Points to Mrs. Breedlove and Mrs. Hardy.
He lay still for a moment, getting a feel for what it was going to be like to wake up in The Grand Palace on the Thames, listening, thinking of the times he’d awakened in hammocks, on dirt floors, in mattresses stuffed with vermin-infested straw. He would be damned if he ever again slept in anything other than the best.
He shifted and something crackled in his pocket. He fished it out.
Ah, yes. The list of rules for living here at The Grand Palace on the Thames. The saucer-eyed maid, her hand trembling, had pressed the little printed card upon him when she’d led him up to the room. Her features arranged in equal parts glee and terror, which wasn’t an unfamiliar expression to him.
He was just about to crunch it in his fist and test his cricked arm by hurling it into the fire. Then he decided he could use a laugh. He read it.
All guests will eat dinner together at least four times per week.
“ThedevilI will,” he muttered, blackly amused. “Why in God’s name would utter strangers want to watch each other eat four times a week at a boarding house near the docks?”
It only got more entertaining from there.
All guests must gather in the drawing room after dinner for at least an hour at least four times per week. We feel it fosters a sense of friendship and the warm, familial, congenial atmosphere we strive to create here at The Grand Palace on the Thames.
“Familial, congenial atmosphere.” He could think of nothing more oppressive. A faint sense of alarm stirred.
All guests should be quietly respectful and courteous of other guests at all times, though spirited discourse is welcome.
“Well, if spirited discourse is what you want,” he murmured wickedly. Lucien was nothing if not spirited.
Guests may entertain other guests in the drawing room.
“I suppose that rules out the orgy I’d planned,” he mused. He imagined saying that out loud to Mrs. Breedlove and Mrs. Hardy, just to see how they managed to keep their faces still.
Curfew is at 11:00. The door will be securely locked then. You will need to wait until morning to be admitted if you miss curfew.
What the dev—curfew? Suddenly this wasn’t amusing anymore.
If the proprietresses collectively decide that a transgression or series of transgressions warrants your eviction from The Grand Palace on the Thames, you will find your belongings neatly packed and placed near the front door. You will not be refunded the balance of your rent.
Good God. It was Newgate with blue-and-white quilted counterpanes.
Obviously he could not be expected to tolerate this.
Awake and charged with purpose now, he bolted from his room and had gotten down one flight when he encountered Mrs. Breedlove on the landing, heading upstairs.
“Curfew?” he expostulated without preamble, smacking the rules with the back of his hand. “Courtesy?Camaraderie?You can’t possibly expect me to adhere to this nonsense.”
“Well, that isdevastatingnews, Lord Bolt,” she said brightly. “We’ll miss you.”
She took another step up the stairs, then suddenly feinted to the right, clearly hoping to move past him.
“Mrs. Breedlove.”
She stopped.
Their eyes met. Little flecks of gold floated in the green of her irises, like coins in a wishing well, and her eyelashes were dark gold with burnished tips. He had the absurd impulse to ruffle his finger across one. Just to see how quickly he could get himself thrown out the door of The Grand Palace on the Thames.
He tried a reasonable tone. “I’m a grown man, Mrs. Breedlove. Not a boy still at Eton. Some of my pleasures and pursuits may, shall we say, preclude returning before midnight.”
“While I appreciate that you may have an arduous schedule of frequenting gaming hells—and while I appreciate that you spared me the details of your other pleasures and pursuits—we’ll happily allow you back into the boarding house the following morning. Where you stay in that interval is entirely up to your discretion. And as you’re a grown man, and not a boy at Eton, I’m certain you’ll be resourceful enough to find shelter.”
For a silent moment he inspected Mrs. Breedlove, experiencing twin impulses to laugh and growl.
“Given that we may well soon be neighbors, Mrs. Breedlove, perhaps some exception might be made for me.”