Page 14 of Five Nights with a Rakish Duke
“Are you not able to enjoy yourself without a lady on your arm these days?” Asher asked, to which Dorian looked back at him, revealing an expression he hadn’t seen in a while. “Ah, you’re distracting yourself too; I see. Has she been in touch then?”
“I do not wish to talk about it,” Dorian said hurriedly, shaking his head. Asher took the hint and closed his mouth, showing he understood.
They each had their own reasons for choosing a life of more than one woman though Asher always thought Dorian’s was more painful than his own. The lady that had crushed his heart had a habit of reappearing and drawing fresh pain from Dorian as though she was a wound that wouldn’t heal.
“Come on; I know just the thing for our distraction,” Asher said, taking Dorian’s shoulder and steering him toward the nearest whist table.
* * *
“It seems you must up your bet, Mr. Burton,” Asher said with delight as he added more betting chips to the table.
“I am no longer Mr. Burton, Your Grace.”
“Oh?” Asher said in surprise, looking up from the chips in the center of the table.
He and Dorian were sitting at a poker table placed in a corner of the gaming hall, far away from some of the most popular tables. This table had just four men attending with a dealer to ensure the card play was fair. Draped around them were purple curtains at the windows to block out the moonlight, and servers walked past carrying claret and port to be handed round. The more the night waned on, and the smoking of pipes began, the more each man leaned on the table with the effects of the claret taking hold.
“He’s an Earl now,” Dorian explained, elbowing Asher in emphasis of his point.
“Well, I feel I should congratulate you,” Asher said with a small smile. “Though should I be offering condolences instead?”
“Condolences,” Lord Burton said, “and I thank you for it. I lost my uncle and my father in the space of one day.” The words made Asher flinch. Losing his own father had been heart wrenching enough. The thought of losing two beloved family members in a day was soul destructing.
“I am truly sorry,” Asher sympathized; the air around them felt heavy with sadness.
“Please, feel no need to dwell.” The man lifted his head and offered a smile. “We are here for distractions from such things. I am the Earl of Larson now.”
“Well, Lord Larson, distraction is what you will have,” Asher said, gathering his cards together in one hand and tapping the table with them. “But you will find it is your bet, and you are quite out of chips. What will you bet now?” He gestured toward the empty pile in front of him.
Lord Larson adjusted in his seat and scratched behind one ear uncomfortably. The new Earl had not only lost all of his chips but the pocket watch he had been carrying too, not to mention a fine silver smoking case that now resided in Dorian’s pocket.
“There is something I could wager,” Lord Larson said, abruptly sitting forward in his chair. The animated manner suggested the Earl truly did have a good hand, yet Asher smiled to himself, confident he had an even better hand.
“What would that be?” the fourth man sitting at the table asked. Around his fortieth year, bulging at the waist and red in the face as he was in his cups, it was a wonder this man had not yet fallen out of his chair.
“I have two estates,” Lord Larson said, slowly moving his eyes around the tables.
“You would gamble your estates? Your tenants’ livings?” Asher asked in amazement. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Dorian. In that look, there was a silent understanding between them. For Lord Larson to make such a bet, he must be truly confident in his hand.
“They are not my main estates though they are fine enough in themselves,” Lord Larson said quickly. “One is a small estate in Oxfordshire, a short ride from London. The other is somewhat larger, though hardly huge, at the edge of the New Forest, right on the coast. Will you accept my wager?” he asked, looking around the men at the table.
“Too rich for my blood,” the drunkard man answered first, folding and tossing his cards down on the table. Next, it was Dorian’s turn to answer, and Asher turned his eyes on his friend, watching him closely. Dorian seemed to weigh up the idea, pausing for many minutes as he looked between his cards and Lord Larson.
“You must be confident indeed to make such a bet,” Dorian said quietly.
“Does that mean you fold, Lord Upperton?” Lord Larson asked with a smile that was too triumphant for Asher’s liking.You have not won this round yet.
“I fold,” Dorian agreed and placed his cards flat down on the table. “Asher? What is your bet?”
Asher paused even longer than Dorian had done, but he did not look at his own cards anymore. He knew what he had. It was an excellent hand, after all. The question was whether it could indeed beat Lord Larson’s hand.
“I see your bet…” Asher said slowly, leaning forward on the table so that his forearms past his rolled-up shirt sleeves were resting on the fine oak wood. “I will wager an estate I own in the Norfolk broads. It is large enough that I am sure its value is worth the two small estates you mention. Will you accept the wager?”
“How much land is attached?” Lord Larson asked, mirroring his stance and leaning on the table too.
“One thousand acres,” Asher answered, watching as Lord Larson whistled in amazement.
“Yes, I should say that is a fair wager,” he said and nodded his head at the dealer. “Deal the next cards.”
