Chapter Two #2
“Darling, it’s the grandest thing I can do.
She’s a kind, good-natured sort. Obviously.
I mean, what sort of person returns a brooch her grandmother stole fifty years ago?
A good person. And as luck would have it, she’s poor.
A poor woman with a good soul is worth her weight in gold.
So, what can I do to repay this good, God-fearing young lady?
Set her up for success, of course. Marry her off to a peer and let her have the happily ever after she desperately deserves. ”
“The Marked Swan is not for poor ladies seeking rich husbands. It’s the other way around, and you know it.”
She shrugged.
“Well, tonight’s different.”
With that, Bessie turned and stalked away from him. If he were a lesser man he might go after her, grab her, and make her promise not to set up that young woman for failure, but then why was he so invested? He didn’t know this woman, and it really didn’t matter who she was or what happened to her.
But then, it did, didn’t it? Rhys may have been damaged from war, but it spoke to a part of him that had been buried for quite some time.
It had been his reason for joining the Royal Military Academy at Woolrich.
He had always wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and while he had learned a great deal about life since then, he still couldn’t ignore someone so obviously being led into a trap.
Bessie was trying to manage something through manipulation and while it had never concerned Rhys before, there was something about Louisa that he couldn’t ignore.
Rhys followed Bessie from a good distance as she descended the staircase.
The sea of people parted the moment she reached the first floor, and she walked through the crowded room like a queen.
A man known as Egeus, who was carrying a small silver stepping stool, came from across the room.
He met Bessie just as she reached the center faro table and placed the small stair on the floor just as she reached for his hand and climbed gracefully on top of the faro table.
Excitement practically snapped through the air.
Gentlemen were smirking and smiling, elbowing one another as the jewel-toned ladies disappeared into the background.
This was why there were so many people here tonight.
Impoverished peers seeking pretty, rich wives.
“Good evening, one and all,” Bessie boomed as the crowd cheered.
Lifting her hands, they all fell instantly silent, and though no one could see her face behind that impenetrable veil, there was a touch of humor to her voice.
Rhys was grateful he could hear her, especially since everyone else in the hall was quiet, but he did not appreciate the drollness of her tone.
“As you gentlemen are aware, tonight’s game is called the Marked Swan. Four rich, well-bred ladies will be presented tonight, but they will not be permitted to mingle with you.”
“Four?” an older man called out. “I thought there were only three?”
“Come on, Bessie, let us have them!” another man called out as a familiar muffled rumbling sounded around Rhys.
Bessie lifted her hands.
“A change in plans, gentlemen, a change in plans. There will be four ladies presented to you tonight, and may I remind you, these are gently bred women, whose reputations will be protected. You will know them only by their pseudonyms throughout the game, so pay attention. Each of my swans will be presented in a few short moments to everyone in the room. You will not be permitted to know their names, their families, their histories, their fortunes, or their shortcomings,” she said mischievously.
“Because as with every one of my swans, there is a catch. But once the game is over, I’ll present the new couple to everyone here! ”
Muffled laughter sounded around the room.
“But they’re rich, aren’t they, Bessie?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, her head turned directly at Rhys though he couldn’t see her eyes. “Rich beyond measure.”
“What’s a man to do if he has won?” a man on Rhys’s left called out. “Are you to marry us?”
A rumble of laughter thundered through the crowd, but Rhys was solely focused on Bessie. Her head cocked to the side.
“Unfortunately, no. The laws of the land will not permit me to seeing over such a holy act. However, I’ve with us tonight an incredibly special guest. Formerly known to many if not all, as Mr. Malcom Manners-Sutton.”
Rhys frowned, sure that he had misheard Bessie. The sea of gentlemen around him became suddenly less jovial and more serious, with some rolling their shoulders back or lifting their chins.
But it wasn’t possible. There wasn’t any way Bessie had managed to convince the Archbishop of Canterbury to attend tonight’s game.
Yet, even as he began to shake his head out of disbelief, a long-faced man with a narrow nose and furious eyes was escorted, rather forcefully, by one of Bessie’s burly employees.
