“Vivian surprised me by returning to the bedchamber before I could change into a serviceable gown. I had to jump under my coverlet in the gown I’d worn to supper, slippers and all. I was sure Viv would notice, but she didn’t. She was so busy droning on about the man she wishes to wed—Lord Asterly—that she was oblivious to the large lump my slippers made under my coverlet.”
“What does your sister coming into your bedchamber have to do with your being unable to change?” Blythe asked as she steered the carriage toward Covent Garden.
“We share a bedchamber, first of all. And second—” Freddy paused to grab the railing on the side of the carriage as they hit a bump. “—Ever since Viv decided she’s in love with Lord Perfectly Boring, she’s become quite the nuisance.”
“How?”
“She’s now a strict rule follower, whereas before she followed them only loosely. She even threatened to tell our parents if I didn’t cease myimproperbehavior—her words not mine—until after she’s good and wed. She made me vow it. She says a scandal surrounding me would taint her unfairly, and Lord Asterly’s family has their noses turned up so high, I’m surprised the lot of them don’t drown when it rains.”
Freddy’s stomach tightened, thinking upon her sister while shadowy trees and rows of townhomes blurred by. Vivian’s attitude was just the latest in a string of changes. Her eldest sister, Guinevere, had wed and now had children, and her dear friends Lilias and Constantine had also wed and started families. Those four had tolerated Freddy’s differences more than anyone, though she knew well that her boisterousness and bluntness embarrassed them sometimes. Yet, when they had started their secret society, the Society of Ladies Against Rogues, it had seemed Freddy might have found a small place in her world where she belonged. But SLAR was all but defunct now, the other women too busy for missions, leaving Freddy alone and lonely. They had all changed, though each of them had suited thetonmuch better than Freddy ever had hope to.
“Your sister said that nose thing about the family of the man she wants to wed?” Blythe asked, breaking the silence.
“No, I said that part. Anyway, if I’d tried to put on a sensible gown, Vivian would have questioned why I was doing so and then tattled on me. I didn’t dare attempt to change after she fell asleep for fear of waking her up.”
Blythe nodded. “Did you have a chance to look at the reports I gave you?” she asked, changing the subject as the carriage rattled over a bridge.
“Oh, yes, I finished them. There’s a shortage in the rent column by thirty-five pounds, and your brother really needs to find a better supplier of whisky. The one he currently uses is swindling him. I did some research, and he’s paying precisely twenty-five pounds too much a month.”
“I know,” Blythe said, her tone heavy with humor.
“You know?” Freddy frowned. “Whyever did you give me that report to look over if you already knew your brother was being fleeced? That took me several hours!”
“Is that all?”
The strangest feeling blossomed in Freddy at the amazement in Blythe’s voice. It took her a moment to puzzle out what the fullness in her chest was—pride. She was proud that Blythe was amazed at her mathematical abilities, and if she did say so herself, her detection skills were not bad at all, either. She realized, sitting there in the carriage as they bumped down the road, she’d never truly felt accomplished. Awkward, yes. Accomplished, no.
Freddy had to suck in her lips to keep from grinning like an idiot. “I’m fairly good with numbers, as I mentioned.” Actually, she could see numbers and how they worked together clearly and easily in her head, but she suspected Blythe might think she was boasting if she said so. “Why did you give me those reports to look through if you already knew that?”
“Don’t be thickskulled. It was a test to see if you’re ready to take over my job at the Orcus Society.”
A thrill shot through Freddy at the thought of being gainfully employed at the well-known gaming club. “Did you speak with your brother, then?”
“No, not yet. I was too busy ensuring he’d be occupied tonight so we could aid Belle without his knowing. If Gabe finds out about our work helping Cyprians, he’ll put a stop to it. He hovers over me and frets over my safety worse than any mother.”
“I doubt that,” Freddy said, thinking of her own overbearing mother.
“Tonight actually worked out perfectly. Gabe has challenged Lord Brooke to a fight after he heard news that Brooke had beaten Belle, sobothmen will be occupied.”
“That does work out nicely,” Freddy murmured, fighting her disappointment that Blythe hadn’t spoken to her brother yet on Freddy’s behalf. There’d be no job there if Mr. Beckford did not approve. He was half owner of the club, and though Guinevere was wed to his silent partner, the Duke of Carrington, Mr. Beckford made the decisions about whom to hire. Guinevere had told Freddy as much when she’d inquired rather slyly about it after Blythe had proposed Freddy assume the role of bookkeeper so that Blythe could concentrate on learning to act like a lady.
Freddy had to get Mr. Beckford on her side, because she feared Guinevere would try to stop her from leaving thetonby persuading Carrington to tell Mr. Beckford not to offer Freddy employment. Guinevere seemed to care more than she used to about causing scandal now that she had her own children.
“I’ll speak to him,” Blythe said, her tone reassuring. “I had to make certain you could do the job after just a month of instruction. If you didn’t notice and question why the figure for whisky was so high, then you didn’t possess the sense to be a bookkeeper. The job is more than just being good with numbers. It’s curiosity, an ability to puzzle things out, and you can’t be afraid to face Gabe.”
“I’m not afraid of your brother,” Freddy said. A recollection of the man she’d met under most unusual circumstances popped into her head. Mr. Beckford may have been known as the King of the Underworld, a title that she suspected he had claimed to instill fear in his competitors, but he had compassion.
“Really?” Blythe sounded amazed. “Most people are.”
“I’m not most people.” She wasn’t trying to be smug; it was the simple truth. She was different, to the consternation of almost everyone she knew. She didn’t possess an appropriate amount of fear, according to Mama, but Freddy didn’t think she needed to fear Mr. Beckford. She’d seen the compassion in his eyes when they’d met six months ago and he’d been staring down at her after she’d awoken in a strange place, then asked her if she was all right. He hadn’t known her at all, but he’d been concerned. She’d heard it in his voice again when he’d promised her that he’d find the men who had knocked her in the head, stolen her carriage, and left her on the street in the rookery for all sorts of terrible things to happen to her.
He’d been angry. Of course, some of his anger had been directed at her. He’d lectured her on coming to the rookery on a mission and told her she had no business there, even after she’d explained to him about SLAR. That, in fact, seemed to vex him more.
“That’s true enough,” Blythe said. “I grant you’re rather unique, but don’t assume that you know my brother. You met him face-to-face only once, and watching him a few times in the cellar boxing ring of the Orcus Society does not mean you know him. You didn’t even speak to him those other times, and he didn’t know you were there.”
Freddy narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“He’ll drill you if you raise a suspicion, such as someone swindling him.”
