her nose. “Oh dear, please do not say you must leave as well. Please. My lord, I cannot waste the soup. Poplin charged me with the responsibility to stretch our market coins as far as I am able.”
Reaching down, Sterling grabbed up the roll and took it with him as he hurried toward the passage. “Do not fret, Mrs. Wimpole. I am sure you and Poplin will see that the potage isna wasted. Please, enjoy it yourselves. Good day, Mrs. Wimpole.”
His long legs took the stairs three at a time until he reached his garret. Three measured strides took him into the center of his bedchamber, where he bent to pry up a short floorboard and withdrew a leather coin pouch. He plucked out two shillings from it, then tied it off and tossed it into the breach in the flooring. He started to rise, but paused momentarily. “Damn it all.”
Why didn’t they choose a cheaper dodge? ’Tisna like we have money to give away.
He exhaled a hard breath of resignation, then reached back between the boards to the pouch, and his fingers closed around a single gleaming guinea.
Damn, damn, damn
. Wasting money on tea and cakes when he could be using it to rebuild their fortune.
The Garden of Eden
Marylebone
Priscilla hoisted the falsest of smiles the moment her eyes met the sight of Sterling entering the tea garden. “Look there, our greedy brother approaches. Stayed for Mrs. Wimpole’s soup, did you, Sterling?”
Sterling sighed inwardly. Grant must have confessed everything. He cast a disapproving glance at his closest brother. “Which of you paid her to poison me, eh?” His gaze circled the small tea table his brothers and sisters had gathered around.
Priscilla grinned.
The sweet scent of the yellow-centered climbing roses skirting a hawthorn fence around the tea garden was as cloying as his sister’s smile. “So you’ve heard.” He pinned Grant with his gaze. “My thanks, brother, for sparing me the difficult task of confessing my use of our allowance.” He focused on each of them for the briefest of moments, gauging as best he could their individual judgments of him.
“Sterling—” Grant raised his finger and fluttered it before his lips, but his meaning was taken too late.
Siusan came to her feet. “Our allowance?” She slapped her palm upon the table, making the dishes of tea rattle on their saucers. “Y-you wagered our allowance?”
The color from Ivy’s rosy cheeks drained away. “Sterling, do tell us it isna true!”
He turned his gaze to Grant, who winced sympathetically. “Sterling, I did not tell them anything. But you’re in it now.”
Sterling clamped his mouth closed.
Bluidy hell
.
Killian shot to his feet, but Priscilla caught his sleeve and drew him back into his chair. Killian leaned forward over his tea and ground out his words. “Did you think we would not hear of this wager? All of bleeding London is chattering about it. Everyone of breeding wants a piece of your wager. Everyone.”
Hearing that, Sterling felt oddly proud. It was a good bet. It would seem a sure thing. Only he knew better. “The bet was placed—” He quieted for a moment and glanced around them to remind them all that they were not in a place to discuss the secret wager. “I
heard
the bet was placed anonymously.” He dropped his voice to the slightest of whispers. “That a
percentage
of the stake was required for White’s to allow such a large wager by an unknown bettor.”
Killian’s teeth were clenched. “London Society may not have an inkling who would have placed such an audacious wager, but you are our brother. Though this is leagues beyond what we would have believed you capable of, Sterling, the moment we learned of the wager we knew its source.”
“Only we didn’t know you posted what little portion our father provided us to live.” Priscilla patted Killian’s arm, the way she always did to calm him when ire was about to consume him.
Sterling scanned those at the table. Lachlan alone was smiling.
Reaching down, Sterling grabbed up the roll and took it with him as he hurried toward the passage. “Do not fret, Mrs. Wimpole. I am sure you and Poplin will see that the potage isna wasted. Please, enjoy it yourselves. Good day, Mrs. Wimpole.”
His long legs took the stairs three at a time until he reached his garret. Three measured strides took him into the center of his bedchamber, where he bent to pry up a short floorboard and withdrew a leather coin pouch. He plucked out two shillings from it, then tied it off and tossed it into the breach in the flooring. He started to rise, but paused momentarily. “Damn it all.”
Why didn’t they choose a cheaper dodge? ’Tisna like we have money to give away.
He exhaled a hard breath of resignation, then reached back between the boards to the pouch, and his fingers closed around a single gleaming guinea.
Damn, damn, damn
. Wasting money on tea and cakes when he could be using it to rebuild their fortune.
The Garden of Eden
Marylebone
Priscilla hoisted the falsest of smiles the moment her eyes met the sight of Sterling entering the tea garden. “Look there, our greedy brother approaches. Stayed for Mrs. Wimpole’s soup, did you, Sterling?”
Sterling sighed inwardly. Grant must have confessed everything. He cast a disapproving glance at his closest brother. “Which of you paid her to poison me, eh?” His gaze circled the small tea table his brothers and sisters had gathered around.
Priscilla grinned.
The sweet scent of the yellow-centered climbing roses skirting a hawthorn fence around the tea garden was as cloying as his sister’s smile. “So you’ve heard.” He pinned Grant with his gaze. “My thanks, brother, for sparing me the difficult task of confessing my use of our allowance.” He focused on each of them for the briefest of moments, gauging as best he could their individual judgments of him.
“Sterling—” Grant raised his finger and fluttered it before his lips, but his meaning was taken too late.
Siusan came to her feet. “Our allowance?” She slapped her palm upon the table, making the dishes of tea rattle on their saucers. “Y-you wagered our allowance?”
The color from Ivy’s rosy cheeks drained away. “Sterling, do tell us it isna true!”
He turned his gaze to Grant, who winced sympathetically. “Sterling, I did not tell them anything. But you’re in it now.”
Sterling clamped his mouth closed.
Bluidy hell
.
Killian shot to his feet, but Priscilla caught his sleeve and drew him back into his chair. Killian leaned forward over his tea and ground out his words. “Did you think we would not hear of this wager? All of bleeding London is chattering about it. Everyone of breeding wants a piece of your wager. Everyone.”
Hearing that, Sterling felt oddly proud. It was a good bet. It would seem a sure thing. Only he knew better. “The bet was placed—” He quieted for a moment and glanced around them to remind them all that they were not in a place to discuss the secret wager. “I
heard
the bet was placed anonymously.” He dropped his voice to the slightest of whispers. “That a
percentage
of the stake was required for White’s to allow such a large wager by an unknown bettor.”
Killian’s teeth were clenched. “London Society may not have an inkling who would have placed such an audacious wager, but you are our brother. Though this is leagues beyond what we would have believed you capable of, Sterling, the moment we learned of the wager we knew its source.”
“Only we didn’t know you posted what little portion our father provided us to live.” Priscilla patted Killian’s arm, the way she always did to calm him when ire was about to consume him.
Sterling scanned those at the table. Lachlan alone was smiling.
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