“Now, just a moment, please!” Cressida fretted, reaching out with a gentle hand. “Would you prove yourself a gentleman, Mr. Sharples? As a man of your word?”
His eyes narrowed. Oh dear, she was advancing too quickly. She must draw back.
“Surely, a man of your size and regard…” she said, like some dunderheaded simpleton.
His expression softened, and he ran a hand over his mouth, thinking, as he surveyed the room. Cressida watched him as he arrived at the decision she’d planned on. He grinned, exposing a set of nicotine-stained teeth.
“Alright, then. I’ll be sporting about it.” He chortled to himself, as if he couldn’t believe his luck, to have such a beautiful, obliging, and wealthy mark land in his lap. “What say you we settle this once and for all?”
“Yes!” Cressida said, standing up, hands clasped before her breast. “Oh, Mr. Sharples, I knew you possessed a decent heart. Please, allow us to set a wager.”
Sharples rounded the table, offering her his arm.
Cressida curbed the disgust roiling within her and took it.
He covered her dainty hand upon his arm with his own, then led her across the room to the hazard table. The floorboards creaked their protestations as people shifted out of their way, their eyes wide with unease. Were they about to watch this silly, witless widow throw away an ungodly sum of money?
“Now, if I win, mind, I want nothing less than twenty thousand,” said Sharples.
Cressida gasped, this time in earnest. She’d do her sons a great disservice if she failed.
“Those are my terms, my lady. Like it or lump it.”
“Twenty? Come now, Mr. Sharples. Surely ten thousand ought to afford you whatever you wish?”
He stared at her.
“Seventeen.”
“Ten.”
He scoffed and rather rudely adjusted the waistband of his trousers. “Fifteen, that’s my final offer.”
Cressida paused, pretending to consider it. She had faith in her plan, but there was no assurance of success. Could the estate absorb such a loss?
She sighed and looked to the side, as if suddenly bored.
“I assure you, Mr. Sharples, that ten thousand is more than sufficient.”
For the next few moments the tension in the room built, and Cressida worried she’d have to fall back. But then he finally nodded.
“Alright then. Ten thousand pounds, on the table.”
“Very well,” she replied, “but I must be allowed to set my stakes as well.”
“And those would be…?” he said, releasing her hand tentatively.
“If I win,” she began, lacing her words with her usual hauteur, “you must vow to forgive everyone here their debts tonight.”
A collective cry cascaded through the assembled crowd, followed by eager whispers.
Sharples laughed, but Cressida held up a finger, indicating she hadn’t finished.
“Yes, each and every one.”
She wondered where the poor mother sat with her two children, and prayed that in this, at least, she could offer a balm to the woman’s sorrows. Bartholomew, for his myriad faults, had never squandered their entire fortune, though not for lack of effort.
“And I want you to never breathe a word of myself and Dr. Collier to anyone. I want you to never again darken my doorstep, nor his. You will forget any association between us, and any obligation on our parts toward you. We will cease to be known to you, plain and simple.”
