Page 36 of The Fortune Hunter’s Gamble

“Half-sisters,” Starria said by way of explanation, as she, Tressie, and Selene all shared glossy light brown skin, while Judith’s complexion was the color of cream.

“The Marchioness of Arendale is the one who sings, is she not?” Sophronia cut her egg into quarters. “My husband was an avid fan. We attended several of her performances early in our marriage. The Lark of Arendale, they called her.”

“Or The Arendale Nightingale,” Tressie said. “She has many names, but yes, she is our sister by marriage.”

“How splendid to have a noted celebrity in the family.”

“It is, until one wishes a bit of quiet, and there goes Lucasta by, singing.” Starria smiled to show this was no burden.

“And how does your husband feel about your visiting the Albion?” Selene inquired. When Judith clicked her tongue in a scold, the younger girl simply shrugged. “Tell me if I am too bold for asking. Is he in the men’s rooms?”

“Mr. Hinton is buried in Hungerford, where I am hoping to turn our enormous house into a girls’ school,” Sophronia said, surprised at the ease she felt in the company of these sisters, as unfussy and straightforward as herself. The more she could speak about her dream, perhaps the better chance she had to make it a reality.

“In that case you must talk to Lady Arendale,” Tressie said. “She is a great supporter of the girls’ school in Bath she attended.”

“Miss Gregoire’s. We have all attended,” Selene said. “Even Jude, though she was quite advanced in years at the time.”

“Hush, infant,” Lady Judith said in a fond tone. “Rebuke me, Mrs. Hinton, if I, like Selene, am being too forward, but do you have any connection to Hinton’s bank?”

“That was my husband’s family business, now passed to his partners, who are reluctant to distribute the funds I require for my initial investment in my school.” Sophronia stabbed a cucumber with her fork.

How very unlike her to be so frank with strangers. She must be a bit giddy from hobnobbing with the sisters of a marquess. She had expected she might find a grand lady or two in attendance, but she had certainly not expected to make fast friends. “How did Miss Gregoire find the funds to begin her academy?”

“Legend has it that she swam the Channel with jewels sewn into her petticoats when her family’s land was seized in the Seven Years’ War,” Starria answered. “Though for my own part, I do not think she swam the entire six miles.”

“There is another story that she extorted a great deal of money from the Duke of Newcastle, who was prime minister at the time. Have you anyone you can extort?” Tressie asked.

“The men who control my husband’s bank and my funds,” Sophronia said. “Perhaps I should try my luck in the gambling parlor?”

“You might,” Judith said, “although I advise you to be wary. Our brother Hannibal nearly lost several thousand pounds at the hazard table over the course of several nights. It was only through great luck playing faro with one of the owners, Mr. Rowden, that he won much of it back.”

That name made Sophronia’s skin prickle as if she were being teased with the slender meadowgrasses that grew on the Downs. She felt again the press of his mouth against her knuckles when he kissed her hand in the Panorama. The burn in his eyes when his gaze met hers. The memory of those sensations rose up and overwhelmed her thoughts at the most inconvenient moments.

“Tell me what you think of this Mr. Rowden,” she said. “The owner of the place, you say?”

“One of the owners, more of a junior partner, or so we were told when we inquired,” Tressie answered. “There are other gentleman who conduct the public business. It seems Mr. Rowden takes care of all the rest.”

“Of good family?”

“Nephew to the Baron Denford, and goes about quite a bit with his cousin, the heir.” Starria leaned forward. “His parents died on a trip abroad when he was quite young. Infected by the malaria in southern Italy.”

Sophronia’s heart ached, remembering the young Rowden she’d met, wild with a grief that answered her own. Their friendship had become the mothering each lacked, though they possessed the most estimable of aunts, each of them.

“A tragedy that would leave a scar on anyone,” Sophronia murmured.

Selene shrugged. “None of us remember our father, and I think we are the better for it.”

“Hush, morsel,” Tressie said, cutting a glance at Lady Judith.

“She may be right about that,” Lady Judith said with unruffled composure. “Mr. Rowden is described as quite handsome.”

“That he is,” Sophronia said. “If you like a man who is overly tall, with a rather grim shape to his jaw and an arrogant set to his shoulders. There are men who are unaware of their own attractions, and then the men who are well aware and use them to their advantage.”

Like Rowden, calculating that kiss to her hand. One kiss that had completely overset her. She had left the Panorama feeling she walked a plank at sea, the landscape tipping back and forth around her. She couldn’t, in those first moments, recall why she was in London, or why she was so concerned about Lily and Giles, and why on earth she had married Henry Hinton.

Starria’s eyes twinkled. “You know him, and you have let us go on? You have tricked us, Mrs. Hinton.”

“My own opinion is biased by long acquaintance, and I am curious to know how he is seen in London,” Sophronia answered honestly. “Is he featured in the satirical prints often?”