A Gentleman for Judith (The Wednesday Club Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  “It’s the perfect setting, sir. Thank you. I shall be most content here.”

  He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. “Our guests will start arriving soon, but I’m not going to open your table until we have a good crowd. Probably at least another hour or so. This will give me time to let them know that piquet is now part of our offering, and also for you to get a sense of where everything—and everyone—is.” His look was pointed, and she understood his message.

  “Will play begin at the other tables immediately?”

  He nodded. “Yes indeed, although again it takes a little while for the evening to really take shape.”

  “And the bets, sir…we never discussed that…”

  Lord Rolfe pursed his lips. “Usually, for most of the tables, we do not limit bets. But for your table this evening, we’ll try to keep it at no more than a hundred guineas a point.”

  Judith managed to keep her jaw from dropping, but it was a close thing. “All right then.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll remember that.”

  And pray I don’t lose.

  Moving her away from the piquet table, Lord Rolfe began to stroll around the room with her on his arm, introducing her to the other dealers, most of whom seemed friendly enough. All were masked, and all in identically styled gowns. Judith felt as if she were now a member of a rather exclusive club as she realised her gown and mask glittered every bit as beautifully as did the others.

  Sometimes a smile or a hallo sounded familiar, but since Lord Rolfe was using everyone’s alias, she couldn’t be sure. However, she was starting to see why so many ladies were eager to try their hand at various tables in this establishment. It was elegant, well thought-out, and certainly not a place one need feel ashamed to be seen in.

  Of course, being a hostess and dealer was a slightly different kettle of fish than being a guest, but even so.

  The doors had opened, and the trickle of eager gamesters had begun.

  “I’ll have to leave you,” said Lord Rolfe.

  “I understand. Thank you. I know my way back to my table. Will someone let me know when the first game is set up?”

  He nodded. “I’ll have a servant keep you informed.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled, “and here’s hoping for a wonderful evening’s play.”

  He vanished amongst the growing throng, and Judith turned to head back toward the spot she would occupy for more than a few hours. She nodded and tilted her head politely as her gaze met those of the other hostesses, some of whom already had games in train.

  The vingt-et-un tables were busy, as were the whist tables, some with hostesses, others occupied by friends who had come to share a game. They would be members, since Lord Rolfe had mentioned the benefits of becoming a member included the chance to enjoy a hand of whist with one’s companions, free of the betting restrictions imposed by some of the statelier gentlemen’s clubs.

  The noise level grew, with laughter, both genteel and raucous, echoing from the ceiling with increasing frequency.

  Walking past Cordelia’s table, Judith saw her lean almost across it, passing dice to a player. Even Judith blinked at the amount of white bosom she managed to display. The gentleman awaiting the dice reached for it but missed by a mile, so distracted was he by the show of décolletage.

  Judith wanted to giggle but kept a straight face. The next table belonged to Miss Lavender, whose greeting had clearly been spoken with an accent. She was overseeing a game of vingt-et-un, and as Judith passed, she was smiling, thanking a young gentleman who had brought her a lovely arrangement of flowers. It was cleverly attached to a wide ribbon and he was tying it around her left wrist. Judith wondered how he’d managed to find a plant with such blue petals.

  “They’re made of silk,” said a low voice in her ear.

  She jumped and spun around to find herself nose-to-nose with Ragnor. “God, you scared me.” She pressed her hand to her chest.

  “You look magnificent,” he said, his gaze surveying her. “That colour…well, I can’t fault Lord Rolfe’s taste.”

  “My table is that way,” she gestured to the corner. “I have to be seated there shortly.”

  “I’ll walk you,” he took her arm.

  “You don’t have to,” she shot him a sideways glance.

  “I know. But I want to.”

  How could she protest? “All right.”

  It seemed as if he was of a mind to wander, ambling between games, getting a greeting here and there from gentlemen he knew. She could feel their eyes on herself, as if wondering who Ragnor Withersby had on his arm. But since she wore the club colours, she felt herself safe from unwanted scrutiny.

