Page 14 of My Highland Rogue
For a moment Gordon was tempted to recite a litany of his accomplishments to his father, but he realized it wouldn’t make any difference.Sean would never acknowledge that he’d done anything right or worthy of praise.
“So, you’ve come back to see me die, is that it?”
Gordon sat back in the chair, knowing that Sean would probably not be surprised by the truth. His father’s illness had been just an excuse. In his heart he knew that he’d come back for one reason. To see if he’d been wrong all this time and McBain had been right.
Had Jennifer loved him as he’d loved her?
Chapter Five
The interior of the Mayfair Club was impressive with its soaring columns and three-story foyer. It reminded Ellen of a Roman bath she’d once seen. Although there wasn’t a pool of water at the base of the columns, all the other details were intact.
She couldn’t hear anything. No indication that this was a place for men to come to ogle women and lose a fortune at gambling. No doubt they were also fed well, and she’d come to understand that there were even living quarters on the upper floors for those who could afford them.
Thanks to Colin’s indefatigable secretary, who had remained in her employ, she’d gotten some advance information about the Mayfair Club. Unfortunately, however, there was little she could discover about its owner. The man, who was rumored—according to her sources—to own various entertainment establishments throughout the city, was cloaked in secrecy.
She was therefore surprised when he agreed to meet with her so readily. Of course, she had mentioned Harrison’s name, title, and the fact that she was a dear friend of the family. She didn’t think it necessary to mention that she was Jennifer’s godmother. Nor that Mary had been her one close friend, someone she mourned every day.
Some things about her life were too important to be used, even as a negotiating point.
She had every intention, however, of putting pressure to bear against the ownership of the Mayfair Club if they refused to cooperate with her. She had no doubt that Harrison had proved to be an exemplary member. Not only had he taken up residence in one of the apartments on the upper floors, but she suspected that he’d lost a great deal of money gambling. Ascending to his father’s title had not granted Harrison any sense.
Before her death, Mary was at her wit’s end about her son. Ellen felt that this errand was more for both her friend and her goddaughter than it was for Harrison’s benefit.
The porter escorted her to a parlor looking out over the street. The walls were thankfully not covered in that dreadful red flocking that was all the rage. Nor was there any indication that the owner of this establishment had an affection for gilt. Instead, this room was tastefully decorated in shades of beige and brown, giving her an indication that it was a masculine retreat.
A maid entered the room, bobbed a curtsy before stepping aside for another maid to enter, laden with a tea tray. Both girls were extraordinarily pretty and although they were dressed as modestly as they might have been in a London household, Ellen couldn’t help but wonder if they had additional attire for the eveninghours. As the sun set was their modesty also put to rest?
She smiled her thanks and watched as they turned and left the room, still speechless. What a very strange encounter. Had they been taught that women were better seen than heard? If so, that was a mark against the owner of the Mayfair Club.
Rather than wait for her host, she served herself some tea as well as two biscuits. Age had something to recommend for it. She truly didn’t care if her waistline expanded a bit. Not too much, of course, but she wasn’t about to turn down a biscuit with currants along with her tea.
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.”
