Page 96 of My Own True Duchess
A liveried footman was collecting cloaks in order of precedence. The Duchess of Anselm first, then the Countess of Bellefonte, Lady Hopewell, Lady Della, and two of her sisters. Mrs. Compton was craning her neck like a curious goose, while His Grace of Anselm, Lord Casriel, and Mr. Adolphus Haddonfield stood by.
The gentlemen looked pleased with themselves to be escorting a platoon of respectable women to a gaming hell, but then, who could fathom the mind of the adult male?
“You all have your money?” Theo asked the ladies as the footman hurried away.
Mrs. Compton patted her reticule. “I might play a bit of my own, if the cards are kind.”
“That is up to you,” Theo said. “To the tables, ladies.”
Brave words. Theo had no idea exactly how one joined the play or made a bid to enter a game.
Fortunately, her friends did.
“First, you watch for a few hands,” Bea said, taking Theo by the arm. “Pretend you’re carefully observing the dice, the other players, the cards. Look as if you’re listening to a new string quartet and you haven’t made up your mind about the cellist. Watch the other players as if you know their secrets. Pretend they aren’t watching you.”
“Rather like unmarried guests at a typical musicale.”
Amid the beeswax, pomade, and perfume, Theo caught a scent, like a whole garden of flowers.
“Mrs. Haviland, this is a surprise.”
Jonathan had sneaked up behind her. Theo thus had enough warning that she could compose her features and be again the wise, slightly weary widow he’d met weeks ago in a darkened library.
“Mr. Tresham, good evening.”
Theo’s curtsey was for the benefit of those watching, though her ladies were already assembled around tables, looking as avid as biddies awaiting their daily ration of corn, Mrs. Compton most eager among them.
Jonathan’s bow was gentlemanly decorum personified. “I do believe one of your cohorts was expecting garish art and half-naked dealers. I admit to some surprise to find you here.”
Tasteful nudes would not have been a surprise. “This is a rare diversion for me, I admit, while I knew exactly where you’d be. Lady Della regrets missing our call. The hostesses bemoan your absence, and Her Grace of Anselm says you’ve neglected your regular obligations as a host. Casriel says you haven’t so much as taken a meal at your other clubs. You are here, always and only here, within sight of the tables.”
His gaze fixed itself to the top of Theo’s head. “I am not your late spouse, Madam.”
A waiter went by, a wooden platter laden with wineglasses in his hands.
“I was suggesting,” Theo said quietly, “behavior in common with your own father. I gather he was never home, but rather, he was single-mindedly devoted to his own pursuits regardless of other obligations. For him, the lure was diversion. For you, it’s business—much of that business charitable. How do I join a table playing vingt-et-un?”
Jonathan leaned nearer. “Theodosia, what are you about?”
Oh, to hear him speak her name. Theo shrugged off that pleasure, because the stakes were too high for selfish indulgence.
“My friends and I left the Marquess of Tyne’s ball letting all and sundry know our destination. Curiosity will do the rest when a lot of well-born ladies announce an intention to play away their pin money. Lord Tyne’s guests should start arriving within the half hour.”
The soft whir of a roulette wheel cut through the clink of glasses and chatter of the patrons.
“Theo, please assure me you haven’t risked your own security for the sake of this club.”
Jonathan’s attire was immaculate, as always, but the folds of his cravat obscured the crested pin nestled among the lace. No elegant little rosebud graced his lapel. His gaze wasn’t merely tired. He’d reached the stage of exhaustion that imbued the sufferer with saintly patience and wry humor.
“I’m enjoying an evening out with friends.” Not as much of a fabrication as Jonathan might think, for Theo was enormously pleased to be doing something, to be taking an active role in another’s welfare, rather than subsisting on the buffets polite society laid out for genteel widows.
Jonathan took her by the hand and led her to a quiet little table by the stairs. “Theo, I run an honest house. Please be honest with me now. You wanted nothing to do with this place. Now you’re here with a personal platoon of Hessians in muslin, and I suspect you’ve staked them with your own funds.”
She settled into one of the two seats at the table, the coins in her pocket an odd weight against her leg.
Jonathan’s question was not as simple as it sounded: What was she doing? Why had nobody asked that when she’d accepted a proposal from a man she’d barely known? Why had nobody asked that when she’d weathered years of neglect from Penweather?
What was she doing, besides rolling the dice and hoping for the best possible outcome?
