âItâs very simple,â Octavia explained, taking a deep breath. The carriage chose that moment to hit a rut, and so she fell against the side, grasping the edge of the velvet-covered seat. âIâll take care of everything.â She spoke with her usual confidence, though she did not feel her usual confidence. But perhaps that was just due to the shaking carriage. âIâll arrange the selling of the house, and its contents. We should be able to get a substantial amount of money.â
No response from her companion. To be expected, she supposed.
âThe money will go toward paying what I owe Mr. Higgins.â She scowled as she thought about him; sheâd done research when she was considering borrowing money, and he did offer relatively reasonable interest rates (for a moneylender), but he also offered extremely prompt retribution if his funds were not paid in full on time.
Sheâd already received two visits from the gentleman himself, assuring her he would break all her limbs and ruin her life if she didnât make up for the payment sheâd already missed.
Or perhaps it was the other way aroundâruin her life and then break all her limbs.
âAnd which of my limbs will he break first?â she asked. Again, no response. âIf he means to break one of my arms, then that would be difficult, but not impossible. The leg, now, that would be trickier. I can learn to write with the opposite hand, if need be,â she explained. âBut moving about on only one leg could prove problematic.â She gave an annoyed huff. âWhat was I to do?â she asked, holding her hands out in supplication. âI believed I saw an opportunity, and if I see an opportunity, I should take it. Despite the risk.â
Since Octavia was part owner of and ran a gambling house, it stood to reason she would take a riskâa gamble, if she was being coyâwhen she was so certain the reward would be worth it. Hence the debt.
âIt should be simple,â she repeated, lifting her chin defiantly. Which made her bonnet hit the back of the carriage, sending it tilting over her eye. She straightened it with a fierce gesture. âFather left a will, and with a little searching, I should be able to find it.â
It was at this point that Ivy, Octaviaâs sister, would usually point out some flaw in Octaviaâs plan.
For instance, she would point out that they hadnât seen or communicated with their father for over five years, so they had no idea what the house and its contents might look like; that Octavia shouldnât bother about their fatherâs holdings since the sisters were doing all right on their own; that they knew their father had died only because Ivy had chanced to see a paper from their village in Somerset sharing the news.
If Octavia was currently speaking to her sister, that is.
But she wasnât. And it wasnât that there was a disagreement between them; Ivy and Octavia got along exceedingly well, remarkable considering that both women had strong opinions.
No, it was because Ivy was not there. Instead of being in London, where the sisters had lived for the past six or seven years, Octavia was sitting in a well-appointed carriage bouncing on the road to Greensett, a place she hadnât been to since she was fourteen years old.
âYou are a much better listener,â she said in a soothing voice to her companion. If Ivy had been there, Octavia would not have been able to speak at length for such a long time. Ivy was presumably safe at home with her husband, unaware of Octaviaâs departure. Ivy and Octavia were close, but Ivy was generally too busy to check on Octaviaâs whereabouts more than once a month, so she might never know.
Her companion was Cerberus, her Italian mastiff, who slept on the opposite seat, a distinct circle of drool marking the velvet upholstery. Theoretically, she was speaking to him, but since he was asleep as well as being canine, she couldnât expect a response. Though she would have welcomed one.
She had spoken to Ivy earlier that day, but she had not said anything she was saying now. Her sister had arrived early that morning to share the news about their fatherâs deathâdiscovered by accident in a newspaper Ivy had intended to use for her and her own familyâs dogsâand Octavia had listened, which was rare.
Usually, Octavia spoke and Ivy tried to interrupt.
The sisters had cried together, remembering a time when their father hadnât put his own passion for gambling ahead of his family. Long before the estrangement. When Father promised them heâd always have a home for them, even when his fortunes were low.
Theyâd cried because of what they had lost, and would never have now: a father who loved them. Who cared for them.
And then theyâd wiped their tears, and a plan had begun to unfurl in Octaviaâs mind. Heâd promised them heâd always have a home for them. That had to still be true.
