“Is she searching for a husband?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
“And she has no money?”
“Correct.”
“Then what do you mean to do by having her play? You are potentially throwing her into harm’s way by matching her with a man who thinks she possesses a fortune.”
“Shhh, Rhys, please,” she said slowly, as he swallowed his words.
Embarrassment flooded him.Damn it. He was talking too loud again.
“It isn’t right,” he tried. “You know it isn’t.”
“Darling, it’s the grandest thing I can do. She’s a kind, good-natured sort. Obviously. I mean, what sort of person returns a brooch her grandmother stole fifty years ago? Agoodperson. And as luck would have it, she’s poor. A poor woman with a good soul is worth her weight in gold. So, what can I do to repay this good, God-fearing young lady? Set her up for success, of course. Marry her off to a peer and let her have the happily ever after she desperately deserves.”
“The Marked Swan is not for poor ladies seeking rich husbands. It’s the other way around, and you know it.”
She shrugged.
“Well, tonight’s different.”
With that, Bessie turned and stalked away from him. If he were a lesser man he might go after her, grab her, and make her promise not to set up that young woman for failure, but then why was he so invested? He didn’t know this woman, and it really didn’t matter who she was or what happened to her.
But then, it did, didn’t it? Rhys may have been damaged from war, but it spoke to a part of him that had been buried for quite some time. It had been his reason for joining the Royal Military Academy at Woolrich. He had always wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and while he had learned a great deal about life since then, he still couldn’t ignore someone so obviously being led into a trap. Bessie was trying to manage something through manipulation and while it had neverconcerned Rhys before, there was something about Louisa that he couldn’t ignore.
Rhys followed Bessie from a good distance as she descended the staircase. The sea of people parted the moment she reached the first floor, and she walked through the crowded room like a queen. A man known as Egeus, who was carrying a small silver stepping stool, came from across the room. He met Bessie just as she reached the center faro table and placed the small stair on the floor just as she reached for his hand and climbed gracefully on top of the faro table. Excitement practically snapped through the air. Gentlemen were smirking and smiling, elbowing one another as the jewel-toned ladies disappeared into the background. This was why there were so many people here tonight. Impoverished peers seeking pretty, rich wives.
“Good evening, one and all,” Bessie boomed as the crowd cheered. Lifting her hands, they all fell instantly silent, and though no one could see her face behind that impenetrable veil, there was a touch of humor to her voice. Rhys was grateful he could hear her, especially since everyone else in the hall was quiet, but he did not appreciate the drollness of her tone.
“As you gentlemen are aware, tonight’s game is called the Marked Swan. Four rich, well-bred ladies will be presented tonight, but they will not be permitted to mingle with you.”
“Four?” an older man called out. “I thought there were only three?”
“Come on, Bessie, let us have them!” another man called out as a familiar muffled rumbling sounded around Rhys.
Bessie lifted her hands.
“A change in plans, gentlemen, a change in plans. There will be four ladies presented to you tonight, and may I remind you, these are gently bred women, whose reputations will be protected. You will know them only by their pseudonyms throughout the game, so pay attention. Each of my swans willbe presented in a few short moments to everyone in the room. You will not be permitted to know their names, their families, their histories, their fortunes, or their shortcomings,” she said mischievously. “Because as with every one of my swans, there is a catch. But once the game is over, I’ll present the new couple to everyone here!”
Muffled laughter sounded around the room.
“But they’re rich, aren’t they, Bessie?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, her head turned directly at Rhys though he couldn’t see her eyes. “Rich beyond measure.”
“What’s a man to do if he has won?” a man on Rhys’s left called out. “Are you to marry us?”
A rumble of laughter thundered through the crowd, but Rhys was solely focused on Bessie. Her head cocked to the side.
“Unfortunately, no. The laws of the land will not permit me to seeing over such a holy act. However, I’ve with us tonight an incredibly special guest. Formerly known to many if not all, as Mr. Malcom Manners-Sutton.”
Rhys frowned, sure that he had misheard Bessie. The sea of gentlemen around him became suddenly less jovial and more serious, with some rolling their shoulders back or lifting their chins.
But it wasn’t possible. There wasn’t any way Bessie had managed to convince the Archbishop of Canterbury to attend tonight’s game. Yet, even as he began to shake his head out of disbelief, a long-faced man with a narrow nose and furious eyes was escorted, rather forcefully, by one of Bessie’s burly employees. He was dressed in his religious robes, and though he gave a little wave and a curt nod, Rhys noticed the perspiration on the temple of his forehead, his receding white hair slick with sweat.
He leaned towards Bessie and Rhys read the words “this is extortion” on his lips. Bessie only tossed her head back as alaugh escaped beneath the veil before addressing the crowded room again.
