deuce would you want to do that?”

“For diversion, of course—gaming is all the rage, and I am a woman of fashion, after all.”

“Have you considered the consequences if you lose? Many a great lady has compromised her virtue to pay a debt of honor to an inveterate rake.”

“La, child! As if I would be so careless with my
virtue
! Besides, you are going to teach me not to lose.”

“Why in damnation would I do that?”

She leaned into him, stirring him once more with a warm, moist, lingering kiss full on his mouth. “Because I asked you to.”

Susannah, Lady Messingham, arrived intentionally late at the Drury Lane Theatre. With far more eyes attending the goings-on in the boxes and the pit than upon the stage, she was grossly mistaken in her belief that she could slip into the box unremarked.

Jane, Lady Hamilton, seated incongruously between her husband, Archibald, Lord Hamilton, and her lover, the Prince of Wales, beamed a warm greeting with a wave of her fan to indicate the empty seat behind her. After making her obeisance to the Prince and Princess of Wales, Susannah slipped as inconspicuously as she could contrive into her seat.

The play was Cibber's revival of William Wycherley's
The
Country
Wife
, a notoriously bawdy Restoration comedy, with Kitty Clive as Margery. It was a favorite production of the prince's; he was well-known for his vulgar sense of humor. Act I had already begun with the young bride, Margery, just up from the country, conversing with her new sister-in-law, Alithea, as Margery's jealous husband, Mr. Pinchwife, eavesdropped from behind the drawing-room door.

***

While the audience enjoyed the satire of the pretty young country girl married to the jealous and possessive older man, Lady Messingham's mirth faded with the dour reflection that the scene played out much like her own life of the past ten years.

Like Wycherley's Margery, she had been a country bride, the property of a jealous and possessive husband, and ignorant of the ways of the sophisticated world. Unlike Margery, however,
she
had also spent the past months languishing by the sickbed of a dying man.

She had longed for a normal life, one so many others took for granted, but those days were now behind her. Free at last of husbandly constraints, she was determined to live, yet the strictures of mourning made her new widowhood both blessing and curse. After six months of formal mourning, she was restless, yearning for the pleasures of town life so long denied her. Making an effort to throw off the melancholy thought, she drew her attention back to the stage.

When the curtain dropped signifying the end of Act I, the men departed to procure a drink, leaving the women alone in the privacy of the box. Lady Baltimore and Princess Augusta were engaged in a tête-à-tête, and Jane turned to Susannah for their own private conversation.

“How are you enjoying the play, my dear?” Lady Hamilton asked.

Lady Messingham affected an impish air and mimicked Margery, “La, but what proper, comely men are the actors!”

“Well done!” Jane let out a peal of laughter. “You might do as Lavinia Fenton and take to the stage to catch yourself a duke.”

“Lavinia Fenton?” Lady Messingham asked blankly.

“She was the first actress to play Polly Peachum in Gaye's
Beggar's Opera
, and was quite the star. She was for a time the most talked-of person in London, even before causing the greatest scandal of the decade.”

“What was that?”

“You really were buried in the country if you never heard of her elopement with the Duke of Bolton. Lavinia was a grasping actress, and no better than she ought to be, but the poor fellow was so smitten that he scarce missed a performance. By the end of the season, he left his wife for the shameless hussy! She let the whole thing quite go to her head too, the vulgar baggage. While the duke may have kept her on the side without remark, their setting up house together was truly beyond the pale. Such outré behavior is just not to be borne.”

Harsh words of denunciation, and more than a tad hypocritical, coming from a royal mistress, thought Susannah, with Lady Hamilton's ongoing liaison with the Prince of Wales such a poorly kept secret. Uncomfortable with the topic of mistresses, she deftly changed the subject.

“You truly are an angel for including me this evening, Jane. I have few acquaintances of my own age. My social circles were limited to Nigel's set for so many years that I feel rather akin to a fish out of water, but I'll be deuced if I'll be cloistered any longer.”

“I understand your position far better than you think, dearest. I was little more than a schoolgirl myself when I was pledged to old Archie, thirty years my senior. And as his third wife, no less, though I really have no cause to grouse. No wife could wish for a more even-tempered and complacent husband.” Jane smiled. “I certainly shan't judge you for wanting to live, Sukey. Sir Nigel died a happy man. You have no reason to feel guilty.”

