Page 57 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Chapter 18

A Dangerous Game.

The Card Room, The Duchess of Whitney’s Ball, London, 24thMarch 1816

Izzy pushed through the ornately gilded door from the ballroom into the card room, closing it behind her as the noise of the orchestra and the dancing followed her in. Irritated glances swept her way as some of the men looked up from their games and she sent them an apologetic smile. The back of her neck prickled as they regarded her with varying degrees of indignation. Glancing around at the richly furnished space, carefully arranged with mahogany card tables covered with green baize, she spied a free table in the centre of the room and hurried to secure it. This table was larger than the others and round, able to sit perhaps ten at a pinch.

Whilst she did not know precisely what she hoped to achieve, instinct told her she could learn a lot about Alveston from the way he played. Black Jack had been thorough in his teachings, and she did not doubt she could hold her own, either honestly or, if she must, using the tricks he’d taught her. Surely, if she provoked Alveston sufficiently by ensuring he lost badly, perhaps he would react in an ungentlemanly fashion. Either way, she refused to leave Ben alone in his company when no one else knew how dangerous the man was. Eventually, he would make his move, perhaps by accusing Ben of cheating at cards, before throwing in accusations of treason to hide his own guilt. They must prove him the villain first before he realised they knew and turned the tables.

The room, dimly lit compared to the ballroom, flickered with a warm light and was remarkably quiet considering how close it was to the main event. The space was entirely masculine, provided as it was mostly for the benefit of those men who were only here under sufferance and would refuse to bring the females in their lives if there was no inducement for them to do so.

Servants moved silently among the tables, serving drinks and plates with daintily arranged morsels so that the players could keep their strength up during lengthy games.

To her relief, she discovered there were women playing here, as she’d hoped, but they were all older married ladies, or spinsters long on the shelf. Though it was not forbidden for young ladies to play cards, so long as it was all in fun and with no serious gambling, she saw no others like herself, and why would she? The entire purpose of attending a ball was to dance, to be seen, and… if one was lucky, to snare a husband. Looking around her now, Izzy wondered if the other young ladies were missing a trick, as this seemed a far richer hunting ground with much less competition.

However, she was horribly aware she was probably committing a social faux pas, and whilst she did not precisely care, she did not wish for her actions to reflect badly on Clemmie. Too late now, she thought wildly, as Ben stalked into the room, his blue eyes flashing in a manner that boded ill for her future health—supposing Lord Alveston didn’t get there first.

Blithely ignoring his irate glare, Izzy waved at the men, gesturing with apparent pride to the table she had secured. She sat down before they could try to eject her, stripping off her gloves—another shocking breach of etiquette—and snatching up the cards. There was no way she could play to her strengths if she wore gloves, she might drop the cards for real instead of purposefully. Izzy shuffled the cards with the awkwardness of a child, taking care to drop one or two so they would think her as out of her depth as she currently felt. Belatedly, and judging mostly from the outraged glares of those around her, Izzy realised the large table had been reserved for the hardened gamblers among the guests, and that she had sat down at it all by herself. That the notorious Benedict Midwinter was bearing down on her with all the ice his name promised probably didn’t help.

Ah well, this was for the sake of her country, and for the man she… she was rather fond of. When she didn’t feel like murdering him, anyway.

“Isn’t this a perfect spot, gentlemen? I was lucky indeed to secure us such a good table. It’s lovely and peaceful in here too, away from the chaos of the dancing. Do sit down so we might begin,” Izzy said, uncertain if she had really decided chattering like a lunatic was her best cover or if her nerves had simply run away with her tongue. “Now, what shall we play? I vote Commerce.”

“Why, Miss Honeywell, how delightful, can we join you?”

Izzy looked up as two of the young men who had called upon her that morning joined their group. They were no older than she, Mr Kimble still dreadfully plagued with spots, the poor fellow. But as they had been kind and rather sweet to her, she found herself pleased by their arrival. She only hoped they did not intend to bet money they could not afford to lose, for she hated to punish them when they had been nothing but nice to her.

“Certainly, Mr Kimble, Mr Pultney, you are most welcome,” she said, encouraging them to sit down.

They returned delighted smiles and did as she invited. This left Ben, Hartwell, and Alveston no excuse for refusing to play.

“What the devil are you playing at?” Ben whispered as he took his place beside her.

“I’m not entirely certain,” she admitted, fussing about smoothing her skirts as she watched everyone taking their places. “But I’m good at this.”

He glanced at her as he stripped off his gloves, a quizzical look in his eyes.

“At cards, better than you can imagine.”

He stared at her, a look so intense she felt as if he was trying to read her mind, and she glanced about the table to be certain they were not being observed. “Trust me,” she said insistently, wondering if she was asking for something he would never give. “Let me help you.”

To her astonishment, he gave a curt nod. Izzy let out a breath and smiled.

“Don’t push your luck,” he muttered sotto voce.

“As if I would.”

He snorted and caught the attention of a passing servant, ordering wine for the table.

Rather to Izzy’s relief, Hartwell hurried to her left, forcing Lord Alveston to move to the far side of the table. She continued shuffling, aware of Ben watching as she fumbled the cards until Hartwell reached over.

“If I may?” he said, not unkindly, and did the job with deft expertise.

“How clever,” Izzy remarked innocently, wondering if she was over-egging the pudding, but no.

Alveston would never consider her astute enough to win at cards.

Izzy looked up, a little dismayed to discover some of the other men in the room had abandoned their games to come and watch the play. Noticing her consternation, Mr Pultney smiled at her.