Chapter 14
Some Cards with Friends
It was but a card party, it was but a mixture of those who had never met before, and those who met too often; a commonplace business, too numerous for intimacy, too small for variety …
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Thinking on it afterward, Rosalind could only describe the time she spent over coffee with the ladies of the Kinsdale House as brittle.
It was not, however, subdued in any way.
The greatest shift in attitude came from Elizabeth.
The contentious meal, not to mention Cynthia’s expulsion from the company, seemed to have energized her.
She joined Mrs. Lynn in insisting Clara describe her visits to London’s warehouses, and further requiring that she bring down the fabric swatches she had picked out.
These were then gone over with enthusiasm and many sage pronouncements.
Clara herself was pale and piqued, and trying very hard to hide it. Was she worried about Cynthia’s exile? Or was it something else? There was no way for Rosalind to ask. Elizabeth and Mrs. Lynn between them kept up such a steady stream of talk that she could not get a word in edgewise.
By the time the footman entered to say that the first of the guests’ carriages had arrived, Rosalind had begun to wonder if this was deliberate.
There was no formal ballroom in the house.
There was, however, a series of airy rooms that led into one another and eventually opened out onto a pied-à-terre and the back garden.
Tonight, the largest of these rooms had been filled with tables of various sizes, all covered in green baize.
Here, the guests could settle themselves down for whatever game might interest them.
Elizabeth and Cynthia, along with Mrs. Lynn and Sir Anthony, stationed themselves at the entranceway to receive the guests.
Rosalind took up a position near the threshold between the salon and the card room.
She opened her fan, and pasted a small, interested smile on her face.
Her plan was to watch as the arriving guests split into couples and knots and began to find their places for the evening.
Adam excused himself from a whispered conversation with Devon and came to stand beside her.
“This is going to be an interesting party,” Adam murmured. Following his gaze to the gaming room, Rosalind saw that in addition to the usual packets of cards, and boards for cribbage, there were tables set up for some less well-regarded pastimes.
“Vingt-et-un,” she remarked.
“And faro.” Adam nodded toward the long table with the distinctive box positioned in the middle.
Faro was a highly popular gambling game that involved betting on which cards would be pulled from a spring-loaded box that was operated by a hand crank.
It had a notorious reputation, and so many fortunes had been lost at the faro table that Parliament had passed several laws seeking to regulate its play.
None of them had had any noticeable effect.
“I am counting twenty persons at the tables so far,” Rosalind said.
“At least thirty more in the receiving line,” said Adam. “I believe we were told this was to be a small party?”
Rosalind nodded, but she had no opportunity to say anything more. Devon had extricated himself from a party of enthusiastic gentlemen, half of whom appeared to be taking snuff as they spoke, and made his way to them.
“I am using you as a shield,” he said to them. “Please keep me talking.”
“At your service, sir,” said Adam.
“Are you all right?” asked Rosalind.
But she could already see he was not. In fact, he looked positively grim. “I begin to understand why I’ve been kept away from these little card parties.”
Rosalind nodded. Adam knew the story of Devon’s past, and his antipathy toward gambling—especially by men who could not afford to lose.
Some instinct must have stirred in Clara Kinsdale, because she turned her head and met Devon’s gaze. Even from where they stood, Rosalind could see the shame and remorse on her countenance.
“Go to her,” said Rosalind. “She will think she’s the one who’s made you angry.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, Devon made a little gesture to Clara, as if he were lightly tossing something toward her.
It must have meant something between them, because Clara smiled, and closed her hand, as if she were catching that same thing he threw.
With that, she turned back to the receiving line and gave her attention to whatever it was her father and Mrs. Lynn were saying.
Devon watched her for a moment, smiling softly.
“You’re the etiquette expert, Mrs. Rutherford,” remarked Devon, his gaze still resting on Clara. “Would it be bad ton if I just bundled her into the carriage and drove hell-for-leather for Gretna Green?”
“I would not advise it,” said Rosalind. “You did, after all, say you wanted to begin your married life without scandal.”
“I may have changed my mind,” Devon muttered.
“Understandable,” said Adam. “But if you can hold your patience for another few hours, I think we’ll be able to put any focus for scandal where it belongs.”
“So soon?”
“I agree.” Rosalind let her gaze rove around the room.
She heard the slap of cards, and the rising tide of shouts, laughter, and curses.
The receiving line was dissolving. Mrs. Lynn had taken Sir Anthony’s arm to lead him on a circuit of the room.
The couple paused every few feet to greet some gaudily dressed lady or red-faced gentleman.
“This environment is made for letting secrets drop.”
Devon was once again looking at her oddly. It was that same look she had noted when he sat in her parlor and listened to how she planned to proceed.
“Casselmaine,” said Adam. “Let me ask you, have you seen this famous horse? Kinsdale’s Pride?”
Devon’s mouth twitched into a brief, mirthless smile. “I could hardly avoid it.”
“Was Miss Cynthia’s assessment accurate? Is it ready to drop dead at the post?”
“She exaggerated,” said Devon. “But to my eye, not by much.”
Adam was silent for a moment, taking this in. “Did you share your opinion with Sir Anthony? Perhaps try to dissuade him from racing the animal?”
