Page 38 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Gray straightened. “He was a gambler?”
“Indeed. With him, it was mostly horses.” Even she heard the caustic tone the years of bitterness lent her voice. “He was addicted by the end. He couldn’t bear to know a race was being run anywhere in the country on which he hadn’t wagered. It was ludicrous, the lengths to which he went just to scrape up a few more pounds to lay on the nags. It wasn’t even about winning, by then. It was purely the thrill of having so much riding on the race. The deeper the debt, the greater the risk, and the more fevered he became. The experience became his drug.”
She glanced out of the window, but could feel Gray’s gaze on her face. “You can imagine how relieved Mama and I were that Julius has never shown the slightest sign of being interested in wagering on anything.”
Gray’s gaze shifted.
After a moment, she glanced at him and saw he was staring blankly into space, then he blinked, saw her watching, and offered, “Sometimes, that’s the way of it—personally experiencing the damage gambling does, not just to the gambler but to everyone around him, sends people in the opposite direction.”
“Whatever the reason for Julius’s aversion to gambling, we’re sincerely grateful.”
“Where is James, incidentally?”
“At Eton. That was one thing Julius and I—and Mama—were adamant about, that James has the education and opportunities he should have.”
“Who funds that?”
“Partly Julius, from what is now the earldom’s estate, and partly the business.”
Gray forced himself to think—and to acknowledge how rattled he was. From Therese’s report, he’d assumed the late earl had lost his fortune through poor investments or something of that sort; learning that Izzy’s father had gambled the family more or less into destitution had shaken him to an extent he didn’t want Izzy to see.
He cleared his throat. “If I’ve understood everything correctly, you—with help from Silas Barton—set up the Molyneaux Printing Works andThe London Crierin order to keep your family in the manner to which you’re accustomed.”
She tipped her head from side to side. “That’s partly correct. The income from the printing works pays all the bills for Norfolk Crescent and for Mama, Marietta, and me.” Briefly, she met his eyes. “Even though both Julius and Silas have made standing offers to assist, it’s important to Mama, Marietta, and me that we are not a burden on anyone.”
He had no difficulty believing that and understood the pride underlying the sentiment.
The carriage turned down a narrow service lane bounded by the rear fences of two rows of houses.
“We’re nearly there.” Izzy gathered her reticule and shifted forward on the seat.
The carriage drew up beside the rear gate of a property. Gray leaned across, opened the door, and stepped down to the lane, glanced briefly around, then handed Izzy down. “Number twenty, Woburn Square, I take it.”
“Indeed.” She led the way through the gate and up the garden path.
Following her, Gray closed the gate and heard the carriage rattle away. “What happens with the carriage?”
“Fields drives to a nearby livery stable and leaves the horse and carriage there for the day, then returns here and helps out about the house until I’m ready to leave for home again.”
He glanced at the houses on either side as he drew level with Izzy, who had paused on the back step. “What do the neighbors think of your visits?”
“Doyle, Mrs. Carruthers’s housekeeper, is friendly with the housekeepers on either side. Apparently, everyone around believes I’m a very devoted friend.”
Gray said nothing more, but followed her through the back door into a cozy kitchen.
There, he found himself introduced as Lord Child to the Carruthers staff—a surprised-looking Doyle, Millie the cook, and a young scamp called Freddy. All three regarded him warily, but seemed to accept Izzy’s airy explanation that he was helping her with business.
He was then led to a breakfast parlor where he was presented to an ancient old lady. She examined him through shrewd blue eyes and, when Izzy explained his presence, simply nodded and stated, “Good.”
With that, she waved them off. “I know you have to hurry, my dear. You can tell me more this evening.”
Gray felt Mrs. Carruthers’s gaze dwelling on him as he fell in behind Izzy. Even on such abbreviated acquaintance, he’d received the distinct impression that the old lady was very fond of Izzy and, moreover, was nobody’s fool.
They left through the front door and, at a brisk pace, set out for the printing works. He glanced around, noting how very few denizens of the neighborhood were in evidence.
Izzy threw him a glance. “It’s a very quiet and genteel neighborhood. At the times I tend to go in and out, there’s rarely any people about.”
He was starting to appreciate just how well organized the subterfuge truly was—how canny Silas Barton had been in arranging for Izzy to use the Carruthers house.
