“I’d hardly call it a fit. I think she is very distressed.”
Dante nodded in her direction. “Clearly.”
Miss Pence lowered her hands and glared at them. “I am right here, you know. I can hear everything you’re saying.” She wiped her cheeks and accepted the handkerchief Driscoll handed her.
She used it to blow her nose. “I will wash this and return it.”
Driscoll waved his hand in dismissal. “No matter. I have dozens of them.”
She took a deep breath. “I apologize for my unacceptable behavior.”
Driscoll leaned over and patted her hand. “That is all right. No need to apologize.” He glanced at Dante, who was obviously enjoying the show. Sometimes he felt the need to plant a facer on his brother.
Now was one of those times.
“If you have nowhere to go, we can. . .” Driscoll glanced sideways at Dante. “Offer you a job.”
“What?” Dante almost shouted. Miss Pence began to cry again. Driscoll threw up his hands and wished himself in his office going over his books. That was safe for him. Dealing with people, especially women in distress, was definitely not his forte.
Dante might mock him about his lack of female company, but he preferred to be discreet and discriminating. No, he did not employ a mistress, the idea did not appeal, but he had enough encounters with women anxious to share the bed of one of the notorious Rose brothers to satisfy his needs, but never felt it was necessary to boast about it.
He glared at his brother. “I said we can offer Miss Pence a job.” He waved in her direction. “She obviously has nowhere to go.”
“We know nothing about her!”
“How much do we know about others we employ? The maids, the counters?”
“And what do you propose to have the chit do?”
A sharp intake of breath had both brothers looking at Miss Pence.
“I have not lost my hearing since the last time the two of you spoke as though I wasn’t present.” She stood, straightened her shoulders, and pushed in her chair. “I believe I will leave you now.” She turned to Driscoll. “Thank you for the warm,” she glared at Dante, “and empty bed and food. I do appreciate it.”
Then she drew herself up, her cool assessment—despite her puffy red eyes—proving to Driscoll that this woman was a lady. Despite wearing trousers and climbing trees, she had been raised with all the accoutrements of nobility. “For your information, Mr. Rose, I am not a ‘chit’.”
Before she made it through the doorway, Driscoll jumped from his seat and blocked the exit. If she were in trouble, he could not abandon her.
“Again, Mr. Rose?” Her smile was more a smirk than not.
“I apologize for my brother. I have the right to hire and fire people, as does Dante and my other brother, Hunt. Therefore, I am offering you a job at The Rose Room.”
Dante leaned back in his chair again, grinning. “In what capacity, big brother?”
“To be determined.” Driscoll walked Miss Pence back to the chair she had just abandoned. “Please. Have a seat. I will send for hot tea and we can figure this out.”
Once Miss Pence was seated, Dante slapped his thighs and stood. “I still need to change my shirt and start supervising the opening of the club.” He whacked Driscoll on his shoulder. “I leave you to straighten this all out.” With a slight wink in Miss Pence’s direction, he said, “Welcome to The Rose Room, Miss Pence.”
Miss Pence’s eyes followed Dante from the room, her jaw slack. She shook her head. “Your brother is a very strange man, Mr. Rose. I got the distinct impression that he had no use for me and was about to toss me out the door.”
Driscoll continued to stare at the door that Dante had just exited. “Yes. He is a tad on the different side.”
He then took a seat across from her just as one of the maids brought in a fresh pot of tea. “Miss Pence, please help yourself to tea and we will discuss the situation.”
She poured for herself and although he was not in need of any more tea, he accepted a cup from her.
Driscoll laid his cup in the saucer and leaned his elbows on the table. “We need to find a position for you that is suitable.” He was convinced she was a lady, and he could not give her a job as a maid. The idea of having her serve drinks crossed his mind, but only briefly. Thinking of her walking around the gaming floor with some of the lecherous patrons they were known to have didn’t sit well with him at all.
He would never allow anyone to touch her in his presence.
“Are you familiar with the game vingt-et-un?”
She thought for a minute. “That is a card game, correct?”
“Yes. Do you know how to play it?” If he could give her a job dealing at the vingt-et-un table it would keep her away from roaming hands, and he could keep an eye on her.
“I have played it a bit, but I wouldn’t say I was good at it.”
Driscoll leaned forward, excitement building when he remembered Marcus Sedgewick, one of the current vingt-et-un dealers had expressed a wish to leave that position and take up a security guard opening that was coming up when John Marshall took his pension in a few weeks.
* * *
Amelia studied Driscoll as his face lit up.
“Are you willing to learn? It’s not hard and the game doesn’t require a lot of knowledge or skill. You merely deal the cards to yourself and those sitting at the table. If you are somewhat familiar with it, you know the idea is to get as close as you can to twenty-one with your cards, but not go over it.”
She nodded. “Yes, that much I know. But don’t you want dealers who can win for you?”
“The house—which is what we call ourselves, the
