“Well, Daughter?” Sam asked when Lydia didn’t respond.
“It’s improper, Papa,” she said softly, believing that she should make some sort of protest.
Samuel sighed, folding his hand. “Oh, well, perhaps it is. Hell of a time for you to come calling dinner. Another minute and the deed would have been done.” He dropped his hand from Lydia’s and leaned forward in his chair. “Brig was even willing to donate his winnings to your charity…that’s supposing he won at all.”
Lydia glanced shyly at Brigham. “You’d donate your winnings?” she asked.
“Of course.” The eager, boyish smile lit his green eyes.
“All right, Papa,” she said. “I suppose it’s not so improper a wager since the children will benefit.”
Nathan Hunter shifted in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. “By all means, Miss Chadwick, you must do it for the children.”
Lydia looked quickly around the table. No one else seemed to have heard the sarcasm in Nathan Hunter’s tone. They were simply taking his statement at face value, encouraging her with a nod or a smile to support her father’s wager. “Certainly I’ll do it,” she said firmly.
“There’s a girl,” Samuel said, pleased with her decision. He quickly scribbled out a marker and pushed it and his money toward the middle of the table. “Now we’ll all get to dinner on time.”
Lydia peered a little anxiously at Sam’s cards when he lifted them again. They hadn’t changed. He still held a full house. She tried not to show her disappointment as she realized that Brig’s cards would probably not hold up against her father’s. The children would win no matter how the hand played out, she thought. Onlyshecould lose.
Samuel turned over his cards. “Sevens over threes,” he said, beaming at his fellow players. “You don’t think I’d bluff, do you?” He started to pull the money toward him, including his marker for Lydia, when Brigham stopped him.
“Tens and eights,” Brig said, fanning his cards across the table in front of him. “A better full house.” He glanced up at Lydia while he started to gather his winnings. “I wouldn’t bluff on a wager this important.”
He meant her, she thought giddily. He was saying she was important to him! She offered what she hoped was a cool, slightly indifferent smile, afraid he might perceive her as too young and overeager.
“Apparently none of us would,” Nathan Hunter said, cutting into Lydia’s reverie. “You must have forgotten that I hadn’t folded.”
Lydia gasped softly, her smile vanishing when she realized there were three players left in the hand, not two. Knowing what she would see as Nathan turned over his cards, Lydia struggled to hide her disappointment.
“Four sixes, gentlemen,” he said. Nathan waited until Brig withdrew his hand, then he picked up Sam’s paper marker for Lydia and put it in his vest pocket. He pushed the remainder of his winnings toward Sam. “For the children, I believe,” he said, coming to his feet.
Lydia wanted to scream. Instead, she inclined her head graciously and prayed he would not offer to escort her to the dining room. She worried needlessly. Nathan hung back to speak with Brig while her father took her arm.
“He’s probably consoling Mr. Moore,” Samuel said in a low voice.
“More like rubbing salt in an open wound.”
“What?” Sam wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.
“Nothing, Papa. It wasn’t important.”
They entered the dining room just as the guests were being seated. Lydia immediately looked to James Early and Henry Bell to find her place. Sam saw the direction of her glance and chuckled under his breath. “Looks like I win, m’dear. They’ve got Miss Adams and Miss Henderson for company this evening.”
“I detect your fine hand in this,” Lydia said.
“Me? But that would be cheating.” He led her straight to her chair and pulled it out for her. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.” With that parting shot, Samuel left Lydia to take his place at the head of the long table.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Brig said as he seated himself on Lydia’s left.
“It certainly is,” Nathan said on Lydia’s right.
Between them, Lydia smiled wanly. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get through dinner with her nerves intact.
“Are you feeling well?”Madeline asked following dinner. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen you less animated.”
Lydia drew her mother closer to the shelter of two large potted palms. Chairs were being arranged in the ballroom in preparation of the after-dinner concert, and many of the guests had chosen to take a walk on the grounds. Those who remained behind were listening to Father Patrick’s colorful stories about his own wayward youth or studying the architect’s drawings for the orphanage.
“I’m feeling a little tired,” she admitted. “I hadn’t realized it was evident.”
