CHAPTER13
Pen bid a good morrow to the painters plying their trade in the main entrance of The Sinner’s Palace II, the club she and her siblings were opening in the West End. Her voice did not even crack, which pleased her mightily. If any of the workers suspected she had spent the entire evening in tears, or that her heart had been ground beneath the Hessians of a diabolically handsome viscount the night before, they were too wise to comment upon it.
She breezed by them, feigning calm when inside, she was a storm-tossed sea. She had not slept. When she had finally given in to her restlessness at dawn and splashed water on her face to cool her swollen eyes and heated cheeks, she had determined that continuing on the ledgers would not do for distraction today. Fortunately, she had more work to keep her mind and hands busy here at the new club.
As the eldest sister who was not occupied with a husband, the task of decorating had fallen to Pen’s discretion. She had been initially resentful over the additional responsibilities. Her sister Caroline was happily married to Gavin Winter, the famed prizefighter, and was only called upon for her healing talents. Lily was the youngest and thoroughly cossetted. Her brother Jasper’s wife was occupied with seeing to her nieces’ welfare, and none of her other brothers were yet wed, though she suspected her brother Rafe’s diminished presence at The Sinner’s Palace II heralded a coming change.
It all left Pen to see about such details as linens, paints, and wall hangings at the new club. And she was throwing herself into the duty awaiting her with enthusiasm and a desperate need to forget all about Lord Lindsey.
And forget him, she would.
If it was the last thing she did.
Casting an eye about to make certain the paint colors looked well enough in the main hall, she was soon interrupted.
“Miss Sutton?”
Pen turned to find one of the guards from The Sinner’s Palace who was on duty directing the tradesmen this morning approaching her.
“Bennet,” she greeted, pleased for further distraction, even if she did not feel at all like smiling when she forced her mouth into some semblance of the gesture. “I have missed seeing you at The Sinner’s Palace these last few days.”
He grunted. “I was there yesterday, miss.”
Oh dear.
“Forgive me,” she said, and then could have winced for the manner in which she seemed to unintentionally be parroting the viscount’s words the night before. “I do recall seeing you there, now that you mention it.”
In truth, she did not, but she felt it imperative to treat everyone in her family’s employ at The Sinner’s Palace as if they were an extension of the Suttons. With respect and appreciation and a good dose of cheer.
To his credit, Bennet nodded. Like many of the men working for The Sinner’s Palace, he had been plucked from the streets and a life of crime. “The linen draper’s come early, Miss Sutton.”
The linen draper. More distraction. Wonderful.
“Bring him to me, Bennet.”
With a nod, the man disappeared, leaving Pen to continue on with her examination of the progress at the new club. She moved through halls and rooms in various state of repair and change, until she reached the largest chamber, which would become the main gaming room of their establishment. It was the most complete chamber in the building, smelling of fresh paint, with gaming tables already adorning the new carpets.
She should have been pleased by the sight. Pleased at the prospect of future success for the Sutton family within these walls. And yet, as she glanced around her surroundings, all she felt was…numb.
Before she could wallow in her thoughts for too long, Bennet reappeared, the linen draper in tow.
Mr. Waters was red-cheeked, rotund, and possessed the smug air of masculine superiority she despised. He looked over her shoulder, then about the room after Bennet announced him, as if he were searching for someone else.
“And where is Mr. Sutton this morning?” he asked.
His query nettled her. She was more than accustomed to being undervalued because of her sex.
She forced a smile. “I am Miss Sutton, Mr. Sutton’s sister, and one of the owners of this establishment.”
Mr. Waters frowned. “I was given to understand I would be meeting with your brother, madam.”
She had requested the meeting herself the previous week, and long before she had known how desperately she would need to distract herself today, in an effort to show him where the gaming tables would be placed. But she had no doubt he had simply misread the missive.
“You are meeting with me,” she gritted. “Thank you, Bennet. I will call for you if you are needed.” She waited for the guard to leave before turning her attention back to Mr. Waters. “If you please, have you brought any samples with you?”
The case he carried on his back suggested he had.
With a look of distaste, he unfastened it, extracting a plain table linen which seemed of reasonable quality, extending it to her for inspection.
It hardly appeared worthy of the dear price he was charging. And worst of all, it was plain. She turned the linen over in her hands to be certain before glancing back up at the merchant. “I requested embroidery on each table cloth, but there is none on this one.”
“I am afraid I cannot provide the embroidery within the time your brother has specified, Miss Sutton,” Mr. Waters said dispassionately, stoking her ire.
Was that not just like a man to promise far more than he could provide? To charm and deceive without a hint of compunction? She looked into the merchant’s eyes and knew he had never intended to provide the embroidery she had asked for—the silhouette of a palace in blue stitch—at all. And nor did he give a damn that he would not be providing it.
Perhaps it was the scorched ash in her heart. Or perhaps it was a life spent lived in the shadows of her brothers, always being overlooked and ignored by men such as Mr. Waters because she was a woman. Or mayhap it was both.
Whatever the reason, Pen was furious.
So outraged, her hand shook as she presented Mr. Waters with his inferior cloth. “This is wholly unacceptable, sir. We are paying for embroidery.”
“Embroidery was never promised,” he said.
“It was promised,” she countered.
“Not by myself,” he blustered.
She clenched her jaw. “The embroidery aside, how many cloths do you have at the ready?”
“Twenty, as promised,” he said, further proving his incompetence.
“We require two-and-thirty, sir, as you well know.”