‘You two will be very happy.’
Jane returned the hug and over Laura’s shoulder she caught Jasper’s eye. A strange awkwardness stiffened his movements as he shook Philip’s hand. She stepped away from Laura and Jasper let go of Philip. Jane and Jasper faced each other but his attention darted around the room with a tinge of uncertainty before he fixed on her. It was then the reason for his unease struck her. He might trust her with the secret of his gambling house, but there was another, darker one directly behind it, something to do with the things he couldn’t tell her about Savannah. It reminded her too much of Milton and how he’d managed to conceal his relationship with Miss Moseley. Worry dampened her enthusiasm. Once the parson’s mousetrap was sprung, they’d be stuck with one another for better or for worse. In her haste to change her situation, she wondered if she’d inadvertently made it worse.
* * *
Jasper sat at his desk in the warehouse office, dealing with an order for wine, but the memory of Jane continued to dominate his thoughts. Perceptive as always, she’d realised at once that they were going to be man and wife. She’d also caught his momentary doubt while he’d shaken Mr Rathbone’s hand. It had caused her to retreat into a reserve making her resemble her brother. He’d wanted to tell her his concerns had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him, but there hadn’t been a chance.
He slipped the ruby ring off his finger and turned it over and over. In Savannah, he’d spent years collecting money, property and influence, and in the end it had been worthless. In London it was different and yet it wasn’t. Money made the difference between having a proper life or doing without. All he needed to do was look at his footmen and dealers to see how wages had lifted them out of poverty and given them and their families the chance to thrive instead of merely subsist. Once Jasper had wed Jane, she would become his responsibility. If Jasper lost everything to some extremely lucky gambler, or if their families learned of the hell and turned their backs on them, it would be like Savannah all over again. Except, this time, there’d be no family or inheritance or collected goods to help him start over. They’d be ruined and he’d be the cause of it.
‘A right lucrative night last night, Mr Charton,’ Mr Bronson greeted Jasper as he entered the secret warehouse office. The older man drew out his vowels in the lazy way people from Savannah did. Jasper had found it amusing during his first year in the bustling port city, the easy manner of speech slipping into his own so that a few years into his apprenticeship his accent had become too garbled for anyone to guess where he was really from. It’d given him an air of mystery in Savannah, charming the ladies during garden parties at the big plantations. It had made him stand out here, too, as his seventeen-year-old twin brothers Giles and Jacob enjoyed teasing him about during family dinners. He’d struggled to lose the languid manner of speaking, but now he was snapping his vowels in place as day by day he left his time in the southern state behind. He wished his past and his concerns were so easily set aside. ‘What about Captain Christiansen. How did he do?’
‘Lost another five hundred pounds before we sent him home.’ Mr Bronson handed over the man’s signed debt, then dabbed his forehead with his red handkerchief, the warm room making him perspire.
Jasper slipped the ruby ring back on his finger as he examined Captain Christiansen’s name scrawled at the bottom of the paper. ‘Seems like more than a man who hasn’t taken a prize ship in a while can afford to lose.’
Mr Bronson strode to the window and slid up the sash. The cooler air laced with warmth from the coming summer spilled into the room. ‘Didn’t go quietly this time either, complained loudly about having a right to spend what he wants.’
‘Not in my establishment, especially if he’s going to make a scene. Scenes aren’t good for business.’ Jasper stared out the open window and the early morning sky dotted with thick clouds. The fresh air wasn’t refreshing so much as unsettling. ‘If he returns tonight, keep an eye on him. Hopefully, his current losses will encourage him to be more cautious with his play.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘We may have to find a discreet way to bar him from the club. We don’t need Lord Fenton coming in here trying to redeem his son.’
Mr Bronson hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. ‘Don’t get y’all scraping to those sallow-faced men. Be better if you’d chucked them out like we Americans did.’
‘Some days I agree with you, but old habits are difficult to break.’ Jasper dusted his signature, then blew it off and handed Mr Bronson the papers.
‘Yes, they are.’ Mr Bronson rolled the debts in his hands. ‘How many old habits are you going to give up when you have a wife nosing about?’
‘None. She’ll simply accompany me to the jeweller’s and the theatre and help me enjoy my fine wine and food while working with me to establish the club.’ Jasper leaned back in his chair, far less cavalier than he appeared. Jasper had told his partner about his plans before he’d approached Jane and now silently agreed with him. Once Jasper and Jane were living together as man and wife, he’d have to balance what he told her about the hell with what he held back, giving her just enough to satisfy her interest while keeping her ignorant of all the goings on. It would mean more deception, but it was necessary. He couldn’t stand to have Jane spit on him like Mrs Robillard had when Jasper had approached her with his condolences. ‘Better to be a married man than risk becoming a recluse.’
‘You don’t need a wife to avoid that.’ Mr Bronson chuckled. ‘You have a cook and a housekeeper and more willing company in other corners to see after your needs.’
‘True, but how many of those paid people stayed around to help Uncle Patrick after he fell ill?’
‘We don’t have to worry about that here in London.’
Jasper touched the edge of the bills of mortality tucked beneath his blotter. ‘I hope not, but there are other tragedies capable of befalling a man and leaving him in need of someone with more interest in his affairs than payment to step in and handle them.’
‘I thought that’s what you had me for.’ Mr Bronson laughed. He removed a pouch of tobacco from his waistcoat pocket along with a clay pipe and began to pack the bowl with the fragrant weed.
‘I do, but relations are sometimes more reliable.’ Jasper wouldn’t fail Jane the way Mr Robillard had failed his wife. ‘I also know you Yanks. You’ll want your own establishment sooner rather than later, to make something of yourself, to be your own man.’
‘You are right, Mr Charton.’ Mr Bronson pointed the stem of the pipe at him before setting it between his teeth. ‘I’ll have to strike out before you expect me to take a missus.’
‘I wouldn’t dare temper your excursions into the West End by suggesting such a thing.’ Jasper waved his hand in the air to indicate the future. ‘At least not yet.’
Mr Bronson took a deep drag on his pipe, then let the smoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Have you told her about Mrs Robillard?’
‘No.’ A breeze rustled the curtain, carrying into the room the faint scent of summer. Jasper rounded the desk and slammed the sash closed. ‘You’re not to tell her.’
‘You can trust me to keep silent. I’ve been where you are, what with my father, God rest him, being a preacher and railing on about the ills of drink and cards. He’d have starved before taking my money if he’d learned how I really earned it.’ Mr Bronson fingered the watch chain hanging in an arch from his pocket to where his father’s timepiece hung from
