Chapter 18 #2
With a deft movement, Izzy accidentally swept her gloves from the table. Ben noticed at once and bent to pick them up. Izzy bent too.
“He’s cheating,” she whispered.
Ben straightened, frowning as he handed them back to her. “You’re sure?”
Izzy nodded, deciding it was time to take the game in hand.
Keeping up a stream of inconsequential chatter, which was likely driving them all to Bedlam, she watched carefully as Ben dealt three cards to each player.
Izzy lifted hers, shielding them with exaggerated care from prying eyes and screwing her face into one of extreme concentration.
King of clubs, seven of clubs, seven of hearts.
Not bad. Perfect for pretending to be a shatter-brained novice.
She bit her lip, hoping she looked befuddled.
Alveston leaned back in his chair, clearly amused by her obvious lack of skill. “Allow me to assist you if you find yourself confused, Miss Honeywell.”
His voice dripped condescension and Izzy smiled inwardly, looking forward to wiping the smile from his smug face.
“I shall certainly call upon your wisdom if I need to,” she said, giving her voice a soft lilt as she sent him a look of blatant admiration.
Beside her, Ben stiffened, and she fought the urge to kick him.
Surely, he realised it was all for show?
The round began.
Mr Pultney bought a card. “Another shilling,” he said, tossing the coin carelessly into the pot as he discarded a useless three.
Izzy watched the discards carefully as the men played: nine of diamonds, five of hearts, six of clubs.
When her turn came, she toyed with her cards nervously. “I do not quite know what I ought to do,” she murmured to Hartwell, who returned an encouraging smile.
Alveston offered, “If you have nothing very promising, my dear, you might buy.”
“Oh, yes! Then I shall.” She brightened, as if delighted to be guided by a superior player.
She placed her shilling into the pot and, with feigned hesitation, slid the king of clubs away as her discard, glancing around her with uncertainty as she regarded their faces.
Ben didn’t move but Hartwell shifted uncomfortably at her casting off such an excellent card, and Alveston looked secretly amused as she drew a single card from the deck.
Triumph lit her up inside, though not a glimmer of her satisfaction showed outwardly. Tricon sevens.
She tucked the card neatly with the others as everyone presented their hands. Looking cautiously pleased, she set her cards down as everyone stared at her hand in surprise. “I think that is good? Is it good?” she asked, turning face to Mr Kimble and Mr Pultney with hopeful confusion.
The young men laughed good-naturedly and congratulated her. Alveston inclined his head. “Well done, my dear, you are getting the hang of it.”
Izzy beamed as Ben stared at her, admiration glinting in his eyes in a way that made her heart thump. “Oh, and it’s my turn to deal, too.”
She dealt with exaggerated care until the men were almost wild with impatience. Alveston bought again, discarding badly and revealing a nervous edge that Izzy thought promising. Ben declined to buy, and Mr Kimble confidently knocked, signalling the last round.
Now it was time.
Izzy blinked, hands fluttering with nerves as she looked around the table. “Does this mean I must show my cards?”
“You must,” Alveston said, smiling as though humouring a child. He laid his down first. Jack of spades, jack of diamonds, two of clubs. “A pair,” he announced confidently.
Ben placed his cards down next. Ace of spades, queen of spades, four of diamonds.
“Highest cards,” he said simply.
A murmur swept the observers.
“Oh dear,” Izzy said softly, cheeks warming prettily. “And I thought I’d done rather well, but now I’m not sure if it’s good enough.”
“Go on, Miss Honeywell,” Mr Pultney urged. “You’re doing splendidly.”
Izzy beamed at him and turned her three cards over with innocent delight. Three sevens. Again.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
“A tricon, by God!” Kimble exclaimed. “Again!”
“Impossible!” Alveston exclaimed, his expression furious. “How can she have three sevens again?”
Izzy smiled uncertainly. “Does that beat the other hands then?”
“It does,” Hartwell said, staring at her cards with a frown.
“How marvellous,” Izzy said with a little laugh. “I can hardly believe it, for I never usually win. It must be beginner’s luck.”
Ben made a choked sound and Izzy turned innocent eyes upon him.
“I like this game,” she told him sweetly.
He sent her a look that made her heart leap with excitement.
She was riding the high of winning and proving her skill to him as well as vexing Alveston beyond bearing and having the time of her life.
