Althea remained. Short, fine and blond, she smiled serenely. “I should explain something, Your Grace.”
“What is that?”
“She has trusted you with little reason to do so and much reason not to. If you misuse her in any way, if you bring hurt and humiliation down on her, you will answer to me.”
Never had a person so small threatened him so mightily. He would have laughed except she meant it. For all her smiles, she was dead serious.
“I will not do that.”
Nodding, she walked over to join Clara. He watched until they both left.
* * *
In the stand, the ladies sat to dine at the table. The gentlemen gambled at a makeshift bar set up in front. One of the footmen dealt the cards for vingt-et-un.
“This is far better than fighting one’s way through all those carriages,” Langford said while he eyed his cards.
“I am glad to oblige. Also, the longer you stay, the more certain I am to win back that hundred,” Brentworth said.
“We are not playing each other, but the bank.”
“And who do you think provided the bank?” Adam asked.
Langford glanced at the footman and the stack of money in front of him. “Excellent point.”
Down below the crowd had much dispersed, but noise could still be heard from the field in which so many vehicles waited. Adam wondered if Clara and Althea had even been able to leave yet.
He also wondered whether yesterday’s subterfuge would be repeated or if he should assume Clara would remain with her friend. Probably the latter. Since returning to Kengrove Abbey meant finding out the truth of that, he was in no hurry to leave.
Nor were his two friends. Both were guests at the Oaks and of the Earl of Derby, after whom the race had been named. Derby had joined them and sat at the card bar for a while. The Duke of Clarence, who now had become heir to the crown with his brother George’s ascension, settled in for a longer visit. Others came and went. It reminded Adam of boxes at the theater, since other stands also hosted little parties.
The stakes ran high. The wine and whiskey flowed. The men took to talking the way they might at their clubs. With a few raised eyebrows, the ladies left to seek more genteel company. Even Mrs. Harper disappeared. The footmen brought out cigars.
Word must have spread that a fine time could be had at Brentworth’s stand, because more men entered. A group shoved the food down the serving table and used its end for better purposes. The footmen kept producing more bottles.
“Luck is with you today, Stratton. You are up, what, two hundred?” Brentworth said.
“Am I? I haven’t been counting.”
“What ho, I like a man not noting his wins and losses. Mostly his losses,” the Duke of Clarence hooted. “Feel free to gamble with me anytime.”
Langford had left for a while but now reclaimed his seat. “Your food far surpassed that in Portland’s stand. He did not even have champagne.”
“Nor do I,” Brentworth said.
“Hence my little search mission.”
“You visited the enemy camp to see if the provisions were superior?” Adam asked. “That is disloyal of you.”
“I had hoped for champagne. Just one glass. Brentworth here does not care for it, so we all must suffer.”
Brentworth tipped a glass with far more power in it than mere champagne. “I cannot abide wine that sends bubbles up your nose.”
“You never developed the taste. You missed out on it in your youth because your father was the consummate duke, just as you are now. My family, on the other hand, managed to procure champagne all during the war somehow.”
“There was only one way to do that, somehow,” Adam said. “You have just admitted to buying smuggled goods, Langford.”
“Someone had to. Otherwise the roads from Kent to London would have been covered with shipment boxes.”
