Page 26 of The Last Chance
She didn’t argue. “I’ll be an hour at most. I’ll not risk breaking curfew. I’m sure you have business matters that require your attention, so won’t disturb you unless I have new information to impart.”
He had a family matter to attend to first. Having cancelled this morning’s meeting, his brothers would demand to know why he’d closed the club. But it could wait until tomorrow. Answering their endless questions was the last thing he needed tonight.
After hearing Miss Lovelace’s thoughtful appraisal, knowing she had noticed him more than she should, he would put all his energy into avoiding her. There’d be no candlelit dinner for two. No reading together by the fireside. No chance meeting on the stairs.
There would be him.
Just him.
Alone in his study, banishing a dream he would never fulfil.
Chapter Six
The early morning knock on Joanna’s bedchamber door made her start. She hurried to tidy the bed and place her nightdress under her pillow, then patted her hair, calmed her nerves and called for Mr Chance to enter.
It wasn’t Mr Chance but Eloise, a beautiful French woman with pale olive skin and black hair tied in a braid. “Pardon, madame. Mr Chance, he asks that you join his family downstairs in the dining room. Their daily meeting begins at nine. Mr Chance said you must have breakfast in your room before joining them.”
Joanna had eaten supper in her room last night while trying to remember the names of the men who had visited The Burnished Jade. Mr Chance did his utmost to avoid her, hiding in his study, a sanctuary barred to intruders.
“Thank you, Eloise. What time is it now?” Joanna was sure she’d heard a church bell chime eight and the half hour.
Eloise gave an apologetic shrug. “It is almost nine, madame. The family are seated in the dining room, but Mr Chance said to join them once you have finished your morning meal.”
“I see.” Did Mr Chance have personal matters to discuss?Did he not want her to interact with his family? “Why invite me and then insist I arrive late? The man grows more confounding by the day.”
Eloise pursed her lips, but a chuckle escaped. “I am sorry. I did not mean to laugh, but I think Mr Chance is afraid they will mention your … erm …sobriquet.”
“Sobriquet?”
“Oui, your pet name. Your moniker.”
Joanna straightened. “My moniker?” She dreaded to think what it might be. “Are you telling me they mock me behind my back?” And yet they were all so warm and welcoming, except for their eldest brother, who had made his disapproval of her known.
“Non, it is not like that.” Panic flashed in Eloise’s dark eyes, and she clasped her hands together in prayer. “Your moniker, it is adorable. All the brothers have nicknames. Mr Chance is the King of Clubs.”
Yes, Joanna knew the men teased each other about being kings and thought the names were all quite apt. The King of Clubs was a symbol of wisdom and authority. A born leader. A powerful ruler of his domain. The epitome of Aaron Chance.
“Then who am I?”
Eloise hesitated. “I—I cannot say.”
“You have my word I will not repeat it.”
The housekeeper remained defiant. “Mr Chance would?—”
“Please, Eloise. It might help me understand my place here. Mr Chance is kind and considerate one minute and avoids me the next. Please, tell me what the family calls me. I’ll worry it’s something terrible.”
One could see an inner war in Eloise’s expression. “You … you are Miss Scrumptious.” Eloise put her hand to her mouth like she had committed a cardinal sin. “Madame, you must not repeat it to another soul. Mr Chance will throw me out.”
“Miss Scrumptious?” Shocked and a little flattered, Joannarepeated it silently a few times. “Why would the family call me that?”
Eloise waved her hands as she stepped back and said ‘non’ ten times or more. “Baptiste will sew my lips together if he knows I told you. Ignorance, it is bliss. Nothing good can come from knowing the answer. Mr Chance, he will never change. He will always be a stubborn mule.”
Joanna could barely stand still. Her curiosity was like a flame feeding off these sparks of intrigue. “Do they think I’m sweet?” It was the only explanation that made sense.
“Non.”
“Well, what then?”