  “You are well?” he asked as they neared a servant holding a tray of champagne. “Here.” He passed her one and took another for himself.

  “I am, thank you. And you?”

  “A bit embarrassed, but the Sydenhams have forgiven me, so I’m hoping you can find it in your heart to do so as well…”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Sir Ragnor. I might well have spoken out of turn myself, so perhaps we should put the entire episode behind us.”

  “A magnanimous sentiment, Miss…” She nudged him, frowning. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. Tonight you are…?”

  “Mademoiselle Mystère,” she said, lifting her chin. “Laugh at your peril.”

  His lips curled slightly, but he manfully restrained himself. “A charming appellation. Mademoiselle Mystère it is.”

  It was amazing how quickly the room was filling up; Judith looked around, but now could see little but the backs and tops of heads. “Is Lydia here? Matthew? The others?” She spoke in a whisper near Ragnor’s ear.

  He nodded. “Miss Siddington was otherwise engaged. But both Davenports, Miles and Miss Glynde-Beauchamp are around somewhere.”

  Judith smiled. “I knew they’d be able to convince their families that this was an acceptable establishment.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll wager they lied.”

  She was about to accept his bet when a servant quietly appeared at her elbow. “From Lord Rolfe, Miss.” He extended the tray and Judith found a note on it. Opening it, she read the brief list of names. Two gamblers had chosen to try their hands at piquet this evening, and Sir Andrew Chadwick would be the first.

  Ragnor looked over her shoulder, shamelessly reading the words. “Both fine players. You’ll have two good games, I’m sure.” He sighed. “I envy you.”

  She smiled. “You can always stay and watch.”

  “I think not,” he answered. “But you can be assured that one of us will always be nearby.”

  “You still don’t like my doing this, do you?” She met his gaze defiantly.

  “No, but I’ve accepted that it is your choice. So all I can do is try to make sure you are not in any trouble while here.”

  Moved, she touched his arm. “Thank you, Sir Ragnor. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

  “Good luck.” He released her and turned away, leaving her feeling more than a little alone.

  Busy with her thoughts she walked toward her table, passing others on the way. She had no taste for champagne at this moment, so found an empty tray and put her glass on it. It would have distracted her too much and she wasn’t about to risk her skills like that. A shout from Miss Lavender’s gamblers made her pause as the players waited for her to turn her own card over and thus declare a winner.

  The woman laughed, a trill of pleasure, attracting their eyes, as her hands dealt the last card.

  Judith noticed she was left-handed.

  And then she revealed the card she’d drawn…an ace. There was a loud groan and much good-natured complaining from the half dozen gentlemen, but Judith had stilled and barely heard them.

  That card, the one that Miss Lavender rested tenderly next to her Jack…Judith could have sworn it came from beneath her hand. It could, very easily, have been tucked within that bracelet of flowers.

  Miss Lavender gathered the cards and urged t
he players to try again, which several did with enthusiasm.

  Judith watched, her eyes glued to the game.

  Yes, it was very possible. The flower band was of a good size, attractively arranged and with plenty of room to tuck something beneath it. She moved away, wondering how on earth she could verify her suspicions. Or even if she should.

  As she took her seat and unwrapped the piquet deck, she came to a decision she knew was right, even if it wasn’t quite what she wanted.

  Lord Rolfe was the one to inform. She would have loved to catch Miss Lavender in the act; to demand she admit to her crime, and to see her leave the establishment forever. Judith hated cheats with a surprising ferocity and had done ever since she learned piquet. Her mother had felt the same way.

  So in the few moments before her first opponent arrived, she reached for the paper and scrawled a quick and cryptic couple of lines to Lord Rolfe. Then she beckoned a servant, whispered in his ear and gave him the note.