He was dressed in his religious robes, and though he gave a little wave and a curt nod, Rhys noticed the perspiration on the temple of his forehead, his receding white hair slick with sweat.
He leaned towards Bessie and Rhys read the words “this is extortion” on his lips. Bessie only tossed her head back as a laugh escaped beneath the veil before addressing the crowded room again.
“Each of my swans holds an envelope. Inside this envelope is a special license of marriage, hand delivered by his holiness, the archbishop himself. After each game is finished, our swans and their fiancés will retire to the third floor,” she said, her arm outstretched above her.
Unmistakable hoots and hollers called out, but Rhys remained still as he continued to watch Bessie’s mouth.
“In the morning, each couple will attend a small ceremony at the Grosvenor Chapel and then—” She brought her hands together, wiped them twice and held them up.
“—my job for procuring the next generation of Britons will be done!”
Laughter rang out around Rhys, but the muffled sound annoyed him, like being pricked by a dozen pins.
“Then let’s get started!” an eager gentleman called out, as the rest joined in.
A nauseating feeling settled in Rhys’s stomach. This wasn’t right. Louisa wasn’t rich and it would be a sad day whenever her prospective husband found out. All these men in search of wives were only concerned with money, and Louisa May Babcock didn’t have any.
Two gentlemen reached up as Bessie gripped both their hands and guided her down to the floor with ease. Rhys was quick to push through the crowd and leaned into her ear.
“You’re not playing fairly, Bessie. This isn’t right.”
She reached up, her narrow fingers moving around his neck as she brought him close to her.
“My darling, I never play fairly.”
She released him when something over his shoulder seemed to suddenly catch her attention. Lifting her hands to address the crowd, she spoke once more. “Ah! My swans have arrived! Gentlemen, may I introduce Emerald, Sapphire, Ruby, and last but certainly not least, Citrine!”
All the guests turned, including Rhys, to see four young women dressed in gowns that aligned with their pseudonyms. Each of them had been styled in ways that accentuated their best features, and each wore a black lace domino face mask that covered the upper half of their faces, except for the eyes.
The ends of the masks were tucked away in their intricate updo hairstyles.
Each woman was hesitant, evidently questioning their own judgment for being placed in such a predicament, but Louisa especially. Rhys’s entire focus was on her, and he doubted he was the only one watching her.
Dressed in a canary-yellow silk gown, Louisa wasn’t smiling nervously like the others.
She had been fitted into a dress that seemed too tight, though the light from the chandeliers above shone off the fabric of her gown, reminding Rhys of melted butter.
She appeared stunned, like a stag upon hearing a twig break.
Her auburn hair had been reworked, pinned up in a style not unlike Bessie’s.
Still, she appeared terrified beneath her mask. Her mouth was pursed, and she was chewing on her bottom lip as they were escorted forward, each to different gaming tables. To his eternal damnation, Louisa made eye contact with him as she passed.
This wasn’t right. The girl was wide-eyed and terrified, and she likely had no idea what sort of game she was playing.
Feeling the tendrils of desperation grasp at his heart, Rhys moved forward once more to confront Bessie, who was happily speaking in the middle of a group of anxious gentlemen.
“Now the rules you know, but for any newcomers I’ll reiterate.
Each lady is to stand on a gaming table.
Emerald will be at the whist table, Ruby at the faro table, and Sapphire at the vingt-et-un table.
I believe the seating charts have been drawn up, so if you’re registered for the game, please speak to Snug to see where you belong. ”
“What about Citrine?” a voice called out.
“Ah, well, Lord Darby, since I wasn’t made aware of our beautiful Citrine until just a few moments ago, she will be placed on the hazard table.”
“Dice?” Rhys growled loudly. “The others are card games. Dice is a game solely based off chance.”
“All our games are games of chance, Lieutenant Carlyle. But since you appear so eager, I’ll award you first chair.
” She turned back to the crowd. “And I will only be taking five more gentlemen for the hazard table! So, if you are interested in the lovely Citrine, please form an orderly line and Snug will have you sorted out immediately. Thank you.”