Chapter Twenty-Two #2
She followed Lady Amelia up the stairs to the ladies only area. They left their cloaks in the entry room and proceeded to the ladies’ dining room where they were handed flutes of champagne. Felicity held the cool crystal in her gloved hand, but she did not take a sip.
Lady Amelia smiled at women she knew, not pausing to make introductions as they moved on to the ladies’ gallery to watch the exhibition.
They took a seat at the familiar tables and chairs before the railing.
Down below, three men played a game of cards, the tension in the room heightened.
Their backs were to the ladies’ gallery, but one fine set of shoulders she recognized instantly.
“Tristan,” she whispered, “what are you doing?” she prayed he didn’t hear her. The game looked intense and charged with aggression.
“Who is the player in the middle?” Lady Amelia asked.
The gentleman turned to speak to Tristan and Felicity gasped, thankful the noise of the main floor masked the sound.
“Lord Hugstead.”
The gentleman on the other side of him? She could have guessed, but she prayed she was wrong until he shifted slightly and confirmed her fear. His shorn blond hair and thick, rounded shoulders in a brown tweed jacket made him stand out.
“I can’t believe she would do this to him,” Felicity muttered.
“Do what?” Lady Amelia asked.
“She put the three of them against each other. Does this amuse her? Toying with people’s lives and emotions?”
Lady Amelia sighed. “No one said she was a saint.”
“What is he doing?” Felicity asked. “Why would he play? He loathes gambling.”
Lady Amelia moved closer. “Don’t you understand? This game is about you.”
Felicity turned to her in shock. “What?”
“If he wins, the two of you can marry.”
Stunned, Felicity didn’t know how to respond. Warmth filled her, that glowing center of her being spreading until her joy lit her from the inside like a star and her eyes burned. She covered her mouth with one hand.
“I know. It shouldn’t be romantic, but somehow it is,” Lady Amelia said.
Romantic . . . and terrifying. What happened if he lost? She held her breath as the play went several rounds, players exchanging cards, putting chips into the pot. Lord Hugstead knocked on the table.
“What does that mean?” Felicity asked Lady Amelia.
“He’s satisfied with his hand and now they all must show their cards. The highest value wins.”
Felicity held her breath as they set their cards face up on the felt, but she couldn’t see.
Chadwick was announced as the winner and her stomach revolted. She couldn’t breathe as her body went hot, and yet her skin turned clammy. She tore off the mask.
Lady Amelia set a hand on her shoulder. “Should we leave?”
“No,” Felicity said. She would be here for Tristan. The outcome didn’t matter. She’d leave with him no matter what.
Chadwick scooped the pot toward him and turned to make a remark at Lord Hugstead and Tristan. He jerked his head toward her and Felicity froze as he caught sight of her.
He grinned and then he blew her a kiss. Felicity spun away from the railing. Out of his sight.
Lady Amelia came to her side. “Are you sure you want to stay? He’ll understand. We’ll all understand if this is too much.”
“No. I have to stay.” She swiped up the champagne she’d set down and threw back the contents, her throat burning as the bubbles seemed to fight their way down her throat, and she had to cough.
“Tally ho, then.” Lady Amelia did the same, clearing her throat once. “It’s meant to be sipped and savored. The widow carries the best of everything.”
“I need the effects more than I need to taste it.” Felicity approached the balustrade again. The cards were dispensed once more, and this went on for several rounds. The next player to knock was Tristan and Felicity held her breath.
The players turned over their cards and Tristan won. Felicity put a hand to her racing heart and closed her eyes.
“Don’t look. He’s looking at you.”
“Who?”
“That worm. All right, he’s stopped.”
But when Felicity opened her eyes, Hugstead had turned to see what Chadwick had been looking at. He half smiled in recognition, and she gave him a little wave.
“He’s really a nice fellow,” Felicity said guiltily. Was he playing to win her, too?
“He looks like it. But you don’t love him, so it doesn’t matter.”
Felicity should be surprised that Lady Amelia knew where her hopes lay, but she wasn’t. She only hoped that they didn’t know about Tristan’s nightly visits to her room.
“Do you think Mrs. Dove-Lyon is watching?” Felicity asked quietly.
“Most definitely. She wouldn’t miss this. She arranged it for a reason.”
“Her own amusement?”
“Perhaps, but I think she has your interest at heart. She just also enjoys making men into her puppets and watching them struggle.”
Felicity huffed out a laugh. “They do deserve it, don’t they?”
“Absolutely. All that freedom and power and what do they do? Make bets on who can piss the farthest.”
“No,” Felicity said in disgust.
“Oh, yes. They want to see whose blood clots the fastest. Who can tolerate the most snake bites. All the while betting wild amounts of money that could be put to much better use. It’s an atrocity they hold all the power over us.”
“It is.”
“At least she does something good with their lost coin,” Felicity said. “She gives all the female servants deportment classes. Some of the female patrons bring young daughters and she’ll have a dance instructor give lessons.”
“She does?” Lady Amelia said.
“Yes, it’s quite sweet. She’s . . . something special, in her own twisted way.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”