“Don’t wish him gone,” Gabriel said. “We don’t get them back.” His own father had passed a year ago. Gabriel had always known he was the heir to Carlow, but the reality of it blunted any possible joy when it actually happened.
“It’s the lingering, along with the inability to do anything. Mama has aged ten years. My sister weeps and moans at every visit, though I imagine Sissy will be a rock when Father actually passes.” Ellis kept his gaze down. Gabriel knew what it meant and why Ellis was behaving circumspectly. There really was a drain on strength as one prepared to grieve.
“That’s why they invented cards,” Andover added. “And drink.” He lifted a hand to signal a house servant who then hurried away to fetch whisky. Lady Weatherby’s mansion was lavish on an average day. Her servants well-trained. Her food delicious. The hospitality unmatched. But the weeks before the ball, Gabriel had heard, were a paroxysm of extravagance and pageantry as the plans were laid into motion.
Gabriel glanced about the card room, recognizing most of his male acquaintances, many of whom had costumed with some modesty. The women, however, went to elaborate lengths to garb themselves with strict adherence to the ball’s theme, rendering them nearly Delphic.
Unless one could talk a woman into revealing herself. It wasn’t that he was out of practice, but he had been very busy at one of his estates through the winter, not giving much thought to women in general. Maybe he just needed a mysterious card dealer, dressed as a Venetian to focus his attention.
“No, that’s why they invented gardening,” Gabriel said.
“You’ll never be done with that project. You’re going to disgust the fine ladies tonight when you hold hands during the waltz,” Andover said.
Gabriel turned one palm up. He’d earned his blisters earlier this year, but his skin had grown a little tough. “It’s not so bad,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the resulting calluses.
There were several more silent deals, except for the quick directions to the dealer for more cards and the flutter of her wings as her arms moved. Gabriel watched her hands mostly, graceful and sleek, until there was a kerfuffle outside the drawing room doors. In unison, the three of them glanced toward the open entryway, craning to see around the others gawking in the same direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of the obvious mischief. All for a bit of gossip around the breakfast table in the morning.
“It’s nearing midnight. Perhaps the first scandal of the evening is happening at this very moment,” Gabriel said.
“Enough, I say,” Ellis Rawden stood, hand to the back of his chair.
“I’m good,” added Andover, collecting his money and sliding a few coins toward the dealer in appreciation.
She smiled, lips sealed, eyes squinting, and swept the two schillings up. “Thank you, my lord.”
Gabriel watched them hurry away. Whatever transpired in the hall, he was glad for it. The private opportunity to know her better wasn’t cursed, only fateful. The delicious maiden stretched her arms across the table and collected the cards. Gabriel put his hand over hers. “Now, isn’t it time you told me your name?”
“The idea of a masked ball is to remain anonymous. You’ll just have to guess.”
“You do realize that of le beau monde, there are only four-hundred or so here. I would guess your name eventually.”
“Guess? That’s not the same as being certain.”
“Well then, why not give me a hint?”
“I’m a woman.”
He laughed. “I know so few women with a good sense of humor. Now, tell me more. Your first name? Your age? Do I know you? If so, how did we meet?”
His coins were piled in front of him. She put her finger on one of the gold sovereigns and pulled it toward her, dragging it slowly across the velvet-covered card table, depositing it in front of her. As if they were playing a new game.
“Twenty-one questions?” Gabriel asked.
“No, just a few. I see only four more sovereigns. That is the limit of my willingness to play your game.”
“My game? It seems you hold all the cards.”
“I am twenty-three,” she said, answering his question. She reached for another coin and he grabbed her hand.
“What color are your eyes?”
“Are you sure that should be your next question? In the right light, you could see for yourself rather than waste a coin.”
“Where can we find the right light?”
“Hmm. You’ve asked two fairly impractical questions now. You’re not very good at this game, are you?” She propped her chin on the heel of her hand and stared at him. “I’d feel like a thief if I answered either of them.”
“I gather asking your name again is off the table?”
“Is that a question?”
“A statement. I’m just talking out loud,” he said. “You want me to struggle with this which means you know me more than just in passing. But the trouble is, I know several hundred families with whom you might be attached. So, what is your mother’s first name?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one. The same as mine. Our middle names were different, if that helps.” She pulled a coin across the table, then stacked it with her other sovereigns.
Gabriel leaned back. How many mothers named Mary were there? Or Elizabeth? Or Victoria? Just as many as there were daughters with the same name. “You’ve played this game before?”
“Of course! And obviously you haven’t.”
“Just between you and me, you weren’t really talking about Aristotle’s Virtues, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Another coin slid across the table. “What a poor choice of questions, my lord.”
“Have you been married before?” Virtue might be a flexible thing if she happened to be a widow.
“Alas, not even a proposal.” She plucked up the last of his sovereigns, then opened a small reticule
