Read When Marrying a Scoundrel Online
Authors: Kathryn Smith
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General
When Marrying a Scoundrel
Kathryn Smith
This book is dedicated to all the wonderful people at Rose Hope Animal Shelter in Waterbury, Connecticut. Your huge hearts, and commitment to advocacy and caring for so many homeless animals, are an inspiration. Thank you for Sasha, who brightened our lives for the brief year we were lucky to have her, and for Spike and Faye, who have filled our house with all the love and mischief two kittens can!
Also to Steve, because you have the kindest heart of anyone I know. And you let me sing when we play Rock Band.
“I don’t know what a scoundrel is like, but
I know what a respectable man is like, and
it’s enough to make one’s flesh creep.”
J
OSEPH DE
M
AISTRE
It was bad luck to tell your own fortune. Sadie…
Jack Friday’s heart was trying to eat him alive. It…
Chez Cherie’s might have sounded like a burlesque house, but…
The northern section of Bond Street, which was sometimes referred…
The telegram Jack sent to Trystan was as succinct and…
Even if she lived to be a hundred and lost…
“I really don’t reckon that’s a penis, Mrs. Carbunkle.” Sadie bit…
The next few days were almost normal for Sadie. She…
The evening had quickly spiraled out of control. Sadie kept…
So he’d shagged Sadie. Now what?
There was very little either nimble or quick about Jack…
“You had a bloody awful way of showing it.” Sadie’s…
Jack woke to find himself alone in bed. “Sadie?”
For a split second Jack’s entire body seemed to shut…
Jack was aware of conversation buzzing around him, the increased…
Invitations began arriving the next day.
Not looking back was more difficult than Sadie thought it…
Sadie heard the news immediately upon waking. Indara, knowing their…
Sadie didn’t go far. While Jack slept she dressed and…
Sadie had plenty of time to think about the things…
London, July 1877
I
t was bad luck to tell your own fortune. Sadie Moon had known this from a very young age, ever since Granny O’Rourke first set her on her knee and showed her the images made from the tiny brown leaves on the bottom of a teacup. When Granny had asked her how the images made her feel, Sadie hadn’t hesitated to peer inside the rim and take a good look.
And then she promptly burst into tears.
Sadie had seen a casket—her mother’s. Less than six months later her mother was dead, leaving Sadie and her two older brothers to Granny’s care.
Nothing good ever came from trying to read the leaves at the bottom of your own cup. A fact Sadie would have done well to remember before absently turning over her cup on its saucer, and spinning it three times widdershins before righting it and peering inside.
In fact, once she took the first peek, she immediately flipped the delicate china upside down again and set it
clattering on the saucer. She pushed it as far across the violet tablecloth as she could.
There was nothing astounding about a clump of tea leaves in the shape of a heart with a crack through it. That in itself normally wouldn’t set her own heart pounding so painfully, but it was the feeling the image invoked that made her vaguely nauseous.
Jack
.
His image had filled her mind so clearly and brightly that she could have sworn he was right there in the tent with her. She’d almost been disappointed to discover she was alone.
Almost
.
Had something happened to him? Had he finally succumbed to his reckless ways? Such an overwhelming feeling could only mean one thing. But the idea of anything having the power to actually hurt Jack—
kill
Jack—was unfathomable. No, it simply had to be the time of year that made her mind turn to him, and not the leaves. Nothing good came from looking at your own leaves, and being reminded of Jack was punishment for her transgression, that was all. Better to believe in superstition at times like this than her own talent.
The sounds of the party came into range once more. For a moment she had forgotten that nothing but a few well-draped lengths of fabric separated her from several hundred of England’s social elite. The brightly colored Gypsy-inspired tent allowed her to be part of the festivities, and to retain some degree of privacy for
appointments. It made her feel less on display and gave those who sat opposite her the illusion of intimacy.
People talked more in intimate surroundings, revealed more. Those little disclosures often aided Sadie in deciphering the story the leaves struggled to tell. It was only tea after all, not a crystal ball. Plain, simple, and oh-so honest tea.
She had to brew more; two more sittings and she’d be out. Then there’d be hell to pay if she had to make them wait. Charge these aristocrats a small fortune and they’d wait like faithful lap dogs for you to deliver. Offer them something for free, and they had all the patience of a wee one in the middle of a tantrum.
As if on cue, Sadie’s assistant and good friend Indara slipped into the tent, parting the swaths of fabric with one slender, bejeweled arm. “Are you ready?” she asked in a low, melodic voice that clung faintly to the cadence of her childhood in India.
