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Alice drew herself up and spoke deeper in her throat, almost so low as to be in her chest. “Thank you, I think a game or two today would be just the thing.” Mr. and Mrs. Clarke had been coaching her on her voice for weeks now and, so long as she spoke slowly, she could carry on quite a long conversation without straining her voice.
Alice turned and moved toward the door, but then stopped. She’d nearly forgotten. There was one other affectation she wished to carry. She turned and moved quickly toward her armoire. Pulling it open, she reached into the back corner and drew out her father’s old cane.
Holding to the gold-plated lion’s head top, she extended it before her.
Neither the housekeeper nor butler were smiling now.
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Clarke asked. They both knew where she’d gotten the cane.
Alice’s fingers moved around the lion’s head; she knew every crevice, ever curve of the stick. It was the perfect embodiment of her father. He’d used it to appear suave and charming in front of guests. He’d used it to prove he was equal to theton, though not born into it.
He'd also used it to pummel furniture when he was angry and away from gossiping tongues. He’d used it to smash her mirror when she’d dared to disagree with him. When she held this cane, it was like he was beside her once more—two-faced and manipulative.
Mrs. Clarke placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder.
Alice shook herself, coming back to the present.
“I need the cane,” she said, her voice normal. “I need the reminder as to why I’m doing this in the first place.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Clarke said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
Mr. Clarke extended a top hat and gentleman’s gloves Alice’s way. She took the gloves first. They were thicker than what she was used to. Then she took the hat and placed it on her head, pushing it down firmly into place. Wearing a top hat was not at all like a bonnet. It wasn’t even like wearing a lace cap. It pressed against her temples and left her ears feeling quite exposed.
Heart pounding in her chest, Alice gave Mr. and Mrs. Clarke one last look. “I’m off, it would seem.”
They gave her smiles and encouraging nods.
With her father’s cane in her hand, an uncomfortable top hat on her head, and all the determination she could muster in her heart, Alice moved out the door and off toward the gentlemen’s club.
* * *
“Seven.” Robins called his main and then tossed the dice onto the table.
“Three.” Isaac read the dice out loud and shook his head. “I told you, even if you call seven every time, hazard is a game of chance, and you aren’t ever guaranteed to win.”
Robins scowled and scooped up the dice again. “I have two more goes at it. Don’t count me out just yet.”
Isaac let out a sigh and returned his gaze to his paper. Sitting a little off to Isaac’s right, Robins tossed the dice again. If the groans and hushed chuckles were any indication, Robins threw out once more. Isaac enjoyed a good came of cards, same as the next man. However, when one had to fight to keep every deuced farthing that crossed his palm, playing for stakes simply wasn’t appealing. Still, he enjoyed the camaraderie he found here at Greenbulls, the simple gentlemen’s club. It wasn’t White’s or Brooks’s, but it was respectable and frequented by more men than Isaac had thought a country establishment would boast.
Another round of groans came from the table and Robins’s chair groaned as he pushed away and faced Isaac fully.
“Threw out all three times?” Isaac asked his friend.
Robins only nodded. “Let’s hope Parsons is meeting with more luck this morning than I am.”
“Indeed.” Then again, Parsons wasn’t basing his chances solely on luck. No, Parsons had courted Miss Turner most properly for several months, even going so far as to impose upon Isaac and his great-aunt when Miss Turner had to leave London suddenly due to her mother’s health. If Mr. Turner denied Parsons’s request to marry his daughter this morning, it wouldn’t be because the man had left anything up to chance.
“Maybe a game of whist,” Robins suggested. “But I don’t want to play with you. I want to play with someone unafraid of real risks.”
“You mean someone as stupid as yourself?”
“I mean—”
A hush fell around them, and the entire room, as one, seemed to look toward the front doors. Isaac leaned to his left, looking around Robins to see what, or more likelywho, had garnered everyone’s attention.
A man Isaac had never before seen stood just inside the club, his top hat in one hand, a cane in the other. He was well togged, despite appearing quite young. A manservant hurried forward and the gentleman handed off his hat but kept his cane.
“Must be Mr. Allen,” Robins said beneath his breath.
