The Impossible Earl. Sarah Westleigh

She had not noticed it before, or the words it contained.

      “‘Welcome to the Vitus Club,”’ she read aloud. “Is that what you call your gambling den?”

      “The Vitus Club is known throughout Bath, Miss Vincent.”

      “I’m certain it is. Do your members all suffer from nervous twitches?”

      He laughed, but his tone patronised when he spoke. “Fortunately, no, Miss Vincent. My family name is Dancer. St Vitus is the patron saint of dancers. I thought the name appropriate.”

      “Prodigiously so. If your clients are not twitching from some nervous disease, they will be from gambling fever or despair,” Leonora scoffed.

      The dark brows lifted. Now his tone held an undercurrent of scornful disbelief. “Do I infer that you disapprove of gambling, Miss Vincent? That you never wager on a hand of cards?”

      Leonora flushed. She had allowed herself to fall into the trap of appearing a prude. “Not at all, sir,” she contradicted him. “Like everyone else, I gamble in moderation when in card-playing company. I do not disagree with gambling in principle but fear the hold it gains on some people—” like her father, though she would not mention him. Her hand tightened on the handle of her reticule “—and despise those who trade on their weakness,” she concluded quickly.

      He waved a hand, indicating that she should enter the door he was opening. She did, and Clarissa meekly followed behind. Leonora wondered what her friend thought of the verbal battle raging between herself and the Earl.

      In truth, she scarcely knew why she was being so difficult, except that the entire situation had taken her completely by surprise. White’s, Boodle’s and Brooks’s in London could be regarded as respectable, she supposed, but even so a man could lose a fortune in an evening. The less respectable clubs often set out to fleece their clients.

      Unable to meet the high membership fees demanded by White’s and the like, her father had fallen victim to such a one on his last visit to Town, a circumstance which had undoubtedly given her a jaundiced view of small clubs like the Vitus. His losses had, in effect, caused his death. He had sold his carriages and horses and his hunters, and been thrown by a devilish animal with an evil eye, the best mount he could afford.

      “So no one should deal in the selling of wine or spirits and thus incite drunkenness and delirium tremens?” remarked Kelsey smoothly as he walked to the centre of what must be his parlour-cum-dining room.

      Leonora, unwilling to confide her true reasons for her antagonism, chose to ignore this irrelevance while busily occupying herself with looking about. The room was tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished with armchairs. The dining table was small, large enough only for intimate dinners. He would not eat here often, she supposed, he would take his meals in the Club. A side board held an array of decanters and glasses. Leonora could not fault the condition of the place.

      “The bedroom is through here,” said Kelsey smoothly, opening a communicating door leading to the back room.

      Not to be hurried or intimidated, Leonora finished her survey of the room she was in before walking through with her chin in the air. Clarissa, reared in the genteel confines of a rectory, held back. Kelsey, a hand in the small of her back, guided her through. Clarissa’s colour flared. Her colourless lashes fluttered, revealing and then hiding the pale blue eyes raised to meet the Earl’s.

      Turning, Leonora felt a small shock run through her. Clarissa was flirting with his lordship! Her voice, therefore, was sharp as she called for her attention.

      “Miss Worth! I hope you have continued to make notes?”

      “I did not realise that there was anything to write,” said Clarissa placidly. “You have found no other fault, I believe?”

      “No. But that fact must be recorded, too. Hall, parlour and bedroom are all in excellent order.”

      “I am glad you find them so, madam,” came Kelsey’s rather amused voice. She had scarcely glanced at the bedroom and in her hurry had ignored the middle-aged gentleman’s gentleman occupied in tidying his master’s clothes beside a cubicle containing a cupboard and washstand, and he knew it. He might not intimidate her, but his huge canopied bed did.

      “There are other rooms on this floor, I believe,” Leonora said, making speedily for the door to the hall.

      Kelsey followed her out of his bedroom, a small smile denting one corner of his mobile mouth. He crossed to the door next that of his office. “Only one. This is Sinclair’s room. I have arranged with him that you should be admitted.”

      Leonora merely raised her brows at this piece of nonsense. She had every right to be admitted!

      Kelsey knocked. A voice bade them enter.

      Sinclair had risen and met them near the door, his manner almost effusive.

      “Good morning, Miss Vincent. I believe you wish to inspect my room?”

      Leonora gave him her sweetest smile. “I merely wish to discover the general condition of the part of the building Lord Kelsey rents,” she explained.

      “Then you must be quite reassured,” observed Sinclair, returning her smile and transferring it to Kelsey as a grin. “He is most particular and Mrs Parkes is an able housekeeper.”

      “Your apartment looks comfortable, clean and well-decorated,” observed Leonora. “You are well suited here?”

      “Indeed, madam, I am happy in my accommodation and my association with his lordship. As you can see, he has provided me with every comfort. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

      “I think not,” said Leonora, noting that he had a small desk in his room, at which he had been working, as well as a dining table and chairs, a well-stocked side board, several armchairs and a narrow bed behind a screen in one corner. “Thank you, Mr Sinclair. Miss Worth, note only that there is a little paint peeling from the window frame.”

      “There is?” murmured Kelsey, his brows rising. “You did not tell me, Sinclair.”

      “I thought the matter too trifling,” said the manager.

      They all dutifully inspected a small area near the sill where the paint had flaked.

      “Strictly, it is,” said the Earl. “But I will undertake to have it touched up. And now, madam, if you are satisfied with this floor, we can mount the stairs to see those rooms I use for the Club. I fear we must not linger, for the doors will open in half an hour. I will lead the way.”

      “Very well.”

      This flight of stairs was wider than the next one leading up to her rooms, as she had already noted. It was usual, of course, for stairs to become narrower the higher they climbed. She became even more determined to gain possession of the lower rooms, particularly the main rooms served by the wider staircase, as soon as possible. Otherwise, how was she ever to receive?

      “This is the Dining Room,” he said, ushering them into one of the back rooms through an already half-open door. “But you may even think that selling food holds out the danger of encouraging gluttony?”

      He wanted to throw ridicule on her views. The question in his voice held the ring of irony. Leonora shook an angry head.

      “Pray do not be absurd,” she snapped. “If a man chooses to drink or eat himself to death, he does not necessarily leave his family bereft of anything but his presence. A man who is stripped, of intent, of all he owns and dies deeply in debt, leaves a destitute family. There is a difference.”

      There was a considering look in the slate-grey eyes. Leonora flushed again, conscious that she may have given away more of her past than she had intended.

      He bowed. “I give you best, madam. A prudent, honest gentleman will have a care for others. It is the imprudent who find themselves with pockets to let, be it through over-indulgence in the good things of life or in gambling.”

      “Imprudent?