Lady Pamela and the Gambler (The Merry Misfits of Bath 3)

Prologue

London, England

“She is an embarrassment, David. There is just no way around it. I am humiliated every time she opens her mouth.” Lady Corinne Mulgrave smoothed her deep rose satin gown over her bottom and settled on the sofa in the drawing room, her back straight, her pointed chin thrust forward.

Anticipating an argument, David, the Earl of Mulgrave walked to the sideboard and poured a brandy. “A sherry, my dear?”

“Yes.” His wife placed her delicate folded hands in her lap and waited patiently for the glass. There was really no reason to delay the discussion—argument—so he poured the sherry and brought it over to her, taking his place across from his wife on the comfortable green and white striped chair.

Not his favorite, but then nothing in the room was his favorite. “Pamela is my sister, Corinne. Since Papa died I am her only family. What do you propose I do? Lock her in her room?”

Corinne took a sip of her sherry and hesitated for a moment. “I think Pamela should move out.”

David almost choked on his drink. “Move out? Whatever are you talking about?”

“Your sister is four and twenty years. She should be married by now with her own home, husband and children. She is a burden to us.”

David narrowed his eyes. “Pamela is no burden. She is a sweet young woman who has done nothing to deserve such harsh treatment, to be abandoned by her family.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, David. She will not be ‘abandoned’ I’m suggesting you send her to one of your estates in the country. She would be happier there since she detests Society anyway.”

David oftentimes wondered what happened to the sweet, biddable, demure young girl he married five years before. During their courtship and betrothal, she’d been the epitome of sweet womanhood, all yes David, of course, David, you know best David.

Within a month of their marriage a more unpleasant side to the woman appeared that, although not pleased, he had reconciled himself to.

“I will not put my sister out of my house.”

Corinne placed her glass on the table in front of her and sniffed. “Then I shall leave.”

David waved his hand. “Now you are being the dramatic one. I know you adore London and all its frivolity, so you have no intention of moving to the country.”

She gave a very unladylike snort. “No. I shall not move to the country but lease another residence here in London in which to reside.”

Always aware of his reputation among his peers, blood rushed to David’s face. “You will do no such thing. I won’t have all of London talking about my wife living on her own.” He stood and strode to the sideboard, replenishing his drink.

“Then do something with your sister.” The woman remained cool and calm as she insisted on uprooting his sister.

“For heaven’s sake, Corrine, she only stutters. It’s not like she does anything scandalous.”

“Have you ever had to sit through listening to her converse with other women at a social event? It is painful. I will no longer subject myself to it.” She stood and brushed off her shirt. “I am retiring. I have the beginnings of a megrim. It has been a dreadful night with Pamela stuttering her way through the evening, and I need my rest.” She turned to leave the room and came to an abrupt halt as Pamela passed through the doorway.

Her face was flushed, and her hands were fisted at her side. “Have n-n-no fear, my l-l-lady. I will n-n-no longer t-torture you.” Pamela raised her chin and looked over at her brother. “If y-y-you will be s-s-so kind as t-t-to assist m-m-me in finding a p-p-place to live, I would appreciate it.”

David reached out his hand. “Pamela. Wait.”

She shook her head and hurried back through the doorway.

David turned on his wife. “You are a mean woman, dear wife.” He downed the rest of his brandy, slammed the glass on the sideboard, and strode from the room.