She was on her third biscuit when the door slid open again. She brushed off her fingers, blotted at her mouth with the embroidered napkin, and prepared to do battle.
The woman who entered the room was dressed as richly as anyone in the upper echelons of London society. In fact, Ellen was quite sure that she had seen a similar pattern from her own dressmaker. The woman’s gown was perhaps a little much for afternoon wear, but since it was only an hour or two before dinner, she could be excused.
Her hair was blond, perfectly coiffed, in an ornate style that would have required a talented lady’s maid to arrange.
Abigail was not quite as skilled, but Ellen made do with her inadequacies. After all, she herself wasn’t perfect. Why should she require her staff to be without flaws?
Given that this woman’s dress was immaculate and her hair was without criticism, it didn’t seem quite fair that her figure was shapely, and her face . . . Well, the woman was of a certain age, that was without doubt. Yet she was still strikingly beautiful.
Ellen immediately fell victim to a surge of jealousy, supplanted by the wish that she had tried more with her own toilette before arriving here.
Who knew that she would be meeting Helen of Troy?
“I do apologize for keeping you waiting. We had a situation that required my presence, otherwise I would not have been so rude. Please, forgive me.”
The woman floated across the room and sat at the end of the settee opposite Ellen. Each gesture was made with grace and delicacy. No doubt everything the woman did was performed in exactly the same way.
Ellen was without words. She wanted to tell the woman that she was expecting the owner of the Mayfair Club, someone hopefully ugly. She would very much like to see a normal human being in the next few minutes.
However, before she could form a word, the goddess spoke again.
“Oh, I’m so glad that you served yourself some tea. Should I call for some more hot water?”
Ellen shook her head dumbly, since the power of speech had not yet returned to her.
“The currant biscuits are my favorite, too.”
“Who are you?” Ellen asked.
Speech had returned to her, yet it was shrouded in rudeness. She wanted to call back the words the minute they were uttered, but the woman opposite her only smiled.
“We have started wrong, haven’t we? I’m Maggie Boyland. I know you were expecting the owner, but unfortunately he’s been called out of town. I manage the Mayfair Club, and I thought that I might be able to assist you in some way.”
Ellen reached for another biscuit, not because she wanted one, but she needed to do something other than stare at the woman. She had never heard of such a thing. A woman, managing the Mayfair Club. She didn’t quite know what to think. Of course, to manage such a successful establishment would require brains, charm, and a great many other attributes, some of which Ellen was certain she didn’t know or understand.
Would you have to be good at gambling yourself? Certainly you would need to know something about cards and card players, for that matter.
Ellen was subjected to a sweeping inspection.
What did Miss Boyland see when she looked at her? A woman past her prime, no doubt. Fashionably dressed, with enough jewels on her rings to give the impression of wealth, certainly. Someone who did not get out often, because she had been tongue-tied ever since the woman entered the room.
Of the two of them, Maggie was the more polite, not to mention eloquent.
Ellen had never felt as out of her element as she did now.
She finished the biscuit, placed the plate back on the tray, then used the napkin to blot her mouth once more.
“I have been exceedingly coarse,” she said. “Please let me convey my apologies. Perhaps we can attribute my boorishness to the errand itself. I am at a loss and I need your help, Miss Boyland.”
“How can I help you?”
“I’m a friend of the Adaire family. It’s because of that fact that I’m here now.”
Maggie reached for a currant biscuit and nibbled it delicately as she listened. The woman didn’t have a crumb on her.
“I understand that Harrison Adaire is a member here.”
Maggie did not confirm or deny that fact.
“He needs to come home,” Ellen said, letting her utter disgust for Harrison show. “His wife is about to have their first child, and he hasn’t come back to Scotland in months.”
“What do you expect us to do about that, Mrs. Thornton?”
She waved her hand in the air. “Something. Can’t you tell him that he’s no longer wanted? Can’t you refuse to allow him any more credit?”
Maggie looked momentarily startled before her face fell into perfect lines once again.
“Harrison has always been a lamentable card player,” Ellen said in explanation. “And a gambler, for that matter. If there was one horse destined to come in last, that is the one that Harrison would pick. He cannot wager to save his life, and the only thing that has proven to be an asset for him is the Adaire fortune. You can’t tell me that his luck has changed. I don’t believe it. Luck is the province of fools and beggars.”
Maggie just stared at her.
Ellen continued. “I’ve been told that Harrison is doing everything in his power to diminish that fortune. I do not doubt that you consider him one of your best members, but I also suspect that he owes you quite a bit of money.”
Maggie looked straight at her, blinked twice, then smiled. Such a blinding expression that Ellen almost wanted to close her eyes. Or beg the woman to direct her charm to something else, a far wall, perhaps.
“You’re right. Harrison does owe us quite a bit of money. We have extended him credit, but there’s no worry that we won’t be paid.”
They should worry. Harrison didn’t have the sense God gave an ant.
“I am willing to pay his debts,” Ellen said. “On the condition that you send him home.”
Maggie looked momentarily surprised once more. “How do you suggest that we do that, Mrs. Thornton?”
“Refuse to let him gamble here for a month. If that doesn’t work, rescind his membership.”
“Why on earth would we do that? If we had twenty more Harrisons, we’d be the most successful club in all of England.”
“For decency’s sake?”
Maggie didn’t say anything for a moment, making Ellen wonder if she had pushed too much.
Finally, the other woman nodded, just once.
“He’ll still be responsible for paying his own markers, Mrs. Thornton. I wouldn’t expect you to do that. However, a certain situation did arise concerning one of our hostesses. It would be best, perhaps, if Harrison remained away from the club for a while. Just to let things settle.”
Although she was curious, Ellen told herself not to ask. Harrison was already possessed of a lamentable character. She really didn’t want to know that he’d done something untoward to a young woman. Or even engaged in an adulterous affair.
“So, you will send him home, then?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Will he listen to you?” Unsaid were the words—because you’re a woman.
Maggie smiled again, but this expression was not as amused.
“I speak for the owner. Every member here knows that. If Harrison disputes my words, I do have the ability to throw him out on his ear, earl or not.”