Athcourt." Athcourt, in Devon, was the home of the Marquess of Dain. Lydia had given Sellowby a very wide berth since then. A close look at her might lead him to make inquiries at Athcourt and dig up what her pride demanded remain buried.
"Sellowby's out of the question," Lydia told her friend. "A Society gossip and a journalist are bound to be competitors. In any case, this isn't a good time for me to get involved with any man. While scandal does sell magazines, whatever small influence I exercise over public opinion would vanish if I were known to be a fallen woman."
"Then maybe you should find another line of work," Helena said. "You're not getting any younger, and it would be a great waste—"
"Yes, love, I know you wish to be helpful, but can we discuss whatever's wasted and thwarted at another time?" Lydia emptied her glass and set it down. "It's growing late, and I do need to get back to Town."
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
She put on her hat, gave herself a final check in the mirror, picked up her walking stick, and started for the door.
"I'll be waiting up," Helena called after her. "So make sure you come back here and not—"
"Of course I'll come back here." Lydia opened the door. "Don't want the neighbors to see a strange man entering my house in the small hours of the morning, do I? Nor do I want to wake Miss Price or the maids to help me out of this beastly corset. That dubious pleasure will be all yours. I'll expect you to have a nightcap waiting for me."
"Be careful, Lyddy."
"Yes, yes." Lydia turned and threw her a cocky grin. "Deuce take it, wench.
Must you be forever pesterin' and plaguin' a fellow?' "
Then she swaggered out, Helena's uneasy laughter trailing behind her.
This Wednesday night, the publishing hacks' gathering at the Blue Owl was a dull affair, for Grenville of the Argus was absent.
Joe Purvis was there, though, and returning from the privy when Vere met up with him in the hall.
It should have taken more than one glass of gin to loosen Joe's tongue regarding his co-worker's whereabouts. But the Argus's illustrator was already the worse for drink, which exacerbated his sense of injury.
In the first place, he complained to Vere, the fellows had taken to calling him
"Squeaky" ever since last week, when Grenville had pretended to mistake his voice for a mouse's. In the second, she'd as usual managed to hog a plum assignment all to herself.
"I should be at Jerrimer's with her," Joe grumbled, "seeing as it's to be the lead story next issue and wants a cover picture. But Her Majesty says there isn't a Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
gambling hell in London doesn't know my face and I'll give the game away. Like anyone was likely to overlook a Long Meg like her in a poky little hole like that."
Small as Jerrimer's turned out to be, Vere very nearly did overlook her.
It was the cigar that caught his attention.
Otherwise, he would have walked by the young man with little more than a glance, noting only that he was dressed in the style young clerks aspiring to dandyism customarily affected, and seemed to be doing well at roulette. But as he passed behind the fellow, Vere caught a whiff of the cigar, and it stopped him in his tracks.
Only one tobacconist in London sold those particular cheroots. As Vere had pointed out to Mistress Thespian a week ago, they were unusually long and thin.
He also could have told her that the tobacco was a special blend, and the limited stock was reserved exclusively for him. At certain social gatherings, among a select group of men who could appreciate them, Vere was more than happy to share.
He had not joined such a gathering in months.
And Joe Purvis had said she'd be here.
Swallowing a smile, Vere moved closer.
Roulette—or roly-poly, as it was commonly known—was all the rage in England.
It was certainly popular in Jerrimer's, Lydia discovered. The roulette room was thick with bodies, not all of them recently washed. Still, the air of the
"Sellowby's out of the question," Lydia told her friend. "A Society gossip and a journalist are bound to be competitors. In any case, this isn't a good time for me to get involved with any man. While scandal does sell magazines, whatever small influence I exercise over public opinion would vanish if I were known to be a fallen woman."
"Then maybe you should find another line of work," Helena said. "You're not getting any younger, and it would be a great waste—"
"Yes, love, I know you wish to be helpful, but can we discuss whatever's wasted and thwarted at another time?" Lydia emptied her glass and set it down. "It's growing late, and I do need to get back to Town."
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
She put on her hat, gave herself a final check in the mirror, picked up her walking stick, and started for the door.
"I'll be waiting up," Helena called after her. "So make sure you come back here and not—"
"Of course I'll come back here." Lydia opened the door. "Don't want the neighbors to see a strange man entering my house in the small hours of the morning, do I? Nor do I want to wake Miss Price or the maids to help me out of this beastly corset. That dubious pleasure will be all yours. I'll expect you to have a nightcap waiting for me."
"Be careful, Lyddy."
"Yes, yes." Lydia turned and threw her a cocky grin. "Deuce take it, wench.
Must you be forever pesterin' and plaguin' a fellow?' "
Then she swaggered out, Helena's uneasy laughter trailing behind her.
This Wednesday night, the publishing hacks' gathering at the Blue Owl was a dull affair, for Grenville of the Argus was absent.
Joe Purvis was there, though, and returning from the privy when Vere met up with him in the hall.
It should have taken more than one glass of gin to loosen Joe's tongue regarding his co-worker's whereabouts. But the Argus's illustrator was already the worse for drink, which exacerbated his sense of injury.
In the first place, he complained to Vere, the fellows had taken to calling him
"Squeaky" ever since last week, when Grenville had pretended to mistake his voice for a mouse's. In the second, she'd as usual managed to hog a plum assignment all to herself.
"I should be at Jerrimer's with her," Joe grumbled, "seeing as it's to be the lead story next issue and wants a cover picture. But Her Majesty says there isn't a Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
gambling hell in London doesn't know my face and I'll give the game away. Like anyone was likely to overlook a Long Meg like her in a poky little hole like that."
Small as Jerrimer's turned out to be, Vere very nearly did overlook her.
It was the cigar that caught his attention.
Otherwise, he would have walked by the young man with little more than a glance, noting only that he was dressed in the style young clerks aspiring to dandyism customarily affected, and seemed to be doing well at roulette. But as he passed behind the fellow, Vere caught a whiff of the cigar, and it stopped him in his tracks.
Only one tobacconist in London sold those particular cheroots. As Vere had pointed out to Mistress Thespian a week ago, they were unusually long and thin.
He also could have told her that the tobacco was a special blend, and the limited stock was reserved exclusively for him. At certain social gatherings, among a select group of men who could appreciate them, Vere was more than happy to share.
He had not joined such a gathering in months.
And Joe Purvis had said she'd be here.
Swallowing a smile, Vere moved closer.
Roulette—or roly-poly, as it was commonly known—was all the rage in England.
It was certainly popular in Jerrimer's, Lydia discovered. The roulette room was thick with bodies, not all of them recently washed. Still, the air of the
Similar Books
