Lord Harry by Catherine Coulter

“Don’t suppose you will be coming with us again to Lady Buxtell’s,” Scuddy said over the rim of his champagne glass.

“Perhaps, if my little ladybird ceases to please me. Who knows? A gentleman’s taste changes swiftly and unexpectedly. Yes, we’ll see.”

Sir Harry carefully stored away Lord Harry’s words, changing them about just a bit so that they would be in his style, hopeful that at some time he could say them with the same negligent indifference to other gentlemen in his acquaintance.

Hetty rose, straightened her powder blue waistcoat and gave a salute to her friends. “Since you two are drinking up my assets, I can see that my only recourse lies with the luck of the cards downstairs. Now that I am an esteemed member, I can hold the faro bank. To your health, gentlemen.” She tossed down the remainder of champagne in her glass, and left Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore to their own devices. It was, in truth, her second glass.

When Hetty entered the elegant gaming salon, she felt a tinge of smugness mingle with her excitement at finally being an accepted member of this exalted male stronghold. She looked up at the heavy chandeliers, their twinkling prisms catching the glowing light from the candles and shimmering down upon the gentlemen’s heads, and gave them a conspiratorial wink. The array of black and gold clad footmen, the trademark of White’s, still impressed her with their silent efficiency. They hovered unobtrusively about the gaming tables, holding exquisite crystal decanters on silver trays, ready for the snap of a gentleman’s fingers.

She sauntered to the faro table and stood quietly at the elbow of Lord Alvaney, a very likable gentleman whose cravat styles she copied regularly. His amusing pronouncements upon the misfortune of existing in the same era as Beau Brummell made Hetty feel that he cared not a whit about the vagaries of his fellow men. She felt no fear of a snub at standing near to him.

She had thought Lord Alvaney engrossed in the play, and was surprised when his soft voice reached her, without his even looking up. “Ah, Monteith, allow me to felicitate you. New blood and youth you bring us. I daresay that you will stir up the arid old bones rattling around at White’s. You play at faro, my boy?”

“Yes, I much enjoy the game.”

“Sit, lad, sit. Ah, did I tell you how much I admired the distinctive style of your cravat this evening?”

She knew he was mocking her, but it was in gentle fun, and she merely grinned and sat down on a delicate French chair next to his lordship. “Now that I am a member, sir, I can hold the bank.”

Lord Alvaney smiled kindly at this ingenuous remark, and made his play. He didn’t guess aright, having forgotten the suits already placed to one side of the dealer, and grimaced slightly.

“What a ridiculous way to lose twenty guineas.” He rubbed his hand against his rather pointed chin. “Would you care to take on Sir Robert, Monteith? Robert, attend, old fellow, I am giving you a new lamb for the fleecing.”

Robert Montague, a tall, gaunt gentleman, renowned for his exquisite tact and near worship of propriety, raised his dark brown eyes to the newcomer. “Monteith? You hail from the North Country, I understand.”

Hetty knew that the gently phrased question cloaked the most vital of concerns to Sir Robert, namely whether Lord Harry’s pedigree and prospects were sufficient for him to be considered as a future son-in-law.

Not wanting to be considered anything remotely close to a possible son-in-law, she merely smiled, and nodded.

Hetty eased herself into the seat vacated by Lord Alvaney and sat forward to cut the deck. She lost the cut, not much liking it because Damien had always told her that being the dealer gave her not only the advantage but luck.

Sir Robert neatly inserted the shuffled deck into the faro box, an elegant, hand-lacquered affair, so exquisite a piece that it effectively masked its purpose of preventing the dealer from any false-carding. Sir Robert shoved the bank forward and withdrew the jack of diamonds from the box. The two of hearts followed, and Hetty set her memory into motion. It was vital to remember the suit and value of each card played, and Damien had taught her any number of quaint devices to remember the order of play. She repeated to herself that Jack loved the two of diamonds but the evil queen of spades must interfere. And on and on, weaving a nonsensical rhyme and story with each turn of the cards.

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