They continued their game, with Izzy winning two of the next three games, though with rather less flair, as the men watched her with increasing confusion. Alveston lost badly, until it was his turn to deal.
Izzy studied his hands as he shuffled, and knew at once he was cheating, palming good cards to the bottom of the deck.
To give him his due, he did it skilfully, and if not for Black Jack’s careful teaching, she’d not know what to look for.
But the angle of the deck, and the slight downward pressure of his fingers was wrong.
Even the sound of the cards as he moved them was off.
The slight clumping sound of a stack of cards kept together was an obvious tell in the quiet room.
Izzy’s heart kicked in her chest. If she could prove he was cheating, it would show what manner of man he was.
It would undermine any slanderous accusations he could throw against Ben, for who would believe such a man?
Cheating at cards was among the most dishonourable things a fellow could do.
Not so low as treason, but it was a start.
But how to prove it? Her heart skipped as she considered the possibilities.
She could not accuse when there was no obvious proof and no one else seemed to have noticed.
Alveston began to deal but Ben said coolly, “Cut first.”
Izzy glanced at Ben, her heart skipping. He’d seen it too.
With a thin smile, Alveston gathered the two cards he’d dealt back into the pack.
Izzy focused on his hands, her heart leaping as she noticed his quick fingers pinching a card at one corner.
A crimp. It was subtle, she had to give him credit.
Black Jack would admire his skill, which was formidable.
A pity he had not put as much effort into learning how to play honourably, but the tiny bend in the card would force the cut in the place he wanted it to go.
Alveston offered the deck to Pultney on his right. Izzy sucked in a breath, suddenly sick with apprehension, knowing she was about to make the most appalling scene and praying it was worth it.
“Oh, that’s clever,” she remarked, smiling admiringly at Alveston.
The men all turned to look at her and she pretended to falter, looking from one to another. “Oh, I beg your pardon, but I didn’t know such tricks were allowed when you played for money.”
An odd tension thrummed around the table, gasps from the now not inconsiderable crowd who had gathered to watch as Izzy won with increasing skill.
Ben turned to her, his expression hard but she could see the glint of anticipation in his eyes.
This would work. He felt it too. “Miss Honeywell? What tricks?”
“He’s crimped the card to force the cut,” she said, laughing a little, though murmurs of shock rippled through the room.
“He did it so cleverly I almost didn’t catch it, and I only noticed because it’s the sort of wicked trick my friend plays on me when she’s determined to win.
I keep telling her it’s not the done thing, but she is far more competitive than I,” she added, all naivety.
“Miss Honeywell,” Alveston said, a dangerous note to his voice. “You are confused. I am sorry, my dear, but this is why ladies ought not to play with men, they do not understand—”
“She’s right.” Hartwell, who had reached for the deck whilst Alveston’s attention had turned to Izzy, held up the crimped card. The queen of hearts.
“By God! He cheated,” Mr Kimble said, staring at Alveston in disgust.
Mr Pultney threw down his own cards, glaring at Alveston, whose complexion was sliding from the reddish purple of fury to a sickly greenish white. Ben reached for Alveston’s hand before the man could snatch it away, revealing two more queens and a three.
He didn’t need to say anything. The entire table just stared at Alveston, who was only now realising how profoundly he had misjudged. His reputation, so pristine just moments ago, lay in tatters.
“She set me up!” he exclaimed, pointing at Izzy and glaring wildly about the room. “You saw the unnatural creature. When have you ever seen a woman play like that? Two tricons of seven? Impossible! She did it.”
Izzy blinked at him, gasping and laying a hand against her bosom, her heart beat so fast beneath her palm she feared she might cast up her accounts before everyone. What if they believed him?
“Me? But how? You were dealing the cards, Lord Alveston, and I assure you, I have no skill whatsoever. I was only lucky. Anyone can be lucky from time to time, can they not?” Izzy knew most of the men here would have no problem at all swallowing that chestnut.
Naturally, a woman couldn’t have won by using skill and her wits.
“You might also remember that my father is a vicar, he would not even approve me playing for money, let alone cheating!” she said, once again resorting to blinking wildly as if she might cry, feeling not an iota of shame for using her father’s vocation so boldly and lying through her teeth.
She just had to make everyone believe it.