by Jane Ashford
Durand took a sip of brandy. “Do take a damper, Trask,” he said. His voice was perfectly steady. Indeed, he sounded amused.
Trask lurched forward and snatched the cards from in front of Durand. “I’m taking these,” he declared. Turning with some difficulty, he staggered out of the room.
There was a brief hush. Some of the players gave Durand furtive looks. “Shall we call it a night, gentlemen?” the latter said with cordial disregard. “Or have a final hand to…clear our palates, so to speak?” Shamelessly, he opened a small drawer in the card table and extracted a fresh, wrapped deck.
With murmurs and some shifting in chairs, they resumed play. Flora examined the other men. None showed the least sign of suspicion. Some were too drunk. Others were feverishly focused on their cards, obviously driven by a nearly irresistible compulsion.
Durand lost the hand, along with a number of the banknotes he held. The winner was jubilant, and the game broke up with only a bit of grumbling about losses. Durand gathered up his spoils, finished off his brandy, and went out as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
It seemed an eternity before the room was empty. The players milled about, had a final drink, fumbled with candles to light their way to their rooms. Finally, though, the last one departed, snuffing the remaining tapers, leaving Flora and Robert in darkness.
They waited a little while longer to make certain no one was coming back, then Robert rose and helped Flora to her feet. She stumbled a little on her aching knees, and he steadied her. When she was stable, Robert opened the door, went through, and lit a single candle at the coals of the fire. Flora picked up their cushions and followed him.
Robert was flicking through the cards on the table. “He begins the night with his marked deck, wrapped to divert suspicion, then substitutes if need be, or in any case at the end of play. So that he can leave the cards for anyone to examine.” He turned over the king of spades.
“It’s so brazen,” Flora said.
“I daresay he enjoys the risk. He’s also chosen some of the dullest young men here for his games. I’m surprised Trask objected. But then he’s not quite as well-heeled as the others who were here tonight.” Robert flipped over another card. “The odd thing is, Durand’s quite a skilled player. I daresay he’d do well without cheating.”
“Not well enough for him, apparently,” Flora said.
“No.”
“We must tell Lord Salbridge.”
Robert nodded absently. “He must have gotten hold of some of the cards they keep here ahead of time. It’s a common type, but you saw that the decks matched exactly.”
“That footman?”
“Yes, that would explain it.”
Flora’s mind had been busy. “We’ll need some proof beyond our word, won’t we? If we want to be rid of him for good.”
“Yes. I suppose I’ll have to burst in on them tomorrow night. Bring Salbridge along, give him a look at the fuzzed deck.”
“But what if Durand isn’t using the marked cards?” Not only would Robert be humiliated, but they’d lose their chance of exposing the man.
“Likely to be,” Robert replied.
“We can’t be absolutely certain.” As she frowned over this dilemma, she remembered the locked chest in Durand’s bedchamber. “Ah.”
“What is it?”
Flora met his eyes in the flickering candlelight. “Mr. Durand wouldn’t want to leave marked cards lying about. Or carry them with him all the time.”
“No. That would be foolish.”
“Which he certainly is not. I’d bet anything they’re in the small locked chest under his bed. I told you about it.”
“That’s right. You were in there.” Robert frowned at the memory. “The right size for a few decks of cards?”
“Well, quite a few. But there was nowhere else to hide anything. It’s not as if he could count on finding a hollow behind the paneling or under the floorboards in a strange house.”
Robert nodded. “A good idea.”
“Unless I’m wrong,” Flora replied with a sudden qualm.
“You so seldom are. I’ll take Salbridge up there first thing in the morning, and we’ll find out.”
“I won’t be pushed aside,” Flora objected. “I figured out what was going on. You wouldn’t know about the chest if not for me.”
“This is a matter of honor, Flora.”
Or to translate, Flora thought bitterly, the men would draw together and decide what was to be done. Nothing to do with “the ladies.” Anthony Durand would be ostracized from the gentlemen’s clubs. He would simply disappear from the lives of their wives and daughters. Most of them would never be told why. Because what did a woman need to know?
“I don’t discount your part in this,” Robert said. “Far from it. But it will be easier for me to deal with Salbridge.”
Flora would have liked to deny it, but she couldn’t. Her presence would make the earl uneasy. “So my efforts were for nothing,” she said. “I might as well have…sat back and embroidered handkerchiefs.”
“I am well aware of them,” he said. “And I’ll tell Salbridge how cleverly you reasoned it out.”
“So unusual for a female,” Flora burst out. “But I’m never to actually do anything.”
“You know I don’t believe that,” he said.
Flora moved toward the doorway. Suddenly, she was worn out. “It’s late.”
He started to light another candle.
“We should leave those,” Flora said. “We’re more likely to be seen if we carry a light.” One more thing that was different for her. The cardplayers could stumble about the dark house half drunk, waving their candles like signal flares, and they’d merely be mocked. If she was discovered, particularly in the company of a man, scandal would engulf her. “The moon is only a little past full,” she added.
