He still looked utterly woebegone today.
Delilah stifled a chuckle as she lounged on a chaise in the lavish private parlor where she attended to employee matters and interviewed prospective members. “My offer of a fresh handkerchief still stands, Mr. Kelly, but may I add this is the month of Christmastide. A time to give thanks and be joyful.”
The dapper silver-haired gentleman sighed. “You have ever been my joy, Mrs. Forbes; never have I met a soul with such talent for turning penny into pound. But then you proceed to break my heart and give large sums away. You built a schoolroom, two soup kitchens, and that accommodation for widowed mothers…”
“All causes close to my heart,” she replied firmly.
Indeed they were. After her father was killed in a warehouse accident, she and her mother had been left in dun territory. While Mama worked long hours as a seamstress, more often than not they’d gone hungry in their cold, damp rented room. By a stroke of luck Delilah had met and married Archie Forbes, a prosperous widowed mercer, but less than a year of marital bliss later he’d fallen from his horse as it attempted to leap over a fallen tree branch. Then her exhausted, weak-lunged mother had succumbed to a fever. All alone, with her tears run dry at the staggering losses and a modest bank draft from Archie’s family in her reticule, Delilah had sworn to make her own luck. So she’d sewn a fancy gown, coaxed a loan from Mr. Kelly, and opened the Temple in Golden Square the following year.
But now, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, she had other dreams. Dreams like a spacious home of her own with rose gardens and an orchard rather than rooms above a club. To find a man who wanted Dee Forbes rather than the Mistress of Sin; a man who would share supper beside the fire, support her charitable causes…and fuck her so thoroughly, so dominantly, that afterward she would slumber peacefully in his protective embrace. Perhaps they would travel. Leave London altogether and explore the seaside, the mountains, or the wild moors, even the continent now Napoleon was under British guard and soon to be imprisoned on Saint Helena.
Indeed, a whole new world awaited.
Mr. Kelly sighed again. “I can see you have quite made up your mind. But I hope, no matter what you do, that I may continue to serve. I find myself intensely curious about your next venture, and will even admit a twinge of sadness at the thought of no longer visiting this parlor. Do you know a scandal sheet offered me fifty guineas to reveal the wallpaper color? Ha. As though I would turn for such a paltry sum. A few thousand at least.”
“Your loyalty and discretion is precisely why you shall continue as my banker, sir,” said Delilah, before adding with a reluctant grin, “Also the fact that you refrain from telling me not to worry my pretty head about something.”
“I have a strong sense of self-preservation. The only woman in London who alarms me more is Mrs. Berkley, with her birches and floggers. How I managed to secure the accounts of not one but two proprietors of scandalous establishments, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“You are a fortunate man. Theresa and I recently discussed this inarguable fact over a brandy.”
“Which is why I’m so bereft you are selling,” said Mr. Kelly mournfully, as he picked up the signed contract and tucked it into his leather satchel. “But it’s official now. From January first, the Temple will no longer be yours. So enjoy the festive season, stay warm, and do call on me at any time if you require assistance.”
“Thank you. For everything. Delilah’s Temple wouldn’t have existed without you.”
He stood and offered one of his rare smiles. “I knew you would succeed. Some people have that air about them. Good evening, Mrs. Forbes.”
After her banker departed, Delilah leaned back on the padded chaise and reveled in the delicious warmth and comforting crackle of the fire, and the pleasant scents of beeswax candles and pot pourri. All were reminders of how far she had come; never would she take her wealth for granted, or deny herself a pleasure. In January she would stay in Cheapside with her oldest and dearest friend Naomi until she purchased a new house, and while she would indeed return in triumph, it would be strange to once again hear the nightly curfew peal of the Bow bells. There, nine o’clock ended a working day for many. Here at Delilah’s Temple, the doors opened to begin it.
Eventually, she forced herself to check the time. Nearly seven. Supper would be served shortly, after which the staff would make their last rounds of the rooms downstairs to ensure all was perfect for their patrons when the club opened.
A delicate throat clearing interrupted her reverie and she turned to see one of her maids hovering at the parlor door.
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but, ah, there is a gentleman here to see you.”
Delilah’s brow furrowed. “Who? I only expected Mr. Kelly this evening.”
“You won’t believe me. I hardly believe it myself. It’s Humdrum Tun!”
She sent the maid a chiding look. “As that nickname is not affectionate or ironic, please refer to him as the Duke of Tunbury. But you’re right, I don’t believe you. There’s as much chance of him appearing on the doorstep as me being crowned Queen of England.”
“I swear His Grace is here, ma’am.”
Delilah sat up. “With a constable? Is he attempting to have us shut down?”
“No. Tunbury says he wants a tour, before everyone else arrives. He even has one of them fancy gold invitations you sent out to all the dukes, marquesses, and earls back when the Temple first opened.”
“Well I never,” she said, blinking in astonishment. “Then please inform the duke I shall be there in a few minutes.”
The maid curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hurrying to the looking glass in her dressing room, Delilah swiftly assessed her appearance. Thankfully the chignon taming her ebony hair remained intact and her sapphire-blue silk gown only had a few wrinkles. Unfortunately, though, her complexion looked a little wan and her blue eyes were shadowed, as she’d had to forgo her usual afternoon nap to read through the final bill of sale. All she could do was splash on some rosewater, pinch her cheeks, and hope for the best, because this particular arrival intrigued her greatly. Tunbury’s sister and brother-in-law were Temple members, but the siblings were as different as two people could be. A desperate shame, for she’d heard the duke was rather handsome.
With one last glance in the mirror, Delilah straightened her shoulders and made her way downstairs to the entrance hall.
“Your Grace,” she said crisply as her heels clicked on the polished marble floor. “What a pleasure.”
Tunbury turned from his position near the fireplace, and Delilah almost gasped. Good gracious. Rather handsome did not even begin to describe this devastatingly attractive young duke; so tall and broad shouldered, with thick brown hair, winter-pale skin, and eyes the silver of a rainstorm. Not even the overly austere black jacket and trousers, starched cravat, and plain waistcoat he wore could detract from those good looks.
But what was a man with such a stuffed shirt reputation doing here?
Delilah’s Temple—and its owner—were both entirely unexpected.
Bennett swallowed hard. After several trustee lectures railing against sin and this club in particular, his mind had conjured up nonsense like rooms decorated with stained red velvet and garish gold leaf, where intoxicated staff and guests stumbled around wearing little more than shoes and a smile. But the entrance hall was spotlessly clean and elegant as any grand townhouse, with cream wallpaper, wood paneling, and flecked marble floor. A shimmering crystal chandelier heavy with candles lit up the space bright as day, and one wall sported a board specifying the club rules and activities available.