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“Elliot?” Grace said, trying to get his attention.
“I’m sorry. I was distracted.” He picked up the token, thinking hard. Ordinarily, he was no gambler. He liked to stay clear of the games where there was little chance of a win, but he was a good card player. He had a head for figures and numbers and could count the cards well, judging what other players had, particularly in poker.
It’s a mad idea, truly crazy, but what if it worked?
He lifted the token higher, just enough for Grace to see, then turned it over in his hand.
“Are you hoping to have a fun evening with that?” She laughed. “Well, maybe it is a good idea,” she added as she stood to her feet.
“You think so?” he asked in surprise as she walked to the door.
“I’m tired of seeing you miserable, Elliot. One night at a gambling hall may make you smile for a while. Besides, it’s not like any more debt could ruin us, is it?”
Her words sounded strangely reasonable to his ears.
She wished him goodbye and retreated to the withdrawing room, where a few minutes later he heard her playing the keys of the cheap harpsichord he had gifted to her to replace the fine one they used to own and had to be sold.
Invigorated by the idea, Elliot stood to his feet. He ignored every ounce of common sense in his head that said it was a bad idea to go gambling and listened to the wild possibilities instead.
Some people win big sometimes, do they not? They have been known to make a killing!If he could do such a thing, then perhaps there was a chance yet that he could save Grace from a future of destitution.
Snatching up the few bank notes he had along with the gambling chip, he hurried out of the room and to the front door. With no butler present, and not enough horses to pull a carriage, he decided to walk. Pulling on a frock coat that was torn around the edges, he strode out of the house and into the streets. He ignored the fact it was raining heavily, with the droplets bouncing off the rim of his hat and running down his cheeks like tears.
Rushing to the gambling hall, he trod in puddles, kicking up a mess around him. His manner was not settled until he was in Covent Garden and had found the gambling hall that owned the chip.
“Good evening, sir, may I have your name?” a member of staff asked, opening the door and hurrying him inside to shelter from the rain.
“The Duke of Northmore.”
“Then welcome, Your Grace. What games can we interest you in tonight?” The man gestured through a velvet black curtain, revealing a world lit by candles with a myriad of tables. Some were surrounded by men, with their heads bent over dice that never quite landed where they wished them to. Other men played cards, puffing on pipes and balancing glasses of brandy and whisky beside them on the table.
“Poker,” Elliot said. “And bring me a brandy too, if you would, please.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Let me introduce you to our best table.”
Elliot was taken to a table where three men were waiting for a fourth to begin their game.
“I wish you luck tonight, Your Grace.”
I may need it.
Chapter 6
“Oh, good Lord!” Ophelia backed up from the window of the house. She had just waved Margery off only to discover that another visitor had arrived.
Margery was climbing into her carriage and hesitated, raising her eyebrows as she looked at the visitor. Ophelia could not blame her for the surprise, as the appearance of Lord Chester carrying such a ridiculously large and ostentatious bunch of flowers was quite absurd indeed.
Ophelia returned to the window to wave one last time at Margery, who rolled her eyes at Lord Chester’s presence, then she retreated, awaiting Lord Chester’s entrance.
At dinner the night before, Ophelia had argued with Gertrude for what felt like hours over this betrothal. Even the dowager viscountess had argued the case, until Ophelia pointed out that who she married had nothing to do with her.
After that, Ophelia had returned to her chamber and refused to come out again. This morning, she had been glad to discover Gertrude and her sister had left the house. She was now beginning to wonder if it was part of their aim, to ensure Lord Chester arrived when she was alone.
Do they intend to catch me in a compromising position with him?
Realising what could be afoot, Ophelia flung herself from the room and headed to the entrance of the house, where the butler was still greeting Lord Chester.
“Miss Townsend.” Lord Chester bowed flamboyantly in greeting to her.
