Page 29 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“Allow me to assist you with the game, Miss Winkley.”

Weatherby shot his friend a speaking look that made Rowe want to laugh. There was an empty seat beside Camilla, and he would take it. If they played trade and barter, he would of course give her his lowest card and enjoy doing it.

“Here are the counters,” Miss Milton said, coming to the table with a tube of metal gaming tokens and distributing some to everyone.

“We should use the ivory counters,” Mrs. Quarles said. “Where are they, Bernice?”

“Mama has them,” she said shortly and finished handing out the last of the tokens.

For the first round, Rowe placed three cards for the widow in the center of the table, deciding they wouldn’t bargain yet. The game began with decorum.

“I’ll take one card.”

“I’ll stand.”

After a couple of rounds, it moved on to more lively exclamations.

“No, how could you, Lady Joanna? That was the very card I wanted.”

“Ah, Mr. Weatherby, I cannot help it if you run contrary to luck.”

“Did you not hesitate over that card, Mr. Wilmot?” This was said in the shy voice of Miss Winkley.

“You seemed to be angling for it, and I wished to be gentlemanly.”

Camilla appeared to be enjoying herself immensely, for gone was her stiff expression and posture. She followed everyone’s movement with intelligent eyes, studying their faces, even his, to see if she could read the success of their hands. Her turn came again, and she chose a card from the widow, her eyes lighting up. He suspected she had a promising hand but was not sure enough to call commerce.

A few plays later, Mrs. Quarles knocked on the table, her face smug as she looked around.

“Commerce, is it?” Mr. Quarles stated, sounding bored as he looked down at his hand.

Rowe studied his own. Two kings and a seven. It was a fair hand, but would not win him anything. Wilmot took a card from the widow, and it was replaced by a king. The sight of the very card he needed sent a surge of triumph through Rowe, though he hid his eagerness. He imagined how Camilla would react when she had to surrender to him.

Her turn fell before his, however, and she swiped the king from the pool in exchange for another card and knocked. He kept his face schooled, but he was disappointed. She had thwarted his win, and as the dealer he had to acknowledge it.

“Two have called commerce. Finish the round.”

He was next in the circle and pulled the best card from the widow. A jack of hearts, which did him no good at all. With two kings, he would have only a pair, even if it was a high pair.

The round at an end, he called out, “Display your hands.” His eyes went immediately to Camilla’s cards and saw the high flush. A jack, queen, and king—the clear winner.

“Lady Camilla takes the pool,” he intoned, hiding his odd frustration at having lost to her. After all, it was just a friendly game played with worthless counters.

Her eyes were shining with victory, her smile broad. She scooped up the counters and moved them in front of her. Then she leaned in close to him, and when he turned to look at her, was caught by her direct gaze boring into his. A sort of buzzing began inside of his chest, and he waited to hear what she had to say.

“How does defeat taste to you, Lord Pembroke?” There was laughter in her voice, which released him from the spell she had cast over him but which transformed the sensation he was feeling into something else. Delight at her teasing? Competition? Was it…attraction?

“You are precipitous,” he replied. “The evening is not yet over.”

His luck did not immediately improve. They played three more rounds, then moved to the version of trade and barter with higher stakes. When it was his turn to choose, he was forced to barter since he had no more counters in which to trade. Everything had gone into the pool.

“I am terribly sorry to give you my leavings, but I shall not need this card,” Camilla said, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes as she handed him the card. A four of spades.

Rowe kept his expression masked, despite his delight at her castoff. He had been bemoaning his low cards, but with a five and a six of spades, he now had a sequence.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a downcast air, allowing her to think she had beaten him. Then he knocked on the table, and she shot him a narrow-eyed look of surprise. He returned a benign smile.

The second player knocked, and the round completed its course. When everyone laid out their cards, Rowe had won the pool. Despite the sequence of low cards, no other had managed a tricorne or a higher point sequence.