  There. She’d accomplished something she hoped was useful. It might be nothing, in which case no harm had been done. But if it was something? Then Lord Rolfe would be pleased.

  Either way, she could rid her mind of a worry and focus on the game in front of her.

  An elderly gentleman walked up to her table. “Mademoiselle Mystère?”

  She rose. “Indeed, sir. Might you be Sir Andrew Chadwick?”

  “I am.” He sat. “And this will be rather fun, won’t it? I’ve never played a woman before.” The smile on his face said it all. He expected to soundly trounce her.

  She was quite used to that reaction and merely nodded. “If you would like to name your wager, sir.”

  “Well my dear, how about we start at ten guineas a point?”

  Judith gulped. That was high play for her. But this was a gambling club.

  It was time to take a gamble herself.

  She shuffled the deck and smiled. “Excellent, sir. Would you care to draw for the deal?”

  Chapter Twenty

  R agnor was not of good cheer at this particular moment.

  He’d been unsettled at the sight of Judith in that gown—elegant, sophisticated and as sensual an ensemble as he’d ever remembered setting eyes on. Perhaps that had something to do with the woman who wore it, but for the first time he saw her as a woman. This was the beauty she had become and would continue to develop.

  That sense of possession flowered more fully inside him, reassuring him that his decision to offer for her, to make her his wife, was absolutely the right thing.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t the slightest notion how to go about convincing her of that fact, without committing himself on a level that made him very uncomfortable.

  Yes, he knew what she wanted.

  He just didn’t know if he could give it to her.

  “Not gambling?” Miles had come up to his side.

  “I’m looking around,” he answered casually. “You try anything yet?”

  “Of course,” he grinned. “I had to pay a call on Cordelia Mannering’s hazard table. Just to be polite. Did you know she’s chosen some obscure Greek word for lust as her nom de guerre?”

  “On the attack, is she?” Ragnor couldn’t help a chuckle.

  There was a loud roar from her part of the room. Miles shrugged. “Need I say more?”

  The two gentlemen strolled together, exchanging a greeting here and there, neither inclined to join in a game, both masking some intense observation with the polite affectations expected of them.

  “Seen anything interesting yet?” Miles snabbled a glass of champagne from a servant’s tray and offered it to Ragnor.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. And I’ll pass on the champagne too, for the moment.” His gaze drifted back to where he could see Judith’s head bent over her cards and Sir Andrew across from her.

  “She’s quite all right, Ragnor. You said she’s one of the best players you’ve come across…”

  “She is,” he concurred, turning back to Miles. “I’m not worried about her losing. It’s who she’s winning from that worries me.”

  Miles glanced over. “Andrew Chadwick? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Comte Arnaud Vallières. He’s her other declared challenger this evening.”

  “Hmm.” Miles frowned. “I know little about that man, other than his name. He was much feted when he arrived from France—I do recall that. Women were flocking over him like bees to honey.”

  “Pollen,” said Ragnor absently.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Yes, the Comte concerns me. I’ve heard his temper is…uncertain.”

  Miles shrugged. “In that case, my friend, you and I will enjoy a game of whist. There’s a table set up quite near Miss Fairhurst’s. No reason we shouldn’t avail ourselves of it…”

  “She might be annoyed…” Ragnor began.

  “She’ll be safe,” finished Miles. “Does anything else matter? You must surely know how to cure her temper by now.” He smirked.

  “Be quiet, Miles,” warned Ragnor.

  “I knew it,” whispered his friend. “I heard the snap of the Parson’s mousetrap along with everyone else.”

  “If I ignore you, will you go away?”

  “No. This is too entertaining.”

  “Miles.”

  “You could always bring her roses. Then tell her she’s the only rose in your garden…”

  “Miles, shut up a minute.”

  Ragnor frowned as he watched the dealer at the faro table. Her graceful fingers were idly rubbing over the wood of the little box from which the cards were dealt.

