“That is talent.”
“Well, I have two younger sisters.”
“But to do it to yourself is difficult.”
“It is,” Felicity agreed. She’d never been able to manage more than a three-strand plait on herself.
“I’ve brought lunch if you’re hungry.”
Felicity nodded even though her stomach was too unsettled to eat. She would make herself not waste the food. Whatever Tristan was doing, he wouldn’t tell her because he knew she wouldn’t agree with itor like it. Which meant whatever it was would determine their future together.
And she was helpless once again in creating the future she wanted. If she had control of that money herself this would never have happened. She could do what she wanted, save her sisters and mother, and move away from Winter’s Well. But would she have had the chance to meet Tristan? Her father had always said that God had a divine path for everyone. Her path, while fraught with fear and pain, had brought her here. Whatever happened next, she knew she and Tristan would be together. All they had to do was stay the course and have faith in each other.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan threw hiscards down. He’d finally won. At least he thought so. Alston raised a brow and Lady Amelia leaned over the pot to see his cards. They had moved to a four-person table in the conservatory.
“Well done,” she said.
“Really?” He didn’t know exactly what he’d done. He understood the suits and their values. Straights, flushes, every rule of the game. But Alston was as blank as a marble statue. Emotionless.
“Did you let him win?” Blakewood asked.
“Please say no,” Tristan mumbled. But he had already considered it.
“I didn’t.” Alston said. “I swear. You legitimately won.”
“Then what did you do?” Lady Amelia asked her brother suspiciously.
“I didn’t try to win.”
“That’s the same as letting me win,” Tristan grumbled.
“Well I didn’t try very hard. Unless your opponent is me, this is the desired outcome. Now, in this next round, you’re going to use that wit of yours to try to crack me.”
Tristan sighed heavily. It was almost time for dinner. “Crack you? How?”
“Figure it out.” Alston scooped up their cards and reshuffled. Tristan watched his hands, fuming to himself about his tired eyes and his sore arse. He’d left Flick standing in a towel to be tortured like this. He should have stayed longer. Five minutes longer, maybe ten. Enough to bring her to climax at least once so his mood wouldn’t be so sour, but instead, he’d been beaten at cards over and over and over. He questioned everything about his own intelligence. A stack of cards had humbled him.
Figure it out.
“I can’t believe you’re letting him marry your sister,” Tristan said to Blakewood as he tsked and shook his head. “If this dilapidated chair is any indication, you should be concerned about his finances.”
“My chairs are adequate,” Alston said as he dealt the fresh hands.
“Adequate? Miss Blakewood deserves more than adequate.”
Alston’s icy blue gaze held his. “Says the man with nothing to put in the pot.”
Tristan shrugged as he reordered his cards. “The pot is imaginary. But I can please a woman with my chair. I’ll take that over money any day.”
Lady Amelia snorted and hid behind her cards.
“Try proposing with just a chair and no money and no house, and see how Miss Brandon feels about it.”
“Ouch,” Tristan sighed. He set his cards face down and folded his arms. “I’m confident.”
“Are you?”