Many English had a prejudice against the Indian culture and wondered how Sadie could befriend an obviously loose and heathen woman. But the English were also prejudiced against the Irish, so Sadie had no time for such nonsense. Indara had answered the advertisement for an assistant that Sadie had run in the paper two years ago. She couldn’t afford to pay much, but Indara hadn’t needed the money. In fact, Sadie wasn’t exactly certain why the woman had answered the ad at all, but they’d got on smashingly and became fast friends, eventually becoming housemates.
“Yes.” Rising to her feet, Sadie took one of the delicate china pots in her hands and carried it to her friend. “I need more hot water.”
Indara nodded, the jewels at her ears and in her hair twinkling in the lamplight. “It is hot in here. You will take a break soon?”
“I just took one.”
Reproach and concern shone in those exotic aqua eyes. “You will take another.”
It was pointless to argue, so Sadie smiled. “In thirty-five minutes I will take another break, I promise. Send the next person in, please.”
Indara only nodded, teapot cradled in her ringed fingers. Somehow she managed to combine an exquisitely tailored English gown with accessories made by the finest craftsmen in India. The look should have jarred and clashed, but Indara made it work, right down to the tinkling bracelet of bells around her left ankle, hidden beneath the voluminous layers of her burnt orange silk evening gown. Sadie felt quite drab next to her even though her own gown was a most violent shade of violet trimmed with crimson. She also sported a broad-brimmed hat in the same shade of red adorned with violet plumes. If one wanted to be considered spectacular, one had to dress the part.
As her friend and assistant parted the fabric once more, a woman pushed passed her, rudely shoving Indara aside as though she was a stray dog rather than human. Indara said nothing, but the look on her face said clearly that she would love to push back. Instead, she shot Sadie a
wry glance and slipped out to fetch more water.
“Well,” Lady Gosling chuffed as she straightened. She had her hand up by her hair lest the flimsy door of Sadie’s tent somehow injure the mass of jewels and combs that adorned her head. “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for almost an hour!”
Sadie inclined her head to the side. The weight of her hat pulled slightly at her scalp, threatening to fall and take her carefully crafted hairstyle with it. “It was very good of you to wait so long. You surely did not have to.” She had learned the best way to deal with these overgrown spoiled children was to chide them politely. Thank them for their condescension and then convivially remind them that she didn’t want or need it. It wasn’t really an insult so Lady Gosling couldn’t sputter and make a fuss, and it was almost as satisfying as inviting her to kiss Sadie’s chair-sore arse.
Lady Gosling sniffed, and had the grace to look slightly—very
slightly
—contrite as she slid into the chair on the opposite side of the table.
As she did every time she saw the lady, Sadie allowed her gaze to drift over the woman’s face. She would be beautiful if she didn’t always look so angry. There was something familiar about her perfect complexion, sable hair, and dark green eyes. And it wasn’t the simple fact that she came to Sadie for a reading every time she worked at Saint’s Row. No, there was something that made the back of her skull tingle whenever she looked at Lady Gosling—like she should know her from
somewhere
.
“Are you going to pour, or do you plan to stare at me
all evening?” the lady demanded, brusquely stripping off the delicate silk of her gloves.
Was that proper behavior? Sadie didn’t think so, but she’d long ago stopped wondering at the actions of rich women.
“Forgive me,” Sadie murmured as she reached for her remaining pot of tea. Gently, she swirled it, stirring the leaves up from the bottom so that they’d follow the hot, fragrant liquid into the waiting cup. “Cream and sugar, correct?”
Another sniff. “I don’t think you are the least bit sorry at all.”
Lifting her head just enough, Sadie peered at her companion from beneath the wide brim of her hat. She met Lady Gosling’s challenging gaze with a level one of her own. The lady, it seemed, was in an ill temper and spoiling for a fight. “You are mistaken, ma’am. Cream and sugar?”
Clearly miffed to have not raised Sadie’s temper as well, Lady Gosling gave a stiff nod. “Please.” And then, to Sadie’s surprise, “It was wrong of me to snap at you. My apologies.”
Sadie started. Hopefully Lady Gosling wouldn’t notice that her hand hesitated over her cup for a fraction of a second before dropping a lump of sugar into the tea.
When had one of
them
ever apologized to
her
?
She set the cup and saucer in front of Lady Gosling. “Do not trouble yourself, my lady.”
That was the extent of the conversation between them until Lady Gosling quickly finished her tea. Many ladies
chose not to speak to her any more than they had to, and that was fine by Sadie. She wouldn’t know what to say. With Vienne and people of her own sphere she was fine, but the upper classes made her uneasy—too much double entendre and thinly veiled remarks wrapped in a veneer of distorted propriety. The only time she was comfortable speaking to them was when looking into their cups, when she had a glimpse of their secrets.
Only Jack had made her feel otherwise, and look where that had gotten her.
