When she picked up her cards, it was to find that fate had smiled upon her again. Mr. Dawson, however, had gone quite pale.
She would not allow him to back down. She carefully stacked ten sovereigns and pushed them forward.
“That’s all I have left,” Constance complained, even as she met the bet.
Thel did the same. Then it was Mr. Dawson’s turn. He moved each of the ten sovereigns one by one until the center of the table was piled with gold.
She allowed him to relax by taking several tricks in a row. Mr. Dawson’s increasing excitement and obvious relief made him seem like he was drunk, although she had not seen him imbibe a single glass since arriving.
When he took his first set of hearts, Mr. Dawson barely reacted. When he took his third, his eyes widened. When they calculated scores, his face went bright red. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Excellent game, Lady Allen. I underestimated you. Would you grant me a rematch?”
Constance shifted in her seat. “Another?”
“Another,” Olivia said. “For the entire pot.”
Constance gave a dramatic sigh but pushed her scant winnings into the center of the table.
Not wanting to give him the chance to complain, Olivia allowed Mr. Dawson to deal, although Constance gave a huff when her turn was denied.
This time, she did not give Mr. Dawson any time to feel he was in the lead. When the game ended, and she piled her winnings back in her valise, she could practically feel Mr. Dawson vibrating. Even Constance was leaning away from him.
Olivia looked around for Mrs. Quill, but the woman had vanished.
“It’s only a game,” Constance said, her voice tense.
Mr. Dawson stood so quickly that his chair rattled and fell over and made Constance yelp.
“You… You…” He clenched his fists. “You cheated. That is the only explanation. I could not have been bested by a woman.”
“I really wanted those watercolors,” Constance whined.
He whipped around. “Cease your complaining, girl!”
Constance’s eyes filled with tears.
As if realizing he had overstepped, he smoothed the front of his jacket and smiled. “Please forgive me. I am unaccustomed to losing. I will, of course, buy you whatever you desire if it is within my means.”
Olivia was about to throw another verbal barb when Saffron rushed into the room. One sleeve of her gown was askew, and several locks of black hair bobbed around her face.
Olivia stood and met her friend. “What is it?” She had not seen Saffron so upset since the morning of her wedding when she had become so overcome with nerves that she had fainted.
“I could not refuse her,” Saffron said. “You must understand. It would be the height of rudeness. I’ve rearranged the seating for dinner, but I was uncertain if this would disrupt your plans…” She put her hand on her chest. “I am overwrought. A moment, please.”
Olivia waited as her friend regained her composure, while wondering who could have arrived at the party to put Saffron into such a fit. Her friend was the most organized, capable person she had ever met.
Thel sidled closer to them, an act that was not helpful to the still-struggling Saffron. Before Olivia could tell him to back away, Saffron blurted out words that made her go cold.
“The Duchess of Hestia is here.”
Chapter 22
Thel met his mother in the entryway, in what was ultimately a futile attempt to send her away before she shattered their plans.
“How did you find me?” he asked. It would have been a rude question, even in private, but he was beyond caring. He had told the rest of his family that they were taking a carriage ride into the country. No one should have come looking for him.
His mother tutted. “You are a terrible liar, Thellusson. I knew you were lying the moment you told me about your plans for the day.” She put her hands on her hips. “You are not the only person in the family who has noticed a change in Constance. When we return home, you will tell me what you have been doing, and why you felt the need to lie, so I am not forced to interrogate poor Mrs. Quill.”
He stifled a curse. As was typical of his mother, she’d responded without answering his question, turning the conversation against him.
