A long green cloth-covered table was divided with string to provide in and out spaces required of the game of Hazard. A few chairs surrounded the table, always filled with men whenever the club was open. The impeccably dressed croupiers used a hooked stick instead of a rake to collect the money.
The back room provided an array of foods, along with sherry, brandy and champagne. Nick made sure his club provided fair games and appealed to the wealthy nobility as well as the newly well-heeled businessman. Occasionally they were visited by a West End tradesman, and almost always by a usurer, who didn’t come to play, but to ply his trade.
Money was lost and won without a display of excitement. Very dignified, even if one was losing everything but the shirt on his back. Even though Nick kept the police happy by keeping a well-run club, The Lion’s Den was occasionally subjected to a ‘raid.’
When that happened, everything was quickly moved, stored, and covered, leaving the gaming room looking like an ordinary gentleman’s club, with men sitting around conversing, reading the newspaper, smoking, and drinking brandy.
As much as he loved the club as a tribute to all he’d accomplished, it was his ultimate goal to sell the club and open a first-class hotel and restaurant. He was still a couple of years away from that goal, but it was always on his mind.
Add to that a gently reared woman on his arm to run his household and provide him with children to pass all of this onto. She’d always been an enigma. Someone out there he would one day meet.
Since last month that woman was no longer a mystery. She was Lady Pamela Manning, and he would not give up until he’d won her.
“Why are you refusing to allow Mr. Smith to court you?” Lottie tossed out those words as she selected a lemon tart from the tray in the center of the table.
Since the ladies had formed their friendship well over a year ago, they met each day for tea. For the longest time it was in Addie’s bookstore, but since she had hired someone to run it for her while she decided what to do about the store once the new babe arrived, they met in The Pump Tea Room.
“You know why. I would embarrass h-him.” Pamela shook her head as if answering a question from a child who knew nothing of life.
“Just because your malicious sister-in-law put that idea into your head doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same way.” Addie waved between her and Lottie. “We don’t feel that way.”
Pamela reached out and covered Addie’s hand with hers. “I know that. But I d-don’t feel anxious with either of y-you.”
“Because you know us so well. If you got to know Mr. Smith well, the same thing would probably happen.” Lottie took another tart. “It’s too bad there is so little information on stuttering.”
“I’ve never seen you eat so much, Lottie.” Addie grinned at her. “Is there a particular reason why?”
Lottie ducked her head and a bright red flush rose from the top of her dress to her hairline. “Yes. I believe so.”
Squeals of delight erupted from Addie and Pamela as they all hugged each other. “Congratulations,” Pamela said.
“Thank you. Carter and I are quite pleased.” Lottie fanned her face. “Oh, my. I must really do something about this blushing all the time.”
“And your mother? Have you told her?” Addie asked.
Lottie had gone through a bad time when she found out her mother was a well-known courtesan in London. It hadn’t prevented her husband, Carter Westbrooke from convincing her to marry him, though. ‘Twas nice that they had a happy ending.
“She is currently traveling with my new step-father. I believe they plan to settle in Bath once they return.”
“That will be wonderful for you. I am so happy everything turned out well,” Pamela said. She was truly happy for her two friends, that they had found happiness despite their original pact that they would all remain single and enjoy the freedom spinsterhood allowed.
Once in a while she would allow herself to think of such a happy ending for herself. But then she would try to speak to someone outside of her close circle of friends and make a cake of herself. No, she was better off single and enjoying the children her friends would have. She would be a doting aunt, rather than an embarrassing wife. Despite Mr. Smith’s assurance she would never embarrass him.
“Back to our original question, Pamela. Why do you keep pushing Mr. Smith away? Is it his background? Do you think he’s not good enough for you?”
“No, of course not!” Pamela almost shouted. “From what I’ve heard, h-he’s a man who m-made a whole new life for himself. I th-think that’s amazing, and m-makes him worthy of any w-woman.” She shrugged. “It is as I said. I won’t m-marry someone only to h-have him hate me when I make a f-f-fool of myself.”
Addie and Lottie exchanged glances, but in order to discontinue the conversation, Pamela pretended she didn’t see them. “Lottie, I can s-see why you favor these lemon t-tarts. They are really quite good.”
Once it became apparent that Pamela wasn’t going to discuss the Mr. Smith situation anymore, the women switched to baby names and other innocuous subjects and Pamela relaxed.
The next afternoon, Pamela dismissed her student and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. The room in the boarding house that Pamela had deemed jinxed was once again filled with another young lady.
Miss Lizbeth Davenport had arrived about a week before. Although a wonderful artist, she was forced to work at a hat factory to support herself. Unfortunately, the position she had ended when she was dismissed due to a misunderstanding.
Mrs. O’Leary had offered the woman the room for free until she could find another position. Miss Davenport did some chores, like changing the bedding in the rooms and helping with dinner, in exchange for the room.
Miss Davenport—who insisted that Pamela call her Lizbeth—was a sweet girl, about three and twenty years. She had also come from a small village to seek work as an artist in Bath but ended up in the hat factory when she didn’t make enough money painting.