“To tell the truth, Jane, I have not the slightest guilt. I was his faithful nurse through it all, but now I am no longer attached to an old man crippled by gout,
living
is precisely what I intend to do. I'm done with mourning and kowtowing to the dowagers.”

“I warn you to maintain discretion or they will eat you alive, my dear.”

“I don't even care anymore, Jane! They never accepted me from the moment Nigel took me to wife, the jealous old cows. They have no pity, no compassion, even though I spent nearly a decade of my life married to a man who could have been my grandfather.”

“You know you can always count on me,” the lady smiled. Delighted with her new role of benefactress, her voice became animated with the formation of her plan. “My darling girl, I fully intend to induct you into our Leicester House set, where I've no doubt you'll soon become one with the most beautiful ladies, and a toast among our brilliant men.”

“How I would love that, Jane! Nigel would never take me out amongst such fashionable people.”

“No doubt for fear of the attention you would draw, as evidenced this very evening.”

“What do you mean?” Susannah quirked a thinly shaped brow. She had chosen her gown with the greatest care, but without her customary lace fichu the cut revealed much more than Nigel ever would have allowed. Although pleased by the compliment, she now wondered if she might have been a bit too daring—but wearing it so was her own little rebellion.

“Come now!” Jane laughed. “You must know what a stir you have caused. Half the peers in this theatre craned their necks for a better view when you came into the box.”

Including the prince himself, Lady Messingham thought ruefully. Although seated with his wife on one side and his chief mistress on the other, the heir to the throne had cast his eye upon her a number of times throughout the performance. Perhaps he'd begun to tire of Jane's constant importuning for her husband's advancement, or, more likely, was just following family tradition by adding to his collection of mistresses. In either case, the proposition of a liaison with the bug-eyed prince held no appeal to Susannah.

Leaning closer, Jane spoke behind her fluttering fan. “You know, Sukey darling, there are any number of highly placed gentlemen who could ensure you a
more
than
comfortable
life.
You could easily take your pick of the lot, after a proper interval, of course.”

“But, Jane, I haven't the slightest desire to remarry.”

“Pshaw! What nonsense!” Jane said and gestured grandly to the posh theatre and its fashionable occupants. “You well know, such a life as this is not lived without considerable expense.”

“I am more aware than you know, but any eligible man of my own age won't have me. After my childless marriage, 'tis no secret I'm barren. If I cannot provide the requisite heir, I have only the options of an aged bachelor or widower, and I refuse to live the rest of my life warming another old man's bones!”

Jane smirked. “Then do you intend to spend your dotage as a shriveled-up old dowager with only the company of a house full of cats?”

“Indeed not!” Sukey heartily denied the thought. “I'll not lack for company. Now that I've put off my weeds, I plan to attend the opening of every opera, dance holes in my slippers at each ball, and promenade all of London's pleasure gardens on the arm of a different dashing beau every evening.”

“Do you now?” Jane's brows rose in mock censure. “Then perhaps a word of wisdom would not go astray? Though I hate to disillusion you, dearest, even the most gallant of men will expect some… tangible reward… for his service to you. But with youth and beauty yet on your side, wife or mistress would be purely your choice…”

“But Jane, you don't understand at all.” Her voice was nearly choked with frustration. “After living so many years akin to an exotic pet on a chain, now that I am finally free, why should I trade one cage for another?”

“You know as well as I, Sukey, a woman in your position has but two options: a husband… or a protector.”

“I won't have it, Jane. There must be another way,” Susannah insisted. “I refuse to be placed under any man's dominion again. Who, now, must I truly please but myself?”

Jane's eyes only grew wider. “But without a man's patronage, how in heaven's name do you propose to maintain your lifestyle?”

After a moment's reflection, Sukey asked, “Jane, just how do so many
men
of similar reduced circumstances go on?”

Jane scoffed in reply. “Those without a patron, you mean? Far too many of them subsist only by gaming. Cards, dice, cocking, pugilism wagering, horse races… the list of worthless pursuits goes on and on.”

“Gaming?” Sukey repeated with a sudden gleam.

Jane was aghast. “My dear, you have no idea the danger you would court in contemplating such a ruinous thing!”

“But why not, Jane? If others make a living at the green tables, why shouldn't I?” She thought of the young gentleman she'd met over the hazard table the prior evening and her face lit with a winsome smile. “After all, I only lack someone to teach me…”