Chapter Two

Berkley Square, London

"You should have seen his face when I won the hand of cards and took his money. He was so puffed up and red it looked like he was about to combust." General Warsham put down his knife and fork, raised a glass of red wine to his lips, and took a long, satisfying gulp. "Superb, truly superb," he said, motioning to his servant to top up his glass.

"I don't find that at all funny, William." Mrs. Warsham dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "I thought you agreed to keep out of Sir Benedict's way. You promised not to reignite this ridiculous feud. I don't want Hugh dragged into this argument that saw us banished from England for five and twenty years."

Seated across from his mother and to his father's right, Hugh Warsham chewed on a tender piece of lamb and sighed. He wasn't surprised to hear that his father was going around London reigniting ancient feuds. He'd never understood the man's thirst for battle and confrontation. But he supposed that was the personality one needed to possess in order to succeed in the military as his father had done.

"Banished? What are you talking about? That pimple Rose never had the power to banish me!" General Warsham thundered. "I left for India on my own accord. My country needed me, so I went to defend her."

"I'm not joking, William. How do you expect our son to secure a wife if people start gossiping again? You know what my father's will says. Hugh only receives his full inheritance when he marries."

"By restoring honor with a dual!" General Warsham said, and Hugh had no doubt he meant it.

Hugh despised violence, which clearly disappointed his father, who'd encouraged him to follow in his footsteps and join the army the minute he'd completed his degree at Cambridge. But that was never going to happen. Boarding school had been enough of a battlefield for him. He'd had to defend his mother's honor many times. Boys called her filthy names because she'd eloped with his father whilst betrothed to another man, the same man with whom his father was now determined to go to war. Hadn't his mother endured enough already? She'd risked her good name eloping with him, lost the love of her father, and to top it off, her husband had been away in battle most of the time, while she had sat alone at home in India, her friends and family back in London, and her only son away at school. It wasn't a life he wanted for his future wife and children, nor himself. When he married, he'd have the close, nurturing family for which he'd always wished.

"What do you say to that, son?" General Warsham's voice boomed from across the table, startling Hugh out of his reverie.

"To what, sir?" Hugh looked up.

"A dual, son! A dual!" General Warsham sang. "That blackguard all but insinuated I cheated. I would have taken him to a back room and challenged him there and then if he hadn't started sputtering and gasping, like a—" General Warsham suddenly gasped himself as he turned pale and clutched at his chest.

"Good Lord!" Mrs. Warsham cried.

Hugh pushed back his seat and raced to his father's side.

General Warsham held up a hand to stop him from approaching. "I'm fine." He pounded his chest with his fist. "It's this blasted lamb. Too tough to swallow. A piece got stuck in my throat, that's all. Take it away!" he commanded, and a footman stepped forward to remove the plate.

Hugh glanced at his mother. They'd both been eating the lamb and knew full well it was as tender as butter.

General Warsham wiped his mouth with his napkin, threw it back on the table, and stood up. "You need to have a conversation with the cook, my dear. Now if you'll excuse me. I'm going to my study." He walked stiffly out of the dining room, a sign that his wounded leg was giving him trouble.

Mrs. Warsham shook her head as she watched her husband go, and the pained look on her face distressed Hugh.

"Don't fret, Mother. He'll forget all about this nonsense soon enough."

"No, Hugh. I'm certain he will not. Because your father likes to win, and he will not stop until he does—even if victory takes five and twenty years!"

Hugh sighed. He hated to see his mother so upset. She'd been thrilled when his father had retired from the army, and she could finally return to London to enjoy a bit of a social life again. But all that would vanish if Papa ruined everything by scratching old wounds and reigniting old feuds.

"Sir." The butler entered the dining room. "Your cab awaits you outside."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Stuart." He'd almost forgotten that he'd agreed to meet his friend Brunswick for a game of cards. "Will you be all right, Mama?" he asked.

"Of course, dear." She seemed to force the smile that appeared on her face. "Where are you off to tonight? The theatre, perhaps?"

"No. Nothing that glamorous. Just down to Cleveland Row for a game of cards." He bit back his words as soon as he'd spoken them. He'd not meant to let it slip that he was going to the Black Widow of Whitehall's notorious gaming den on Cleveland Row. But perhaps his mother wouldn't make the association—after all, she had only been in London a few weeks since her return to England several months ago, and what did a married woman of her age know of gaming dens?

Hugh himself had only recently started frequenting the place and felt unsettled about how much he enjoyed being there. It was a most unusual establishment that played by its own rules, and he liked the sense of reckless freedom it gave him.

Only a few months ago, he'd been an aspiring barrister and student at Gray's Inn. After graduating from Cambridge, he'd been filled with ambition for his future but, not wanting to follow in his father's footsteps and enter the military, he'd pursued a career in law. The study of law had taken up all of his time. He'd spent long days—and often long nights—digesting all he could about legislation. It took only a few weeks to discover that he hated it.

Still, he persevered for two long years. It had not been easy to get a recommendation and secure a place at the Inns of Court, and he could not face starting anew elsewhere. Then he'd received news of his inheritance—a surprise that seemed like a gift from the gods. He'd never known his grandfather, a wealthy baronet with a large fortune, because he'd disowned Hugh's mother after she'd eloped with his father. Neither Hugh nor his mother had ever expected to inherit a penny. Yet, the man who'd so wronged his daughter and never taken the time to know his own grandson had made amends in death and saved him from a life of drudgery with only one small stipulation. The bulk of his inheritance would come after he married. Still, Hugh was in no rush. The portion he'd already received had given him a freedom he'd never dreamed possible. And he could not have been more grateful.

"Did you hear me, Hugh?" Mrs. Warsham said, pulling Hugh back to the present.

"Sorry, Mother. What did you say?"

"I said, are you talking about the Lyon's Den owned by that notorious matchmaker called the Black Widow of Whitehall?"

Hugh swallowed. How on earth did his mother know about the Black Widow of Whitehall and her gaming hell?

As though she'd read his thoughts, his mother's lips curved into a smile. "Just because I've been in India, it doesn't mean I don't know what's been happening in London. I've retained a few friends who've corresponded faithfully with me over the years, filling me in on all the gossip."

Hugh's heart ached for his mother. How lonely she must have been, living vicariously through letters. He cleared his throat. "Yes, that's the place. But you needn't worry; I haven't engaged the widow's services. I only go for the camaraderie and the card games," Hugh said, although it wasn't quite the truth. He hadn't formally engaged the Black Widow of Whitehall's services but knew the risk of being at her establishment. He was a man coming into possession of a large fortune, and she was a woman who made it her business to match the desperate, and oftentimes the disreputable, with the wealthy.

But society judged people too harshly, in his opinion. For years, his mother had been condemned as disreputable simply for following her heart. He didn't believe in judging others without first hearing their side of the story.

"Do take care," his mother said.

Hugh smiled. "You don't have to worry about me, Mother. I am quite capable of looking after myself."

"I know you are," she said, but he could see that her mind had gone elsewhere. "Now off with you. You're a young man, and you should go and enjoy yourself."

"Are you certain you will be all right?"

"Quite certain," she said, her tone now considerably lighter. "I feel much better already. In fact, I think I'll write a letter to an old friend before I retire to bed. I've been meaning to call on her, and tomorrow will be the perfect day for us to meet."

"That's precisely what you should be doing. Enjoy having tea with friends instead of fretting about me and Papa. We'll both be perfectly fine, I promise." He kissed his mother on the forehead and whistled as he exited the house.