Page 58 of A Taste of Miss Honey

“Hartwell plays as though the gods themselves stack the deck for him,” he remarked, nodding towards the gathering crowd. “We’re probably all doomed and they want to watch the slaughter.

Hartwell snorted, shaking his head. “If you think that you’ve never played with Midwinter here. I remember our last game with too much pain, he doesn’t play cards, he dissects them.”

Izzy digested this information with interest, a flicker of excitement piercing the anxiety that had held her heart in a vice ever since Alveston had offered her his arm. She’d never had the opportunity to pit her skills against real gamblers. Black Jack Baxter was hardly easy to beat, but he had always treated her with kindly affection, so she had never really felt the sting of losing. They’d only ever played for matchsticks too, though Jack had played as if the crown jewels were at stake.

Mr Kimble, probably hoping to impress the older gentlemen at the table, carelessly tossed five shillings into the central pot. Ben glared at him, making the lad flush hotly, but it was too late now. Mr Pultney followed suit.

Whilst a game of Commerce with a mixed table would have been unexceptional, Izzy knew she was now playing with fire. Five shillings was not an exorbitant amount, but it was certainly more than she ought to be playing for. Belatedly realising she did not have any coins upon her, she decided against turning to Ben and whispered to Hartwell.

“My Lord, would you be so good as to lend me some coin? Lord Beaumarsh will return it to you, I promise.”

Hartwell sent Ben an apologetic glance before digging out a handful of coins and dropping them in her open palm. Izzy beamed at him, deciding there and then that she liked Hartwell very much, and tossed five shillings into the pot. The rest of the players followed suit.

Izzy picked up her hand. The rules of the game were simple enough—to make the best three card hand. Hers was pretty decent, and she silently cursed Hartwell as she had hoped to lose the first two games rather badly. Still, so long as she did not win, that would suit her purposes well enough.

This proved to be more difficult than she had supposed, however. Kimble and Pultney were both abysmal, and even Alveston seemed to be reliant more on luck than skill. Hartwell and Ben seemed to be the only two who played with conviction.

Ben won the first two games, with Hartwell taking the third.

Undeterred, Pultney tossed a guinea into the pot with an insouciant grin. “My luck is about to turn,” he predicted, rather to Izzy’s discomfort, for she was certain it would not.

She was proven correct shortly thereafter, though rather to her surprise it was Alveston who took the hand, presenting a tricon of three eights. He had been the dealer for that round and had recouped his losses. There had been something, though, in the way he had handled the cards. Though she could not prove it, her gut instinct was that he had manipulated the cards.

With a deft movement, Izzy accidentally swept her gloves from the table. Ben noticed at once and bent to pick them up. Izzy bent too.

“He’s cheating,” she whispered.

Ben straightened, frowning as he handed them back to her. “You’re sure?”

Izzy nodded, deciding it was time to take the game in hand. Keeping up a stream of inconsequential chatter, which was likely driving them all to Bedlam, she watched carefully as Ben dealt three cards to each player. Izzy lifted hers, shielding them with exaggerated care from prying eyes and screwing her face into one of extreme concentration. King of clubs, seven of clubs, seven of hearts. Not bad. Perfect for pretending to be a shatter-brained novice. She bit her lip, hoping she looked befuddled.

Alveston leaned back in his chair, clearly amused by her obvious lack of skill. “Allow me to assist you if you find yourself confused, Miss Honeywell.”

His voice dripped condescension and Izzy smiled inwardly, looking forward to wiping the smile from his smug face. “I shall certainly call upon your wisdom if I need to,” she said, giving her voice a soft lilt as she sent him a look of blatant admiration. Beside her, Ben stiffened, and she fought the urge to kick him. Surely, he realised it was all for show?

The round began.

Mr Pultney bought a card. “Another shilling,” he said, tossing the coin carelessly into the pot as he discarded a useless three.

Izzy watched the discards carefully as the men played: nine of diamonds, five of hearts, six of clubs.

When her turn came, she toyed with her cards nervously. “I do not quite know what I ought to do,” she murmured to Hartwell, who returned an encouraging smile.

Alveston offered, “If you have nothing very promising, my dear, you might buy.”

“Oh, yes! Then I shall.” She brightened, as if delighted to be guided by a superior player.

She placed her shilling into the pot and, with feigned hesitation, slid the king of clubs away as her discard, glancing around her with uncertainty as she regarded their faces.

Ben didn’t move but Hartwell shifted uncomfortably at her casting off such an excellent card, and Alveston looked secretly amused as she drew a single card from the deck.

Triumph lit her up inside, though not a glimmer of her satisfaction showed outwardly. Tricon sevens.

She tucked the card neatly with the others as everyone presented their hands. Looking cautiously pleased, she set her cards down as everyone stared at her hand in surprise. “I think that is good? Is it good?” she asked, turning face to Mr Kimble and Mr Pultney with hopeful confusion.

The young men laughed good-naturedly and congratulated her. Alveston inclined his head. “Well done, my dear, you are getting the hang of it.”

Izzy beamed as Ben stared at her, admiration glinting in his eyes in a way that made her heart thump. “Oh, and it’s my turn to deal, too.”