  Miles stood beside him in silence and the two men watched the play as the bank moved from player to player. Two of the four won a hand, the other two lost and when it was her turn, the banker won. The same thing happened during the following two rounds. The dealer’s fingers always rubbed that one tiny spot on the box.

  “I’ll be damned,” breathed Miles turning his head away. “It’s a gaffed box.”

  Ragnor knew Miles’s expression meant a specially doctored box that would give a dealer the advantage, if they knew where to look for it. “Can you tell how it’s been rigged?”

  “Not from here, but I’ll lay you any amount you want that she knows.” Another round concluded. “And my best guess is that she has a partner playing. That way it won’t look too suspicious.”

  They moved a little closer, joining the few onlookers who were doing what Miles and Ragnor were doing…circulating through the room.

  Ragnor couldn’t identify any of the players at the table, although he thought he might have seen one at his club. But yes, two men seemed luckier than the other two, although not by much.

  A servant with more champagne arrived at the table. The hostess waved him away. “Bring brandy for these fine gentlemen, my friend. They are working up a thirst.” She laughed and they joined her, a pleasant sound of gamesters enjoying their evening.

  “Miss Delight always plays a great hand,” cheered one of the gentlemen. “And Rolfe’s brandy is most welcome.”

  Miles glanced at Ragnor. “Now the bets will go up and in an hour these men won’t quite know how they managed to lose so much.”

  Ragnor’s jaw firmed. “Rolfe will not be allowed to get away with this.”

  “Easy,” Miles put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You have no proof that it’s Rolfe who is behind it. Let’s keep an eye on it, and once we’ve confirmed our suspicions, we can confront the man.”

  “Grrr.” Ragnor growled under his breath. Damned bounder. Lord Rolfe was not rising in his estimation, that was for sure.

  “Keep your countenance for the time being. Let the brandy do its work here, and perhaps when we return, we’ll learn more. Enough to challenge Rolfe with, at least.”

  “Miles, I deplore this habit you have of being logical every now and again.”

  “I know. I do it solely to irritate you.”

  Ragnor rolled his eyes.

  *~~*~~*
>
  “A pleasure playing with you, Sir Andrew.” Judith had risen from her seat and allowed him to take her hand and bend over it.

  “I am entranced, my dear. Also stunned, slightly embarrassed and exhausted from such a challenging game with such a charming opponent.” He kissed her knuckles. “I’m going to have to go and settle my considerable debt.” He sighed.

  “I enjoyed our game as well, sir. You had me quite concerned on more than a few occasions.”

  The older man smiled. “And you’re very kind. I never had a chance, did I?”

  She grinned. “I don’t believe so, no.”

  “Where were you when I was young?” He shook his head. “Good luck to you, my dear. I trust our paths will cross again at some time in the future.”

  “I am only here for tonight, Sir Andrew. But I’m happy I shared some of it with you.” She dropped him a curtsey. “You have your accounting?”

  He waved a piece of paper. “I do. Thank you again, Mademoiselle.” He walked away from the table shaking his head, as well he should. Several hundred pounds would change hands this night, between Sir Andrew and Lord Rolfe’s business manager. Cold hard cash was not considered necessary at a piquet table. It was assumed that a gentleman would settle his debts—or claim his winnings—before leaving.

  Coins were acceptable at the vingt-et-un tables and some of the other games. But the large sums, the fortunes, were seldom won or lost in a pile of gold. Promissory notes were the currency of choice, and Judith carefully tucked Sir Andrew’s into her reticule. He had the same document, but a signed copy ensured his agreement with his obligations, and also his cooperation when it came to meeting them. It had all gone as Lord Rolfe had instructed.

  She stretched her spine a little, releasing some of the tensions that inevitably arrived with a new opponent. But it had been a good game with a good player, and in that regard, she’d enjoyed it.

  There would be a break in between games, so she was delighted to see Lydia and Rose bearing down on her, followed by Matthew bringing up the rear at a slower pace.