Mr. Holton had died just a month before. Although he and his daughters were estranged, Octaviaâs fellow gambling club owners and workers kept her apprised of her fatherâs activities. Just a few months earlier, sheâd heard heâd bet on a race between a cow and a frogâshe hadnât heard whoâd won, but the very nature of the wager made her appreciate her older sister Ivyâs taking Octavia away from their fatherâs household. But perhaps his luck had changed; there was no telling what might be in the house. Never mind that the house itself was also valuable.
What if, by his death, he was finally able to do something good for his daughters?
What if she were to go to Greensett herself and see what heâd left to her and Ivy? It would remove her from London, out of Mr. Higginsâs reach, and it would definitely yield some money, hopefully enough that Ivy might never know of Octaviaâs risky venture. Sheâd pay Mr. Higgins back without anyone being the wiser.
Octavia had originally wanted the money to make improvements to the gambling club she and Ivy co-owned. The club was making money, true, but Octavia believed it could make so much more, given proper investment. And at first the new tables, expanded playing rooms, and additional personnel had increased revenue.
But then the business faltered thanks to a combination of horrible weather and a distracting political crisis, and Octavia was staring at the possibility of being broken-limbed and ruined.
Or the other way around. She wasnât certain.
âIt will be fine,â she assured her still-sleeping dog. âFather left a will. And we will inherit everything. Iâll be able to scrape up enough to pay Mr. Higgins. Just the house itself should take care of it. Ivy never has to hear of this.â She spoke with a confidence she told herself she felt.
Cerberus opened his eyes, looked at her, and promptly went back to sleep.
âI would have thought feeding you would count for some loyalty,â she said with a smile, leaning forward to pat Cerberusâs head. He only made a low woof and shifted on the seat.
She leaned back against the seat cushion and gazed out the window, wishing she could be there right now rather than in five hours.
Patience was not her strong suit. Nor was caution. Nor, for that matter, doing anything but being her obstinate self.
A benefit when it came to being a woman in a field usually reserved for men, but not so much when it came to navigating life in a rural village.
Thank goodness she had been able to get out of London so quicklyâshe had recalled that her frequent, and frequently losing, customer Lady Montague was sending her carriage to fetch her niece from school. It was only a matter of asking the good-natured lady to have her carriage make a tiny detour to drop Octavia off before picking the niece up. And since this carriage was Lady Montagueâs second bestâthe best was with the lady herselfâit wouldnât inconvenience her client at all.
Which meant she had no way of returning if she needed to get back just as fast.
But she didnât anticipate any trouble once she arrived.
She never did.
Gabriel raked his hands through his hair as he surveyed the chaos that was his new house.
Mr. Holton had died close to a month ago, but Gabriel had been busy sorting out the details of his own fatherâs estate, who had died only a few days before Mr. Holton.
Like Mr. Holton, Gabrielâs father, Mr. Fallon, was a gambler. Unlike Mr. Holton, however, Mr. Fallon was very, very lucky. Heâd transformed his modest holdings into a vast network of property, liquid assets, shares in a variety of companies, and several items that couldnât be assessed properly because they were unique.
Something brushed against his calf, and Gabriel looked down and smiled. âI know youâre hungry,â he said to Nyx, one of the unique items. She yipped in reply, then trotted off to sniff the leg of a chair whose upholstery had faded to an unpleasant brownish-gray color.
A tiny, fluffy Pomeranian, Nyx had been part of a parcel his father had won four years earlier. Mr. Fallon hadnât wanted to keep the dog, but Gabriel had hidden her in his satchel and brought her back to school. By the time Mr. Fallon discovered his sonâs duplicity, it was too lateâNyx was already a favorite at Gabrielâs boarding school, and Mr. Fallon valued his access to Gabrielâs schoolmatesâ parents, so he couldnât just get rid of her.
âThose lords are always easy to fleece,â heâd confided to Gabriel during one of the rare occasions heâd spoken to his son. âThink they will win just because of who they are.â He snorted. âWhen itâs what they do and how they play that makes all the difference.â
As parental advice it wasnât much to go on, but Gabriel had embraced it, determined to make himself into someone who would succeed by his actions, even though his origins were merely respectable, at best, and infamous, at worst, thanks to his fatherâs machinations.
And the final machination before heâd died had been to win Mr. Holtonâs house. Heâd tried for years to best the other man, at one time even winning his daughter in a bet, but losing to that very sam...
