duke. Right now, however, she needed a dram of whiskey, and solitude.
The moment she stepped into the foyer of the rented town house, the butler appeared. “A letter arrived for you, Miss McGale.”
She picked up the missive on the side table in the entryway. The thin cursive indicated that it was penned by Lady Catherton.
Jess carried the letter up to her room. Breaking its wafer, she frowned to discover a pound note folded within the missive. She read:
Miss McGale,
Due to an unfortunate incident getting out of my carriage in the rain, I have sustained an injury to my ankle. The physician insists the only way to make a full recovery is through a strict program of non-activity. I am not to put any weight upon my ankle, nor jostle it, for no less time than a fortnight.
The entire situation is most irritating, and has curtailed my plans to come to Town before my departure for the Continent.
However, the property has already been leased in the city. It makes no sense for you to return here, since we will set off from the London docks. Thus, I have determined that I desire you to remain in the city. Doubtless, I shall join you at the end of the recuperative fortnight. I have enclosed a pound to cover any expenses you might incur during this time, but I urge frugality, and I anticipate receiving the remaining balance when I do finally arrive in London.
Yours, &c.
Lady C
Jess stared at the letter for a full minute to absorb its contents.
There was still time. Today had been a wash—with the exception of her quick interlude with the duke—but she could take advantage of her brief reprieve and come up with some way to secure McGale & McGale’s future.
Her gaze fell on the newspaper that she’d left on her bedside table. She’d read it this morning, and a single line from the Money Market column had stood out to her.
In two days’ time, the annual convocation of investors known to its intimates as the Bazaar will commence at the Marquess of Trask’s London residence.
Picking up the paper, she ran her finger back and forth across the line of print announcing the Bazaar, until the ink smudged on her skin and the sentence turned illegible.
She was here in London at the same time as the Bazaar. If she could find some way to get inside, and pitch her family’s business as a possible investment opportunity for England’s most wealthy and influential, she might be able to save McGale & McGale. All it would take was one investor, one person to believe.
But it was notoriously difficult to exhibit one’s business at the Bazaar. The process of applying could take years. She didn’t have years—she had days.
In forty-eight hours, she’d go to the Bazaar and finesse her way inside. It would be challenging, but she would use every bit of her persuasive abilities to gain entry. Once inside, she could give a presentation about her business to people predisposed to look for investment prospects.
She glanced down at her dress—it was clean and neat, but surely everyone expected someone to wear their finest garments at the Bazaar as a sign of prosperity, and respect. Unfortunately, these were Jess’s finest garments.
Perhaps she could borrow one of Lady Catherton’s gowns. Just for a few hours.
What was it the duke had called her? A hawk. He wasn’t wrong, and she would use every ounce of her hunting ability at the Bazaar.
“Step lively, gents,” Noel said over his shoulder. He crossed the threshold of the foyer to the gaming hell, already smiling. “If you dally, they might change their minds and turn you away.”
“Might throw you out on your arse, too,” Curtis noted as he kept pace.
Striding onward, Noel shot his friend a look of patent disbelief. “This is me we’re discussing.”
“Right,” McCameron said drily. “Your Sodding Grace.”
“That’s Your Sodding Grace Who Got Me Into the Most Exclusive Gaming Hell in London, thank you very much.” He paused on the threshold to the main chamber of the gaming hell. The establishment was so de rigueur it didn’t have a name. Even so, there had been a long queue outside its door.
He never had to wait in the queue, and made certain that he brought his friends in with him. Pleasure was always best shared.
The Bazaar began tomorrow, and though he looked forward to discovering new opportunities for ethical investments, he would have to abstain from his more riotous evening revels in order to stay