Page 23 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
“You’ve been spoken to three times about acceptable behavior, sir. There shan’t be a fourth time.”
Fitchley scowled. “Three times! Over nothing.”
“Twice for fighting and tonight for harassing Lady Alleyn.”
“Fighting!” He made a face and waved it away. “Disputes happen, over cards.”
“Disputes that end with one man bleeding and threatening to summon the constables are properly called fights.”
“And that old biddy ought not to be here,” Fitchley went on with contempt. “Can’t play, never quiet, ugly as bear-bait—”
“Lady Alleyn is a member,” Nick interrupted him. “You will be civil to other members within this club, be they royal dukes or fishwives, as well as to every member of my staff. There are no exceptions to this rule. Do you understand?”
Fitchley glared at him. “Or what?”
“If you find it unacceptable, or cannot abide by it, I will accept the return of your membership token and bid you farewell. Once that happens, you will never be welcome in the Vega Club again, not even as a guest.”
The baron’s mouth turned down sullenly. Again Nick thought of Emilia Greene. Just thinking of her made him want to eject Fitchley. “That’s damned unsporting, Dashwood.”
“Do you agree to abide by this and every other rule of the Vega Club?” Nick asked in the same emotionless tone. “At all times?”
Fitchley scowled and took a threatening step forward. He was nearly as tall as Nick, but sturdier, especially around his middle. Nick arched one brow in warning. He wasn’t going to be pushed around by Fitchley. It must have shown in his face, for the baron lowered his hands. “Yes,” he muttered.
“Very good, sir. Remember it.”
He stepped aside and let Fitchley slouch past him, no doubt returning to his companions in the dining room to complain bitterly of his treatment. He closed the door behind him with a bang, and Nick exhaled.
This part of owning a club had no appeal for him. In the early days, when he’d been running card games in dimly lit tenements and back rooms, there had been no policy; any man with money in his pockets was permitted. All disagreements were settled swiftly and brutally with fists, sometimes by Nick himself, often occasioning more betting by the onlookers.
The moment he took premises, though, Nick cracked down on fighting. No one was going to breakhisfurniture or windows, no matter how much they paid in membership fees. If members wanted to fight, they could so in the street like common brawlers.
He let himself out of the Cold Hold, as the staff called it, and closed the door behind him. Perhaps he did need some time away from the Vega Club.
Nick was late arrivingin Queen’s Court. Charlotte had finished breakfast already and was stitching half-heartedly at a handkerchief, which she tossed aside the moment he came into the room. “Nicky!” she cried at his appearance. “Where have you been? I thought you weren’t coming today.”
“I’m moved to tears by your concern.” He pinched her chin when she rolled her eyes. “I had some business to deal with, but of course I haven’t forgotten you.”
Reluctantly she smiled, and sat beside him on the sofa. She pulled her feet up under her skirts and folded her arms around her shins. “What business?”
“It ought to be the business of teaching you how to sit like a lady,” he said with a pointed glance at her posture.
Charlotte made a face. “A lady! As if I know anything about that. Besides, you and Polly are the only people who ever come to see me, so I don’t see why it matters how I sit.”
Nick drummed his fingers on his knee. He did not want to have this conversation. Of course, it was partly—mostly—for Charlotte’s benefit he was contemplating this mad scheme to claim a viscount’s coronet, and even if he decided against that, he would still have to face the fact that his sister’s behavior was becoming inappropriate to her age. “How was the theater?”
“Oh, it was divine!” Her eyes lit up. “Nicky, it was so splendid! Not dull at all, and terribly droll and witty at times!” She sighed in delight. “I wish I could go every week. May I? Please?”
“We’ll see.” It was pure joy to see her so happy, and pure terror to imagine her going out every week, let alone every evening. “I’ve come about that, in fact. I’ve been thinking it’s time you learned more ladylike arts.” Was that the right way to say it? God, Nick had no idea. “Do you want to?” he added quickly, with a swift prayer that he wouldn’t make a total hash of this.
Charlotte scoffed loudly. “I do! But it won’t make any difference if I’m never allowed to go anywhere.” Her brow wrinkled up in pleading. “The theater was so marvelous! I want to go again. Polly asked if I could go to Astley’s, and she said her mother is taking her to a dressmaker for the first time, to get a proper gown. She invited me to go with her. May I go? Just to the dressmaker? Oh, how I long to see the shop and help choose the cloth and color of her dress. I won’t ask for anything else for at least a month if you say I may!”
“An entire month?” He gave a low whistle. “How will I endure the silence?”
Her mouth firmed. “Please.I don’t need a dress myself—not that I have any occasion to wear a fine new dress—please?”
Moments like this reminded him of the time he’d fallen overboard from his father’s ship. First the unalloyed terror of the fall, then the shock of the water closing in on him, seeming to want to squeeze the breath from his lungs and suck him down to the bottom of the ocean. Now would come the mad scramble to swim back to the ship and haul himself up the rope, dripping and red-faced, to face the laughter of the crew.
“Perhaps,” he said, ignoring the way her face brightened with hope. “I’ve come to talk to you about that. About being a lady, and needing new gowns and going to the theater more often.”
