The men at the table startled at her abruptness. Kit squared the cards. He turned his attention up to her, a quizzical look in his eye.
“You said Old John taught you to play cards,” she reminded him. “Did he teach you that shuffle as well?”
“Yes, in Moorcock.” He started to deal the cards.
Could it be that Kit had met her father? She grabbed Kit’s arm, wanting answers. “What did he look like?”
“Elise, we are in a game.”
He spoke politely, reasonably. However, she was in no mood for reason or delay. “Kit, what was hislastname? What did helooklike?”
“He looked like a man, Elise. He was of the age of my friend over here.” He waved a hand to the grizzled man.
“And his name?”
“John.Happy? Elise, let us play.”
But Elise was in no mood for being put off. Could Old John have been her father? It was fantastical... but possible?
Old John had taken Kit under his care. Her father had loved cards, he would help any player. He also must have liked Kit or else he wouldn’t have shared his secret shuffle.
The play continued. Elise looked down at the cards on the table, her mind a scramble of theories and possibilities. “When did he teach you that shuffle?”
Kit didn’t even look up. He kept his focus on the cards but he did answer. “A few months ago.” He turned a card over for a player.
Elise almost fell back to the bench. A few months ago?
Her father could be alive.
She had to repeat the idea several times before it started to make sense, and then—
He was alive.
The moment she accepted the thought, the truth of it rang through her. Her father was alive.
In fact, what if her running away hadnotbeen a mistake? What if this was what had to happen for her to find her papa? Could it be there was apurpose toallof this? Even to Dara and Michael’s marriage?
And whathadkept her father from returning home?
She had no idea, except that he must be in danger, or ill, or suffering from a mental affliction. He would never willingly ignore the girls he called his “precious daughters.”
A sense of purpose more powerful than she had ever known surged through her. Her father needed her.
“Kit, where is this Moorcock?”
He made an impatient sound. “Elise, I’m the dealer. My attention needs to be on the cards.”
Elise did understand, and didn’t. She had questions, and he believed cards were more important? Her temper ignited.Why did men think games were more valuable than people?Well, she was done with it. Done with always being of second importance. Wasn’t that truly why she’d run away from London?
Certainly it had not been to be dismissed when her father’s life might be at stake.
Without pausing to consider her actions, she reached out her hand and swept it across the table. Cards and money went flying. Men shouted. She ignored them. Whether Kit confirmed her suspicions or not, there was only one way to be certain if Old John was her father, and that was for her to go to this Moorcock and see for herself. She snatched up her gloves fromthe pile on top of the jacket, knocking his hat to the floor where it would probably be stepped on. She didn’t stop to pick it up. She knew how much he liked the dratted thing. She didn’t care.
Instead, she marched out of the George, the sounds of complaints and Kit making apologies behind her.
The night was quiet after the hubbub of the taproom. The only light came from the George’s windows and the moon.
Elise pulled on her gloves. She meant to leave,rightnow.
