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He pointed out that all the men wore formal evening attire, and she should as well. This gown was stunning, nothing like she’d ever owned. She would have felt more properly dressed had she been able to wear long gloves, but since she needed to use her hands to deal cards, she’d been given elbow length black lace gloves with the fingertips open.
Driscoll had sent Margie up to help her dress and do her hair. She was still embarrassed over the special treatment she was receiving, but he rightly pointed out that as the only female employee on the game room floor, she was setting a precedent.
Margie had parted her hair in the center, then softly pulled the mass of curls back, fixing it into a loose, but well anchored chignon at the crown, with a wisp of loose curls dangling from her temples.
She wore no jewelry, since she owned none, except the lovely strand of pearls her stepfather had given her when she turned eighteen. They’d been confiscated by Randolph when she arrived in London and most likely sold by now.
A slight knock on the door interrupted her musings. Taking a deep breath, she walked across the room and opened the door. Driscoll stood on the other side offering an encouraging smile. Since he was to spend time on the game room floor tonight, he was also dressed in formal evening attire.
He looked stunning. A curl from his dark hair fell on his forehead, giving him a rakish look. A well-cut black formal suit fit him perfectly, outlining his masculine form. He wore a silver and white waistcoat, with a black silk ascot tied smartly at his throat.
Her mouth dried up and her breathing hitched.
“You look beautiful, Amelia.” He bent over her hand as if they were leaving for a social event. Suddenly she felt a stab of self-pity. She was raised to have a gentleman caller escorting her to balls, musicales, dinners and such. Not to escort her to a gaming club floor to work as a dealer.
She was mortified to feel tears gathering in her eyes.
Driscoll took her hand in his. “What is wrong, Amelia? Are you still nervous?”
His concern only made her feel worse. Before she knew it, tears streamed down her face and she turned from Driscoll trying her best to gain control.
“Amelia?” His soft voice broke through her sadness.
She turned back, swallowing several times, and placed a bright smile on her face. “I’m fine. Probably just nerves.” Hopefully her shaky voice would convince him.
Driscoll studied her, the doubt in her remarks apparent on his face. But he did not push her, nor offer any additional kind words which would have sent her back to crying again. Instead, he withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, crumpling the handkerchief into a ball so she could wash it later. Raising her chin, she said, “I am ready.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead nodded and waved her toward the door.
They walked side-by-side down the corridor to the stairs leading to the gaming floor.
The room was bustling. A man in the corner was setting up liquor bottles on a long table in front of him. He stacked clean glasses alongside the bottles. Other employees were cleaning, dusting and preparing the gaming tables. Driscoll took the time to introduce her to the employees she did not yet know.
“I think it might relax you a bit to play a couple of hands before we open the doors.”
She nodded and a thought slammed into her that almost had her panicking. “My mask!”
“Ah, yes. I forgot. Wait here for me and I will fetch it from the office.”
Amelia picked up the two decks of cards with shaky hands. She started to shuffle them when a man’s voice called out, “Stop.”
She froze and looked over at the man who had just been introduced to her as Mr. Maxwell Granger, who ran the hazard table. He moved from around the table and approached her.
“What?”
“It’s best if you shuffle the cards in front of the players. They like to see that nothing untoward is going on.”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“No need to apologize, young lady. I know this is all new to you.” He leaned in and winked at her. “Remember, we were all new at one time.”
She smiled back, the corner of her eye-catching Driscoll heading toward her, frowning at Mr. Granger.
“Best get that table set up, Granger.” Driscoll’s voice was anything but warm and friendly. Did he not like the man?
Mr. Granger merely offered Driscoll a smirk which Amelia did not understand at all. But she was distracted by the mask in Driscoll’s hand. It was a beautiful black satin mask, the edges lined with black feathers. Small shiny stones were scattered throughout the piece.
