Page 69 of My Own True Duchess
Watch him play. Like a spotter?
“I’m an evangelist for science,” Mr. Haddonfield said, patting Lady Della’s small hand. “But tonight, I am also a dutiful escort and instructor.”
“I know how to handle the cards,” Lady Della retorted. “You will teach me to gamble.”
Foreboding roiled in Jonathan’s belly, because Lady Della’s blond brother might be the spotter. His height would give him an advantage in that regard, and he would support any effort on Della’s part to bedevil a half-sibling she saw as negligent.
Sycamore Dorning was still at his post beneath the stairs, though he’d left off playing solitaire and was enjoying Jonathan’s wine.Jonathan raised a hand in a gesture a patron might use to signal a waiter, and Mr. Dorning sauntered over, wineglass in hand.
“My lady, sir.” Dorning bowed and came up sipping wine. “A pleasure to see you both.”
“Good evening.” Another curtsey from Lady Della. “I have come to learn about the pleasures of games of chance among the wealthy and wanton. You must never tell a soul you saw me here.”
She was teasing, maybe. Too late, Jonathan recalled that Lady Della had seemed fond of Dorning’s older brother Ash.
“One of the unspoken rules of this establishment,” Jonathan said, “is that nobody sees anybody here. The authorities frown on gambling, and some hells go so far as to use dim lighting and to hand out masks at the door, so that nobody’s identity can be reliably reported.”
“But dim lighting,” Dorning observed, “makes bad behavior easier to hide as well. The owner of The Coventry is happy to spend a fortune on candles, but then, he’s neck-deep in blunt, so why not make sure we’re all behaving as we misbehave?”
His smile was charming. Jonathan wanted to dash the wine in the bloody pest’s face.
“Perhaps you’d be good enough to show her ladyship the rudiments of play at the vingt-et-un table,” Jonathan said. “I’ll accompany her brother to the dining room. I’m told the chef at The Coventry is among the finest in London.”
Haddonfield seemed amused by the entire exchange, but then, a man who topped Jonathan’s brawn by three stone and several inches could afford to be amused by much.
“Are you her spotter?” Jonathan asked as he and Haddonfield gained the quiet of the corridor. “Or is she yours?”
“Are your pistols clean?” Haddonfield replied in the same tone as he might have asked about Jonathan’s elderly uncle. “Because I’m almost certain you’ve implied that our sister cheats. This is a degree of dunderheadedness worse than implying that I cheat, because a devoted brother is honor-bound to defend rather than malign his sister’s good name. Perhaps that lesson was neglected at baby-duke school.”
Jonathan kept going past the dining room, Haddonfield ambling at his side. The smaller of the private parlors was unoccupied, so he took a lamp from a sconce in the corridor, gestured for Haddonfield to follow, and closed the door.
“You certainly know your way around this place,” Haddonfield said. “Della has a theory about that.”
“A theory based on rumors, no doubt. Why on earth would a devoted brother escort his sister, who’s all but a debutante, to a venue like this?”
Haddonfield took the lamp and squatted by the unlit hearth. “You don’t know Della. She would have come without me. My brothers understand this, which is why they won’t pummel me en masse for this escapade.”
He peered up the dark chimney. “You could install a convection flue here,” he went on. “Use it to turn a fan that would draw the smoke up from the table. A clerestory window would finish the job, and then the room wouldn’t bear such a coal-smoke and tobacco stench. So is it to be pistols or swords?”
Anselm behaved with the same casual high-handedness. Jonathan had assumed the attitude was ducal, though now he suspected it was fraternal.
Theo had never mentioned siblings other than Seraphina, though he must ask about her extended family.
“I’m sure the owner of the premises would be very interested to hear your theories, Mr. Haddonfield. Some people associate that scent with late nights spent in pleasurable social pursuits. Why is Lady Della here?”
Haddonfield rose, the lamplight casting his features in diabolical shadows. He’d doubtless done that on purpose too.
“You are concerned for her,” he said, setting the lamp in the middle of the table. “That means I can’t call you out, because I am concerned for her too, but if you think she’d cheat merely to gain your notice, you’re daft.”
He slid into a chair, and even sitting, his height was apparent.
Jonathan took the seat across the table. “She wants my notice. I understand that, but I have embarked on the process of finding a bride, and my calendar has been busy. I sit on a half dozen boards of directors, and they all demand my time. I’m also trying to untangle decades of bookkeeping and the lack thereof for the Quimbey dukedom, another endeavor that is more time-consuming than it should be.”
Haddonfield stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. “You are ashamed of her. She said you were smart, but I gather you’re smart like an abacus. All manner of correct answers can be had from you, but in fact you’re nothing more than wooden parts cleverly arranged by a chance hand.”
Jonathan was tired, he was angry at Lady Della, and most of all, he would rather have spent the rest of this evening with Theo. Not even making love with her, simply talking. Simply holding her hand, holding her.
“Lady Della has an understandable interest in me, for we are related by blood,” Jonathan said. “She has no concept of the gossip an association between us would stir. My parents made a Drury Lane farce look boring, with their unending and inane drama. If Lady Della is my sister, how many other dark-haired young ladies am I related to? She’s the only one I know of, but until you’ve lived with such talk, Haddonfield, you don’t know the damage it can do.”
