From London With Love. Sarah Mallory

      ‘Why, yes, she took her leave of me a few minutes ago. Mr Mortimer was escorting her back to Dover Street.’ She gave him a knowing smile. ‘He is a very attentive escort.’

      Disappointment seared through Jack. He tried to convince himself that it was because he wanted to hand over Tony’s ring and locket and get out of London, but he knew in his heart that it was because he wanted to see Eloise Allyngham again.

      Jack took his leave and made his way to St James’s Street, where he was admitted into an imposing white stone building by a liveried servant. White’s was very busy and he paused for a while to watch a lively game of Hazard, refusing more than one invitation to join in. Later he wandered through to the card room where he soon spotted a number of familiar faces, some of whom he had seen in Lady Parham’s ballroom earlier that evening. A group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of bassett. One looked up and waved to him.

      ‘Had enough of the dancing, Clifton?’

      Jack smiled. ‘Something like that, Renwick.’

      He looked at the little group: Charles Renwick was an old friend and he recognised another, slightly older man, Edward Graham, who had been a friend of his father, but the others were strangers to him—with one exception, the dealer, a stocky man with a heavily pock-marked face and pomaded hair. Sir Ronald Deforge. A tremor of revulsion ran through Jack. At that moment the dealer looked up at him from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Jack saw the recognition in his glance and observed the contemptuous curl of the man’s thick lips. As he hesitated a gentleman with a florid face and bushy red side-whiskers shifted his chair to make room for him.

      ‘Doing battle in the ballroom can be as hellish as a full-scale siege, eh, Major? Well, never mind that now. Sit you down, sir, and we’ll deal you in.’

      ‘Aye, we are here to commiserate with each other,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘Come along, Deforge, deal those cards!’

      ‘Oh?’ Jack signalled to the waiter to fill his glass.

      ‘Aye. There was no point in staying at Parham House once Lady Allyngham had left.’ Edward Graham paused, frowning over his cards. ‘Hoped to persuade her to stand up with me later, but then found she had slipped away.’

      Jack schooled his features to show no more than mild interest. Sir Ronald cast a fleeting glance at him.

      ‘It seems Major Clifton was the only one of us to be favoured with a dance.’

      The whiskery gentleman dug Jack in the ribs.

      ‘Aye, Sir Ronald is right, Major. You lucky dog! How did you do it, man? Are you well acquainted with her?’

      ‘Not at all,’ Jack replied, picking up his cards and trying to give them his attention. ‘I know very little about the lady.’

      ‘Ah, the Glorious Allyngham.’ Jack’s neighbour raised his glass. ‘The whole of London is at her feet. She would be a cosy armful, for the man that can catch her! We are all her slaves, but she spreads her favours equally: a dance here, a carriage ride there—keeps us all on the lightest of reins—even Sir Ronald there is enthralled, ain’t that right, Deforge?’

      A shadow flitted across the dealer’s face but he replied indifferently, ‘She is undoubtedly a diamond.’

      ‘Rumour has it she is on the catch for a royal duke.’ A gentleman in a puce waistcoat chuckled. ‘Ladies don’t like it, of course, to see their husbands drooling over another woman. They’ve christened her the Wanton Widow!’

      ‘So they have.’ Mr Graham sighed. ‘But I wish she were a little more wanton, then I might stand a chance!’

      Ribald laughter filled the air, replaced by good-natured oaths and curses as Sir Ronald Deforge displayed his winning cards and scooped up the little pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table. There was a pause while a fresh hand was dealt and the waiters leapt forwards to refill the glasses.

      ‘Where did Allyngham find her?’ asked Jack, intrigued in spite of himself.

      ‘She was some sort of poor relation, I believe,’ said Graham. ‘Caused quite a stir when Allyngham married her—family expected him to make a brilliant match.’

      ‘Caused quite a stir when he brought her to town, too,’ remarked Renwick, pushing another pile of rouleaux into the centre of the table. ‘We were all in raptures over her, but Allyngham was careful. He made sure no one became overfamiliar with his new bride.’

      ‘Except Alex Mortimer, of course,’ remarked one of the players.

      ‘Nothing surprising in that.’ Edward Graham grimaced as he studied his hand. With a sigh of resignation he threw one card down. ‘He is a neighbour and close friend of Allyngham. Escorted the lady to town while her husband was in the Peninsula.’

      ‘While the cat’s away,’ said Sir Ronald said softly. ‘And now the cat is dead do you think Mortimer plans to jump into his shoes?’

      ‘Shouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his eye on the widow,’ said Charles Renwick. ‘Apart from the title, which died with Allyngham, his lady inherits everything, I hear.’

      ‘In trust, I suppose?’ said Deforge, dropping his own tokens on to the growing pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table.

      ‘No,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I heard she has full control of the property.’

      ‘Making her even more desirable, eh, Deforge?’ murmured Jack.

      The dealer grew still.

      ‘What the devil do you mean by that, Clifton?’

      There was a tension around the table. Jack met Deforge’s hard eyes with a steady gaze.

      ‘I think you might be looking to replenish your fortune.’

      Deforge shrugged.

      ‘No sensible man takes a penniless bride.’

      ‘Your first wife was not penniless,’ remarked Jack, a hard edge to his voice. ‘I hear that there is nothing left of her fortune now, save the house in Berkshire, and you would sell that if it were not mortgaged to the hilt.’

      An unpleasant smile curled Sir Ronald’s thick lips. He said softly, ‘Your allegations have all the marks of a disappointed suitor, Clifton.’

      ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all history,’ declared the whiskery gentleman sitting beside Jack. ‘If you wish to quarrel then take yourselves off somewhere and let the rest of us get on with our game!’

      ‘Aye, let us play,’ added Charles Renwick hastily. ‘Deal the cards, Deforge, if you please.’

      Jack spread his hands, signifying his acceptance and after a final, angry glare Deforge turned his attention back to the game. It did not last long. Luck was running with the dealer and as soon as the last card was played Sir Ronald scooped up his winnings and left.

      Charles Renwick called for a fresh pack of cards.

      ‘You caught him on the raw there,’ he remarked, watching Deforge stalk out of the room. ‘Damnation, Jack, why did you have to mention his dead wife?’

      ‘Because I don’t believe her death was an accident.’

      Charles Renwick leaned over and placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve. He said, ‘Let be, my friend. It was years ago. It can do no good for you to dwell on it now.’

      Jack’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles showing white against the green baize of the table. How could he be thankful that the girl he had wanted to marry, the love of his life, was dead?

      They subsided into silence as the next game of bassett began. Jack played mechanically, his thoughts still on Deforge. He hated the man because he had stolen the woman he loved, but was that rational? Clara had been free to make her own choice. He had no proof that she had not been happy in her marriage, only a feeling in his gut. He gave himself