Lady Gosling inverted her now-empty cup on the saucer and went through the proper motions without being instructed. At least she remembered. Most ladies needed to be told, no matter how many times in the past Sadie had read for them. It was as though anything she’d say to them before looking in their cups didn’t stick. Clearly, Lady Gosling wasn’t as much like those ladies as Sadie first thought.
The bruises across the knuckles on the lady’s right hand took that theory one step further. Sadie noticed them as she took the offered cup.
“Do hurry,” Lady Gosling urged. “Madame La Rieux has the most delicious companion with her this evening and I wish to make his acquaintance.”
Ah yes, the business associate Vienne had mentioned to Sadie. Mr. Friday, or something. Sadie almost smiled, as she peered into the gilt-edged china, tempted to warn Lady Gosling that she would be no competition for Vienne should her friend’s
appetite
be whetted by the gentleman.
Jack
.
She almost dropped the cup, so violent was the emotion that seized her. She had to grip the table to keep from sliding off her chair.
“Are you all right?” Lady Gosling demanded, more affronted than concerned.
Sadie gave her head a gentle shake—as much as her hat would allow. “I’m fine. Forgive me, Lady Gosling.” Why the devil had she seen Jack in this woman’s cup?
“I hope you do not faint in the middle of my reading,” Lady Gosling said, a touch of anxiety lacing her tone.
Sadie arched a brow, trying very hard to hide her amusement. How else could she react to such selfishness? “I’ll do my best.”
The lady appraised her with a blunt gaze and obviously found her lacking. “You should eat something. And for goodness sake, do something about this ungodly tent! It’s positively suffocating in here.”
Lady Gosling had a point, because when Sadie looked in the cup again, she saw nothing that made her think of Jack. Nothing at all. Obviously the heat of the evening was beginning to wear on her.
“Your wish is very close to the edge of the cup,” she remarked, still not quite herself. Fortunately the leaves made their intentions so clear to her she didn’t have to be. “You will get what it is you desire.”
Lady Gosling looked so relieved Sadie wondered just what it was she’d wished for. “Wonderful.”
Sadie glanced at the leaves once more. “It won’t come easy, however. In fact, the course you set in motion will
take you in many different directions, force you to make many choices before you achieve your goal.” Indeed, the path she saw in the leaves was a veritable maze, twisting and turning in a jumbled mess before righting itself.
“That matters not, so long as I achieve it.” The lady’s tone was determined.
Sadie frowned, then looked up, once again peering around the brim of her hat. “Have a care, Lady Gosling, that you do not act rashly. Your path is not without dangers.”
Darkly fringed eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What do you see?”
Sadie shook her head. “I cannot say. It’s more of an intuition. There’s a darkness around your wish that forces me to believe it will come at a cost. Perhaps a great one.”
The lady lost her hopeful expression to a more cynical one. “My dear, all costs are great.” She tugged on her glove. “What we have to decide is whether or not they are worth paying.”
Unsure of how to respond, Sadie said nothing as Lady Gosling pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. She took several pound notes from her reticule and set them on the table. “Thank you for your insight. Good evening.”
That was it? She didn’t want to hear what else Sadie saw? She didn’t have any questions or remarks? It had to be the shortest and most confounding reading Sadie had ever given. After Lady Gosling departed, Sadie took a leather-bound book from her satchel and opened it to a page marked with a letter
G
. She thumbed through the
pages until she found Lady Gosling’s entry and made notes on the reading. It was something she often did so she could refer to previous readings if necessary.
And, if she was honest, it was a way of keeping track of things her clients revealed to her. In her position, one never knew when knowing a secret or two might prevent unpleasantness. Unfortunately, she’d had to learn that the hard way.
The next few readings were uneventful and blessedly light. After advising Miss Olivia Clark as to which gentleman’s proposal of marriage she should accept—apparently her heart and her head could not be trusted with such an important decision—it was time for Sadie to take her break.
A break that was much needed, she realized as she left the close confines of her exotic tent. Two reminders of Jack in one evening had her mind in a state of confusion and agitation that refused to quiet, no matter what she told herself.
After so many years—all right, months—of not thinking of him, why twice in one night? And why in tea? What were the leaves trying to tell her? It was most irritating—and upsetting.
She filled a small plate for herself from the buffet table Vienne’s staff kept beautifully arranged and well stocked. It was a sure indication of her nerves that she loaded up on bread, cheeses, and cold meats. All were foods from her youth, foods that reminded her of what it was to be safe and secure. She poured herself a very deep glass of wine to go with her repast.
She didn’t mingle with the other guests. She wasn’t one of them, and she would feel that all too keenly tonight. Besides, it was no cooler in the thick of the throng than it was in her tent. Instead, she slipped into one of the chambers off the main ballroom, where the lighting was dim and the large floor-to-ceiling windows were open to the pleasure garden below. A cool night breeze washed over her, bathed in the scent of flowers and darkness.