vastly. “You overdid it just a trifle there, Blacklock. He keeps his own bully-boys, you know.”
“I know. But not in Bath. His mother resides here and she’s ever had the whip hand of him. Besides, he won’t have me beaten until he’s beaten me himself.”
“Eh?”
“At cards, you great ninny. Come on, let’s find ourselves a drink that hasn’t been watered fifty percent.”
“Brandy? No, champagne. You’ve something to celebrate, remember. How much is that cheque for?”
“Cheque? Lord, I forgot to look.” Stopping by a lighted window, Carleton pulled the paper from his pocket.
On tiptoe to see over his friend’s shoulder, Edward whistled. “You’ll be able to buy an estate, at least. And a wealthy wife as well.”
“I already have one, in Ireland.”
“A wife?”
“No, an estate. Three thousand useless acres, half-sod, half-sea. An Irish baronet,” he mimicked as the two men walked on. “By God, if I’d lost, he’d not care where my title comes from. Push in here, Framstead, and we’ll have that drink.”
Over bumpers of champagne, Edward asked, “Er, where does your title come from?”
Carleton smiled, as with a fond remembrance. “My great-grandfather was the last acknowledged bastard of Charles the Second. Being a man ever chary of his children, the king wanted to do some good by the boy and his mother but all the empty English titles had been filled, so he gave them Irish properties.”
As though an answer to a long puzzled over question had been given to him, Edward said, “That’s where you get it!”
“Get what?”
“Well, you’re a damn tall fellow, Blacklock, and there’s the king’s reputation with the ladies. You’ve got that, too.”
“I’ve been lucky all my life,” Carleton said modestly.
“It’s a good business that girl didn’t see you or you’d never have been rid of her and wouldn’t have won that money.”
“Ah, yes, the girl. You know, Framstead, tomorrow after visiting the bank, I shall have to visit a drapers’.”
“Drapers’? What in heaven’s name for?”
“A handkerchief. Dainty as morning dew.” He winked into the younger man’s astonished face and poured more champagne.
Chapter Four
“How do you spell relief, Danita?” Berenice asked.
Looking up from her periodical, Danita spelled it for her. The pen scratched quickly over the page for a moment and then slowed. Sucking on a ribbon sweet from the jar at her elbow, Berenice rolled her eyes at the ceiling as though searching for inspiration among the cornices. She sighed. “I can’t think of anything else to say. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to write Mama. Something exciting might happen.”
“Your grandmother said you should write today,” Danita reminded her gently. “What have you said so far?”
“Dear Mother and Father: I am well. How are you? Grandmamma is finding much relief from the gout.” Berenice looked to Danita for approval. A thought brightened her face as she bit down on her candy. “Oh, yes!” She wrote again and then read out, “The weather keeps fine.”
“Have your parents ever been to Bath?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t come to England in years. Not since I came to live with Grandmamma, when I was six. Mama went back to Barbados almost at once, so I don’t think she had the chance to visit. Why?”
“Perhaps then, you could describe the city. Tell them of the places you go, and what you do.” Danita called upon her schoolmistress days, when she’d often prompted students reluctant to write to inquiring parents. “I’m sure your mother would be interested in hearing of your new gowns.”
“I have heard they are dreadfully behind the times on the island. I hope I never have to go back there. I remember it as being very hot, but the sea was pretty.” With her tongue peering out from the corner of her mouth as though to supervise, Berenice continued laboring over her letter.
She was inquiring of Danita whether
“I know. But not in Bath. His mother resides here and she’s ever had the whip hand of him. Besides, he won’t have me beaten until he’s beaten me himself.”
“Eh?”
“At cards, you great ninny. Come on, let’s find ourselves a drink that hasn’t been watered fifty percent.”
“Brandy? No, champagne. You’ve something to celebrate, remember. How much is that cheque for?”
“Cheque? Lord, I forgot to look.” Stopping by a lighted window, Carleton pulled the paper from his pocket.
On tiptoe to see over his friend’s shoulder, Edward whistled. “You’ll be able to buy an estate, at least. And a wealthy wife as well.”
“I already have one, in Ireland.”
“A wife?”
“No, an estate. Three thousand useless acres, half-sod, half-sea. An Irish baronet,” he mimicked as the two men walked on. “By God, if I’d lost, he’d not care where my title comes from. Push in here, Framstead, and we’ll have that drink.”
Over bumpers of champagne, Edward asked, “Er, where does your title come from?”
Carleton smiled, as with a fond remembrance. “My great-grandfather was the last acknowledged bastard of Charles the Second. Being a man ever chary of his children, the king wanted to do some good by the boy and his mother but all the empty English titles had been filled, so he gave them Irish properties.”
As though an answer to a long puzzled over question had been given to him, Edward said, “That’s where you get it!”
“Get what?”
“Well, you’re a damn tall fellow, Blacklock, and there’s the king’s reputation with the ladies. You’ve got that, too.”
“I’ve been lucky all my life,” Carleton said modestly.
“It’s a good business that girl didn’t see you or you’d never have been rid of her and wouldn’t have won that money.”
“Ah, yes, the girl. You know, Framstead, tomorrow after visiting the bank, I shall have to visit a drapers’.”
“Drapers’? What in heaven’s name for?”
“A handkerchief. Dainty as morning dew.” He winked into the younger man’s astonished face and poured more champagne.
Chapter Four
“How do you spell relief, Danita?” Berenice asked.
Looking up from her periodical, Danita spelled it for her. The pen scratched quickly over the page for a moment and then slowed. Sucking on a ribbon sweet from the jar at her elbow, Berenice rolled her eyes at the ceiling as though searching for inspiration among the cornices. She sighed. “I can’t think of anything else to say. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to write Mama. Something exciting might happen.”
“Your grandmother said you should write today,” Danita reminded her gently. “What have you said so far?”
“Dear Mother and Father: I am well. How are you? Grandmamma is finding much relief from the gout.” Berenice looked to Danita for approval. A thought brightened her face as she bit down on her candy. “Oh, yes!” She wrote again and then read out, “The weather keeps fine.”
“Have your parents ever been to Bath?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t come to England in years. Not since I came to live with Grandmamma, when I was six. Mama went back to Barbados almost at once, so I don’t think she had the chance to visit. Why?”
“Perhaps then, you could describe the city. Tell them of the places you go, and what you do.” Danita called upon her schoolmistress days, when she’d often prompted students reluctant to write to inquiring parents. “I’m sure your mother would be interested in hearing of your new gowns.”
“I have heard they are dreadfully behind the times on the island. I hope I never have to go back there. I remember it as being very hot, but the sea was pretty.” With her tongue peering out from the corner of her mouth as though to supervise, Berenice continued laboring over her letter.
She was inquiring of Danita whether
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