Robert snuffed his candle. They moved slowly into the breathing darkness, creeping silently through the sleeping house to the upper floor. When they parted at the intersection of two corridors, Robert pressed Flora’s hand and whispered, “I won’t fail you.”
She said nothing. She trusted and admired and loved him. But at this new turn of affairs, an old melancholy had risen to overwhelm her.
* * *
Robert was in the breakfast room when the earl came down the next morning. He knew their host was an early riser, so he’d been up betimes to await him. “I must speak to you,” he told his friend’s father when the older man walked in. Fortunately, no one else was about at this hour.
“You look very serious,” was the reply.
Robert simply wanted to get it over. “Anthony Durand is holding late-night card games in one of your parlors,” he said.
“What?” said Salbridge.
“Deep play. And he’s cheating.”
The anger in the other man’s face shifted into calculation. “That is a serious accusation. And it’s been made before. Unsuccessfully.”
Robert nodded an acknowledgment of this truth. “I was observing last night. From, ah, hiding. I saw him switch decks. He has fuzzed cards, and I’m pretty sure I can prove it.”
“How?”
“By confronting him in his room and finding them. Now.”
Salbridge exhibited the natural hesitation of a host asked to flout the rules of hospitality. “Pretty sure, you say?”
“He has marked cards. I believe I know where he keeps them. So it will not be simply one man’s word against another’s.” This was where he was supposed to credit Flora’s reasoning processes, Robert thought. But he realized that Salbridge was more likely to be shocked at her intervention than admiring.
The earl had been considering. Finally, he nodded agreement. “I’ll trust you on this, Robert,” he said.
As they walked together up the stairs, Robert had a moment’s concern. What if
Durand wasn’t there? But even if he’d been in Lydia Fotheringay’s room for part of the night, he’d be back now. That was how people maintained the fiction of propriety.
They reached the man’s room. Robert opened the door without knocking. The key to victory, as Sebastian would say, was surprise and speed.
Durand was in bed, still sleeping. When the door shut with a snap, he stirred, stared blearily at them, and sat up. “What the devil?”
Ignoring him, Robert went to the foot of the bed and looked underneath. As Flora had said, the chest was there. He pulled it out, tried the lid. Locked. “Open this,” he said.
Durand threw back the covers and stood before them, feet bare under his flowing nightshirt. “The hell I will. What sort of household are you running here, Salbridge? Get out of my room.”
The earl faltered a little. Robert forged ahead before he could speak. “You cheat at cards,” he said to Durand. He caught a flicker in the man’s dark eyes before they went opaque. “I saw you. Open the chest.”
Durand took a step closer. He looked grimly belligerent, formidable even in his disheveled state. “And if I refuse?”
“I’ll break it open.” Robert strode over to the hearth, got the poker, and returned.
Fury twisted Durand’s face and visibly vibrated in his body. Violence hovered in the air. Robert tensed to fend off an attack. For a very long moment, it seemed inevitable. Then Durand made a contemptuous sound. He pulled a thin gold chain from beneath his nightshirt and over his head. A small key dangled from it. He knelt and used it to open the wooden chest, then stood back like a showman unveiling some marvel.
The interior of the box was divided into small compartments, each of which held a deck of cards. Robert let their host examine them while he kept an eye on Durand. “This is the sort of deck we use here!” the earl said, picking one up and fingering it. He traded it for another deck. “He has all the most common brands here.” Salbridge lifted out a shallow tray and revealed a lower level of the chest with more decks. “Good God! These are cards from White’s. And here’s one from Boodle’s. You switched decks at the clubs?” He seemed more outraged by this thought than by the covert games in his own house.
Durand shrugged. “Only now and then, when I had an irresistible opportunity.”
Robert looked over the array of cards. Many places had their own individual types. He recognized some from Brooks’s as well. Others were distinctive but unfamiliar. He imagined they matched those from some of the gaming hells. It was outrageous. Looking up, he found Durand gazing at him with what seemed to be amused contempt.
“You will leave my house at once,” said Salbridge. “As soon as you can pack up. Please leave behind whatever amounts you have won here, and any notes of hand, of course. I shall see to it that you do not play at any gentlemen’s club again.”
Durand made a languid gesture, as if their reaction was simply tedious.
“I don’t expect to see you again,” said Robert. “But if I hear that you’re trying to make trouble for anyone—at all—your cheating will become common knowledge.”
Durand’s examined him closely. “Ah.” He nodded as if he’d solved a puzzle. “That’s it, is it? She’s behind this.”
“There’s nothing to blame but your own dishonesty,” Robert replied sharply. “You’ve been cheating for years. As my father said.”
Durand bared his teeth. “It adds a bit of spice to the game. A whiff of daring in a dull age. And it’s so easy. Some men seem to beg to be gulled.”
“Have you no sense of shame, man?” said the earl. “You are dishonored.”
Suddenly, Durand looked weary. “Your quaint ideas of honor are not always affordable for a man without your wealth and broad acres, Salbridge. Or the damned Duke of Langford, either.” He shook his head as if they, and not he, were guilty of some stupidity. “I’ll try the Continent now that it’s open to Englishmen again. Full of opportunities, I understand.”
