Chapter Three #2
“Trading, I hear. In art.”
“Hardly a crime. Many people deal in art. Rich people, that is.”
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know more than that. I’m not exactly in a position to buy art. It’s for rich people, as you say.” She paused. “I hear he went onto the private terrace at the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough’s ball with the duke’s daughter and now refuses to marry her.”
“And that’s a crime?” It seemed ridiculous to her that the ton took these things so seriously. It certainly reminded her that she was a long way from her rural home.
“They were alone, in the dark, for several minutes, not a chaperone in sight.” Nancy chuckled. “The duke is on the war path, apparently.”
“Hardly seems fair.” Meredith looked out of the window at the bricked wall of the building opposite. All of her life, she’d taken people as she’d found them. If they’d been honest and kind with her, she took that to be their nature. If they’d been otherwise, then she’d viewed them that way.
Mr. Habsburg, from what she’d seen, had been a fair player, courteous, and keen to show appreciation for her interception.
“So what happened at the table?” Nancy asked.
“I spotted what was going on, called the wolves, and the culprits were escorted from the premises, not likely to be seen again, judging by the look on Lysander’s face.”
“Good riddance. Mrs. Dove-Lyon runs a tight ship. No cheating or monkey business here. It’s what keeps the high-rollers coming in.”
“Very true.”
“Will you deal again?”
“I hope so, maybe. I suppose it’s up to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” She touched the coin in her pocket. “I like handling the cards; it reminds me of my father. Chess too. It’s something we did together.”
“Then I hope you get another chance.” Nancy nodded at the food. “Are you eating?”
“No, I think I’ll go to my room. I’ve had enough excitement for one evening.”
“Yes, go rest. But hang that dress up carefully; you don’t want it creased next time you’re called to the gaming room.”
“Very true.”
Meredith headed out of the Ladies’ Room toward the main entrance. She wanted to thank Lysander and hoped he’d be hovering there making sure the cheaters didn’t cause trouble.
Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen, but as she glanced into the hallway of the gentleman’s entrance, something caught her attention.
It was a new, heavily-framed painting on the wall. It was incredibly beautiful and depicted a boy with a white rabbit.
She paused and then stepped up to it for a closer look. It wasn’t somewhere she should really loiter, the gentlemen’s entrance, but the brushwork on the painting and the detail and realism were magical to behold.
A cool breeze from the front door caught her hair and she turned to leave. But then something else called to her. A poster pinned onto the paneling.
Gentlemen’s Chess Tournament
Sudden Death
Winner ￡40
Second Place ￡10
Pieces move on September 1st at 8 p.m.
￡10 entry
Chess lessons available. Contact Mrs. Dove-Lyon
“A chess tournament?” she whispered to herself. “What on earth?”
“Are you planning on entering?” a deep, upper-class voice asked from behind her.
She turned and came face to chest with Mr. Habsburg. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She looked back the way she’d come. “I shouldn’t be here. I…”
He smiled and took a step to the right, as if blocking her way. “Don’t apologize on my behalf.” He nodded at the poster. “Are you entering?” he asked again.
“It states gentlemen’s chess tournament.”
“Ah, so it does.”
“So I can’t.”
“Shame. I bet you can play.”
“Why would you think that?”
“A woman of mystery.” He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “I’ve learned that about you already.”
“Hardly.”
“I disagree. To look at you, one would never have guessed you could deal to the standard Mrs. Dove-Lyon demands, or that you could read the table so well as to spot deception afoot.”
“What does that mean? ‘To look at me’?”
“I suppose it means…” He reached for a lock of hair that had escaped to rest upon her shoulder. His finger brushed her flesh.
His touch was like a static shock, sending a fizzing sensation across her chest and down to her belly. She caught her breath and looked into his blue-gray eyes.
“Some women flounce and want to be looked at. I get the feeling you like to do the looking.”
“I watch people,” she said. “That is true.”
“And to my advantage.” He released her lock of hair and stepped back. “You like the painting?” He gestured to it.
She blew out a breath, finally able to inhale again now that he wasn’t up close and looming over her, surrounding her with the scent of pine and leather and handsome man.
“Yes, it’s beautiful.” She pointed to the rabbit.
“I love that he’s eating those dandelions.
Makes me think he’s a pet and not for a pot. ”
“Me too.” He sounded enthused, as though he approved of her comment. “That’s what I like about it. The boy’s attire gives the impression of being entitled; he could have any expensive object he asked for, yet he loves his little rabbit friend.”
“And the artist has captured that,” she said.
“Do you know about art as well as cards?”
“I’m afraid not. I have very little experience in art.”
“Would you like to learn?”
She hesitated. “I love to learn about almost anything. My father always said it was something we should do until the day we die.”
“A wise man. Did he teach you cards?”
“Yes, and chess.”
“Chess…” He turned to her and grinned broadly. “So you would be quite capable of playing in the tournament if it were open to women. I knew it.”
“Men don’t like to be beaten by women.” She shrugged. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon runs a gentlemen’s club, remember. It’s about keeping the menfolk happy. I would beat them all.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrows rose. “In which case, it hardly seems fair that you don’t get the chance.”
“Is anything in life fair? I think not.”
“Now that”—he wagged his finger—“is a truth if ever I heard one.” He gestured to the door and the encroaching twilight. “I have to go, but thank you again for what you did back there… I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”
“Meredith Jones.”
“Miss Jones, I thank you. You’ve helped me out today more than I can tell you. I am in your debt.” He pressed his hand to his chest, connecting his jacket to his broad torso, and gave her a smile that was both charming and wicked. “I hope we meet again.”
She watched him leave and a new wave of excitement caught in her belly. He hoped they’d meet again? Had he just been saying that or had he meant it?
She hoped he’d meant it.