“Twenty-One. Each player tries to beat the dealer by having two or more cards equaling twenty-one or better than the dealer’s hand without exceeding twenty-one.”
“Vingt-et-un.Played in France.”
“Care to join in?” John’s voice was soft, but his eyes glowed with interest.
“Not I.” Guy had no need for such excitement. “I prefer to control how I spend my money.”
“You’re a conservative fellow,” John said, with a grin. “Might we see you in the House?”
“When my life has settled down.” Guy was keen to involve himself in the state of the country and the people who relied upon him. At the green baize table, his attention was caught by a man leaning forward to place his bet. The candlelight brightened his rusty hair. Misgivings stirred Guy’s gut.
He walked over to the table. “Good evening, Eustace.”
Eustace slumped back in his chair, his eyes dull. A glass of whiskey at his elbow, he held the cards in a loose grasp. “Guy?” Losing the hand, he threw the cards down and pushed back his chair.
“Eustace, I don’t believe you know Lord Strathairn. My lord, this is my relative, Mr. Fennimore.”
Leaning on his cane, Eustace swayed into a bow, in danger of toppling. “How d’you do?” His gaze returned to Guy. “You’ve saved me the task of sending you an invitation. I’m holding a dinner party in a sennight. I should like you and Horatia to come.”
“We shall be pleased to.”
Eustace left the table and tottered toward the front door.
“You seem a trifle under the weather,” Guy said. “May I accompany you home?”
“Thank you, Guy. I’m done here.” Eustace shrugged. “Pockets to let, old fellow.”
Guy raised his eyebrows at John. “Forgive me, but I must leave you.”
Strathairn nodded. “Watch your back then, my friend. I shall take Mr. Fennimore’s place at the table.”
It had rained, and mist curled around the buildings. The narrow lane was lit only from the lights shining down from a few buildings, and no sign of a hackney.
“Best we walk to the corner. Footpads wait for those with plump pockets in this dark place,” Eustace murmured.
Guy offered his arm after Eustace stumbled over the slick cobbles.
They reached the lamp-lit main thoroughfare. Moments later, a hackney swung around the corner. Guy hailed it and helped Eustace inside. He leapt in to join him.
“I am pleased about the marriage.” Eustace lay back against the squabs and closed his eyes. “I am very fond of my goddaughter. She has a good deal of resolve, and it’s been a bone of contention between her father and me that he’s kept her in the country.”
Eustace eased himself into a corner, folded his arms and began to snore.
The hackney rocked through Pall Mall. Guy stroked his tight jaw as suspicion took root.
*
Hetty stood ona stool while the voluble French modiste, Madame Bernard, draped and pinned materials around her while all the time arguing with Aunt Emily.
“While my niece is past the age of a debutante and may wear color, it must be subtle. Peach, primrose, pale pink, and apple green will suit,” her aunt said testily after the modiste suggested eau-de-nil and tangerine.
“This bolt of silver net is pretty,” Hetty remarked with a wistful smile, when she was able to get a word in.
“Non!Frost will not suit your complexion!” Madame Bernard cried, taking down a bolt of primrose sprigged muslin from the shelf.
Aunt Emily shook her head vigorously. “Madame is quite correct! You have golden tones to your skin, Hetty.”
Hetty sighed, at least they agreed about something. “Ouch!” She flinched as one of Madame’s pins found her derriere. It was going to be a very long morning.