Robert closed the chest. The key was still in the lock. He turned it and picked up the box.
“Do you mean to take away the…tools of my trade?” Durand asked. He seemed about half serious.
“Regrettably, I’m certain you can replace them,” Robert replied. “We’ll retain this in case any…questions should arise.”
“I didn’t realize you had quite so much of your father in you,” Durand answered.
He didn’t sound complimentary, but the idea warmed Robert. He offered an ironic bow.
“I’ll order a carriage to take you to the village,” Salbridge said. “I shall expect you to be in it within the hour. You can make your own arrangements from there.”
Durand nodded. If he felt any regret, for his cheating or its exposure, the emotion didn’t show on his face. They left him ringing for his valet.
Nineteen
As Flora sat in the drawing room, awaiting word of the confrontation with Durand, Sir Liam Malloy sank down beside her. “I’ve come to say farewell,” he said. “I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.”
“Before the bonfire and celebration?”
“Well, Guy Fawkes is not a particular holiday for an Irishman. Some of my countrymen wouldn’t mind seeing the English parliament blown sky high.” He smiled to show he was joking. “Not I, of course.”
“Of course.”
“So, I wanted to take my leave of you. And just to inquire.”
“Yes?” Flora asked when he hesitated.
“Well, there’s been no…announcement. I wondered if, in fact, there might be a chance for me after all.” He leaned forward. “I could stay on.”
“No. My sentiments are the same.”
“Ah. Too bad.” He gazed at her. “So there will be news of your engagement soon?”
Flora felt she owed him the truth. She nodded. “I’ve written my mother.”
“Ah,” he repeated. “And you are very happy?”
“I am.”
He examined her. Flora shifted under his gaze. “You’re quite certain?” he asked.
“Sir Liam.” She was, Flora insisted to herself. It was just that so much had happened in the last few days. Soon she would feel the elation she’d seen in others. Lady Victoria, for example, her brain wryly suggested.
“None of my business. Yes, I know. Would that it were.”
“I hope you have a pleasant journey,” said Flora firmly.
“More likely a cold one.” He rose and stood before her. “If you should change your mind, you need only send one word.”
“I shan’t.” She wanted to be kind, but not encourage false hopes.
Sir Liam shrugged. “Well, perhaps I shall see you in the spring in London. I plan to be there for the season this year.”
At this moment, that seemed a long way off. Flora simply smiled.
“Good-bye,” said the Irishman.
“I wish you well.”
“And I, you.” He offered her a bow and a smile before walking away.
Frances Reynolds came around the back of the sofa and plumped down on it. “Is Sir Liam going away, too?” she asked.
“Yes. In the morning.”
“Everyone’s leaving.” The younger girl let out a long sigh. “It’s quite flat here now, isn’t it?” She’d been making this observation often since Mr. Wrentham’s departure.
“The fireworks are coming up.”
“I daresay they’ll be disappointing. It will probably pour rain.” Seeming unable to sit still, Frances rose again and wandered off.
Lydia Fotheringay swept through the drawing room doorway and rushed over to their hostess, who was talking with several of her friends, Harriet Runyon among them. Ignoring the others, Mrs. Fotheringay grasped the countess’s arm and pulled her away, launching into what was clearly a tirade, even from a distance. It must be finished then, Flora thought. Anthony Durand had been thrown
out. Offstage, as it were, from her perspective. She felt a little like a bit player observing the main action from the wings of the theater.
Harriet hesitated in the center of the room, looking as if she wanted to intervene. But in the end she couldn’t match Mrs. Fotheringay’s effrontery. She came to sit with Flora instead. “I wonder what’s gotten into her?” she said.
There could be no doubt who she meant. “Mr. Durand was caught cheating at cards and thrown out,” Flora replied. She didn’t know if she was supposed to keep this fact a secret. No one had bothered to tell her. She wasn’t going to. She’d tell whomever she pleased. Or, just Harriet, perhaps.
“Lord Robert managed to prove it?” The older woman sounded impressed. “There have been rumors for years.”
Flora looked at her. Even Harriet, who liked and respected her, didn’t think that Flora might have had a hand in Durand’s downfall.
“And of course it doesn’t occur to Lydia Fotheringay that public protests will merely increase the gossip about him.”
“Quite oblivious,” said Flora.
Harriet frowned at her. “That’s very good news, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“And yet you seem downcast.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Not downcast,” Harriet agreed. “Resentful? Impatient?”
“Why would I be?”
“Why indeed?” Harriet examined her face for a long moment. “I would expect to be joining you in celebrating a happy conclusion to our visit, my dear. You are engaged. A despicable man has received his just deserts. I know how you value justice. I don’t understand what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing should be. Harriet was right. And if a dispiriting sense of powerlessness still hung over Flora, well, she was being ridiculous. Yet that inner voice nagged. Would it be like this for the rest of her life? Would Robert always want to act for her? Capably. Lovingly.
“Flora?” said Harriet. She looked concerned.
“I’ve written Mama, and we’ll tell everyone once she’s had a chance to receive my letter.”