“It hardly seemed worth the trouble,” said Devon. “I thought it was simply one more concession to his vanity.”
“How much has Mrs. Lynn encouraged this particular concession?” asked Rosalind.
“A great deal,” said Devon. “But is it more than she encourages any of his other petty vices? I could not say for certain.” He paused, turning over some thought in his mind.
“That horse is like this house, like the coat he wears, and that quizzing glass. It’s all part of his view of himself as an elevated and sophisticated man, and he will blame others if reality interferes with that view.
Not too long ago, he dismissed his head groom without warning or reference.
He’d been at a training run for Kinsdale’s Pride and it didn’t go well.
He said the groom had been bribed by a rival breeder to poison the horse’s feed. ”
“And was he?” asked Rosalind.
Devon stared at her, and when he saw she was serious, he blinked. “I don’t know,” he said. “I assumed not.”
Adam and Rosalind exchanged a long look.
“You can’t believe there was anything—” Devon stopped. “You do,” he breathed. “You both do.”
“I believe we don’t know,” said Adam. “But one thing we do know is that any conspiracy always involves more people than it appears on the surface, and has been in place longer than would seem possible.”
“Conspiracy?” Devon barely remembered to keep his voice down. “Are you serious?”
“Look around,” said Rosalind. “These are the people Mrs. Lynn names her friends. She has arranged for a place and time where they may all indulge a love of play for deep stakes. What if she’s coaxing her friends to bet on more than cards?”
“So you think it’s all to do with the horse?” hissed Devon.
Rosalind looked to Adam, and he nodded. “It’s possible.”
“I don’t know whether to feel relieved or appalled,” Devon muttered. “We asked you to find the truth about Mrs. Lynn but …” He shook his head.
“As Adam said, nothing’s certain at this point,” said Rosalind. “Casselmaine, if you will take my advice, you will go to Clara. She is going to be worried and need your reassurance. Let us work. We will have something more definite soon.”
Again, that odd look. Now she felt she was beginning to understand it, and the result left a hollow feeling inside her.
But Devon bowed. “Thank you,” he said, and left them.
He moved confidently through the rooms, artfully dodging attempts to engage him in conversation.
He came up to Clara and bowed, and then took her hand.
Clara looked up at him, and he smiled—not a small, polite smile, but a full, brilliant, thoroughly relieved smile.
Rosalind imagined she could feel the warmth of it from across the room.
Something odd happened inside her, but she could not name what it was.
“Strange to see an old love so happy, isn’t it?” murmured Adam beside her.
Rosalind felt herself begin to blush. “Does it show?”
“To me,” murmured Adam. “And the feeling will ease itself. I promise.”
“You speak from experience?”
Adam chuckled. “Rather a lot of it. I’m afraid before I met you I broke a lengthy string of hearts.”
“Or a lengthy string of ladies broke yours?”
“A bit of both, perhaps,” he admitted.
“You will please write out a complete list of the miscreants. I shall begin a vicious whispering campaign and ruin all their reputations.”
Adam smiled, and reached out with two fingers to brush the back of her hand. Even through her glove, Rosalind felt her skin warming. She allowed herself to linger there, for no better purpose than to be beside him a bit longer.
As Rosalind and Adam watched, a set of chattering ladies moved from greeting the Kinsdales and Mrs. Lynn to a table set up for whist. A pair of gentlemen, already flushed with drink, seated themselves at the vignt-et-un table where one of the liveried footmen began to deal out the cards.
From the eagerness of their expressions and the dexterity with which the cards were shuffled and dealt, Rosalind had the feeling that the play tonight would be very deep.
She let her gaze roam until she found Elizabeth Kinsdale. Elizabeth was still at the threshold of the salon. She was flushed with color and talking in a highly animated fashion with a cluster of gentlemen. She fluttered her fan in a show of enthusiasm.
But Elizabeth’s attention was not on the men in front of her. It was on the case clock in the corner.
Rosalind felt her own eyes narrow.
“What is it you’ve seen?” murmured Adam.
“Elizabeth. She’s waiting for someone, or for something.”
“Any idea what it might be?”
“No. Not yet.” She waved her own fan gently. “But I cannot help thinking of Admiral Walsingham, and Sir Anthony’s expressed reason for ending the lease. What is it about a child that has him so disturbed?”
“Perhaps he was just looking for any excuse to remove his tenant. This one served.”
“Yes, but again, why? It is clear he was very reluctant to rent the house, but he recognized the necessity of having some form of income. But now he has changed his mind. Why now? Before the race is run?”
“He’s sure he’s going to win,” said Adam. “I have known some men to be that foolish.”
“As have I. But again, I ask, why now? And why this excuse? What is it about a child in particular that so enrages him?”
Adam was silent.
“It may be nothing,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“I’m sure it is not.” He fell silent for a moment. “Well. I think I may try a hand of cards.”
“An excellent idea,” said Rosalind. There were few places so well suited to hear gossip than at the card table.
“And you?” he inquired.
“I believe it is time I gave some attention to the Misses Kinsdales.” Rosalind snapped her fan shut. “And I believe I shall begin with Elizabeth.”