He finally placed a bet and turned to Lucas. ‘You know I don’t need the money, Darkwood. You’ll have to come up with something better than that if you’re to get my mare off me.’
Lucas swallowed down his anger. The Earl was obviously enjoying having Lucas at his mercy and taking full advantage of such a rare event. ‘And what do you suggest? Name it and it’s yours.’
The Earl looked up from his cards and gave what could only be described as a rapacious grin. ‘Anything?’
Lucas nodded.
‘That’s an interesting offer,’ Bromley said. ‘Let’s see. It would have to be something substantial to make me part with such a prize.’
Lucas could almost see the Earl’s mind working, trying to come up with something that would satisfy his need to get revenge for past defeats. Lucas’s reputation for winning at all costs angered many men and had made him a lot of enemies, including the Earl of Bromley. The son of a wealthy, self-made man, Lucas came from a family that owned more land and capital than many of the aristocrats seated around this card table. Since his father’s death he had further increased that fortune and knew that caused resentment among people who thought that the aristocracy were the only ones entitled to wealth and the power and privilege that came with it.
The Earl was not going to miss the opportunity to try to take Lucas down, to remind him that he did not possess a title and was not one of them, but whatever scheme he came up with, Lucas was confident he would come out triumphant. Didn’t he always?
While Bromley was considering how he could get the better of Lucas, the door to the card room flew open and a somewhat dishevelled young woman burst in and flattened herself against the wall behind the door. Every head in the room turned in her direction, including the Earl’s, and a few titters were heard.
The young woman registered the laughter, looked around the room and her already flushed cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. Her blue eyes behind her round tortoiseshell glasses darted around the room in what appeared to be desperation. Several strands of brown hair had escaped from her ornate hairstyle and were standing up from her head at somewhat comical angles.
She had every appearance of a woman being chased by a marauding band of ruffians. But Lady Clarmont was hardly likely to have invited a gang of thieves and vagabonds to her ball. She was reluctant enough to even invite Lucas, but had no choice. The Clarmonts saw themselves as being at the very pinnacle of society. Lady Clarmont often boasted of how she had been granted the honour of dining with Queen Victoria herself on numerous occasions. Despite that lofty position, they weren’t the only aristocratic family present in debt to Lucas. And as their lack of solvency and the extent of their debts were something they would prefer to be kept secret, they were forced to put aside their snobbery against people without a pedigree and accept Lucas into their circle.
‘I’m sorry, I was just...’ The young woman took a peek out of the door, emitted a loud gasp and flew across the room, out of the French doors and on to the terrace. But not before dislodging an aspidistra plant on the way and sending it, along with the porcelain pot, crashing to the floor. ‘I’m sorry’ was heard from the terrace.
The titters turned into loud laughter, with everyone taking delight in their ridicule of the young woman’s unusual behaviour. Everyone, that is, except Lucas.
Lord Dallington entered the room and looked around. It was now obvious why the young woman was in such a hurry to escape. Fighting off a band of ruffians would be preferable to spending time with that buffoon.
‘Lost something, have you, Dallington?’ one smirking male guest enquired, to the accompaniment of giggles from a group of ladies in the card room.
The old codger looked around a few times. ‘Has anyone seen Hazel Springfeld? She’s promised me the next dance.’
‘I believe she was seen heading down the hall a few minutes ago,’ Lucas said before anyone else could answer. ‘If you hurry, you might catch her.’
‘Thank you, Darkwood. I wouldn’t like that lovely dowry—I mean, that lovely young lady to get away. She’s quite the cash cow.’ He winked, not registering Lucas’s look of disgust, then headed off down the hall.
Once again, the room exploded with laughter and loud chatter at the young lady’s expense.
‘I think that’s one–nil to the heiress.’ Lord Bromley laughed.
‘I suppose you have to feel sorry for her, the poor thing,’ a woman seated at the table added, smiling at Lucas, her voice containing none of the sympathy her words suggested.
Lucas ignored the young woman and looked over his shoulder towards the French doors.
‘So, who is she?’
‘She’s the eldest daughter of the Earl of Springfeld,’ Bromley said, signalling for another card. ‘The younger daughter is reputed to be a beauty, but that one...’ Bromley tilted his cards in the direction of the terrace and barked out a laugh. ‘What can one say? But she’s worth a pretty penny so she’s in much more demand than her looks certainly deserve, at least from men like Dallington who need her money. I’ve also heard she’s a bit of a bluestocking.’ Bromley gave a false shudder which caused the young lady to giggle again.
‘And lord preserve any man who dances with her,’ Bromley continued. ‘He’d better come wearing workman’s boots if he wants his feet to survive the ordeal.’
Everyone at the table, except Lucas, joined in on the laughter. The casual cruelty of these people should not surprise him. He knew it grew out of boredom and a sense of privilege that had never been challenged, but it still disgusted him and was one of the reasons he chose to avoid such social occasions. But unfortunately, until he had secured his mare, he was going to have to endure
