She suppressed the urge to scream to the rafters. In the next moment, her older brother Rafe had arrived, his blond curls framing his face and giving him an angelic air that was decidedly the opposite of the devoted rogue he was.
“Pen?” he asked, seemingly surprised to find her within, at odds with the linen draper.
“Rafe, come here if you please,” she invited, relieved for some aid, “and explain to Mr. Waters why we cannot have inferior table cloths at our establishment. I have brought him here to show him the precise locations of the tables, and he now insists he cannot have the embroidery we require within the next month.”
“Mr. Sutton,” said Mr. Waters, suddenly obsequious. “Perhaps you can provide the voice of reason, sir. Miss Sutton’s demands are, regretfully, nigh impossible to achieve.”
Rake looked from Pen to Mr. Waters. “What’s the problem?”
“I want all the table cloths to be embroidered with a palace,” she explained.
“A palace embroidered on each cloth?” Rafe repeated, passing his hand along his jaw as if contemplating how dear a price such a table linen would fetch.
“Only think how it will set us apart from our competitors,” Pen pointed out, knowing her brother far too well.
“I have all the linens you originally purchased at the ready,” Mr. Waters declared. “But as for the embroidery, I must ask for an increase of price and far more time. I won’t be capable of producing the number requested with the embroidery before you open your establishment, and Miss Sutton refuses to accept this.”
An increase in price? Why, the man put highwaymen and pickpockets to shame. His original price had contained the embroidery! She was sure she had a note back at The Sinner’s Palace to prove it.
“I won’t accept it because your excuse simply isn’t good enough, Mr. Waters,” she told the man firmly. “If you refuse to give us what we need, then we will take our business to someone who will.”
“You ought to consider yourself fortunate to have Waters and Sons linen gracing your tables,” the draper said coldly, directing his words to Rafe, quite as if Pen were not even present in the room.
Oh, to punch the man in his bulbous nose. He would deserve it. And worse. And whilst she was about the task, why not plant Lord Lindsey a facer as well? No man in all London was owed one more!
“We will accept the linens you’ve already agreed to provide, Mr. Waters,” her brother said smoothly.
How dare he?
“We most certainly will not!” Pen snapped, outraged. “Mr. Waters, you can take your pompous airs and your plain tablecloths and stuff them up your—”
“That is enough, Penelope!” Rafe barked, interrupting. “Please excuse my sister, sir. Our order remains the same.”
Flashing his scoundrel’s grin, Rafe hastened to escort Mr. Waters from the room as Pen watched on, feeling ineffectual. Ignored. Utterly worthless in every way.
She had come here to The Sinner’s Palace II to find distraction and validation, and instead, she had found more of the same. More humiliation. More of a man who believed himself her superior looking down his nose at her.
She sniffled, and whether it was the lack of sleep, her broken heart, her frustration with Mr. Waters, or all three, she could not say. But once the tears she had been tamping down ever since she had dried the last bout emerged, she could not stay them. They were running down her cheeks by the time her brother returned.
“What is amiss, Pen?” he asked, arriving at her side.
Her inner turmoil was not entirely her brother’s fault, but he was going to pay for the most recent contribution to it, that was certain.
“How dare you undermine me?” she asked, swiping at her cheeks. “He had the number of tablecloths wrong, and I fail to understand why he cannot provide the embroidery. He asked me where Mr. Sutton was when he arrived.”
A fresh wave of tears punctuated her words, and she did nothing to hide them.
Rafe extracted a handkerchief, offering it to her. “You need to calm yourself, Pen. The tables will be filled regardless of whether or not there is a bit of thread stitched in a palace on them.”
She snatched the scrap of linen from him and dabbed at her cheeks. “Men are nothing but a great bloody lot of arrogant loggerheads!”
“Is this about Lord Aidan Weir, Pen?” he asked.
Lord Aidan? Ha! If only…
“Of course not.” She sniffled. “It’s his brother the haughty arse who…” She caught herself and stayed the rampant flow of words.
No need to tell her protective older brother what had happened. Or anyone else. Ever.
Too late.
Rafe’s brows rose. “His brother? Which one?”
She shook her head. “It hardly matters now. I’ll not be seeing Lord Lindsey again.”
Her brother scowled. “That is for the best, sister.”
“Of course it is,” she agreed, forcing a smile to her lips, because it was for the best, regardless of how much her heart was aching right now. “But never mind his high and mighty lordship. We have a gaming hell to open.”
“Indeed we do, and we’d both do well to keep our minds on The Sinner’s Palace II where they belong,” Rafe said, patting her on the back.
Yes, she would be better served to only think about their new establishment and not at all about the man who had made love to her the night before, only to call it a mistake and tell her he intended to marry someone else.
She inhaled slowly, willing all the pain and hurt away. “Lead the way, brother.”
* * *