Sophia's Gamble

by Hilly Mason

  “What’s your name anyway, love?” the maid asked as she combed out her hair.

  “Oh. It’s Sophia.”

  “Well, I can’t be going around calling you Sophia now can I? What’s your full name?”

  “It’s Gibbs,” Sophia replied, curious about how the maid would react. “Sophia Gibbs.” She noticed the brief hesitation in the woman’s deft hands, although she quickly resumed her work.

  “Lady Gibbs,” she said, finding her voice. “My name is Levinia.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “L-likewise, my lady.”

  “Well, I am definitely not a lady anymore, that’s for sure.”

  “What would you like me to call you, then?”

  “Sophia is fine, really. That is what my maid at ho—Ramsbury calls me.”

  Sophia eyed the table in front of her, where lay a looking glass, a jar of powder, and a smaller jar of red rouge. The mere fact that Alex had these items in the room made Sophia wonder how many women frequented Widley that were not of his relation. She thought to ask Levinia, but decided against it. It mattered not what Alex did at his leisure.

  Alex was waiting downstairs when Sophia was finished getting ready. It wasn’t Comerford that he’d planned to take her to, after all. Instead, they walked to a building a few houses down Mount Street, close to the burial grounds of an old parish church. She had suspected the gaming club to be similar to that of a seedy inn: with dim lighting, old wooden planks for walls, and smoke thick enough that she could take a bite out of it. However, she was pleasantly surprised when Alex held the door open to her.

  Sophia walked into a room with high ceilings—about twenty feet or more—with a single glass chandelier hanging in the middle, lit up with wax candles. A fireplace crackled on one side of the room near a pianoforte, and couches and card tables were scattered about, all filled with lively patrons. Although the room was a bit smoky from the dozen or so men with cheroots hanging from their mouth (and a woman too, Sophia observed with some adulation) as they hovered over large card tables, the large playing room seemed well taken care of— and the art and décor tasteful, yet fashionable.

  “Very nice,” she observed. “I did not expect to be walking into an oversized drawing room.”

  “I wanted to make it so that my patrons feel like they’re at home,” Alex remarked proudly as he gazed at his establishment. “So much that they are free to sleep here if they are so inclined.”

  “I can’t imagine wanting to spend days and nights here gambling my entire fortune away,” Sophia muttered. “Although, I can see why my late husband would.” A few well-endowed ladies walked by with drinks in their hands, whether patrons or employees of Alex, she did not know, but they did draw more than a few heads away from the multitude of games going on at once.

  A few of the patrons noticed them as they walked in. “Lord St. George!” the barkeep said. He was behind the bar polishing empty glasses. “Welcome back! Would you care for a drink?”

  “Perhaps later,” Alex replied. “I have some business to attend to first. Has the offender been in here today?”

  The man behind the bar nodded. “Aye, he has. But I kicked him back out when I saw his face. That is what you wanted, right milord?”

  Alex nodded. “Yes, he is no longer welcomed in my halls, until further notice.”

  “Until further notice?” Sophia asked. “Meaning you would let him back in here after what he did to you?”

  “Sophia, I would be out of business if I banished every man who broke the rules. I would say more than half of my patrons do so at least once.”

  “Wouldn’t that just make them want to break the rules again?”

  “After the way milord scares them straight, they wouldn’t dare,” The barkeep said, listening in.

  “I... see,” she said, although she didn’t, really. However Alex wanted to run his clubs was none of her business.

  “Who is this lovely woman, anyway?” the barkeep asked.

  “This is Lady Sophia Gibbs; she is my daughter’s governess and is visiting with me to London for errands.”

  “A pleasure to meet you Lady Gibbs,” the man said, bowing. “I am Pierre.”

  “Lady Gibbs?” The woman who was smoking the cheroot at the card table nearest to them turned around abruptly. “Are you in any relation to Lord Gregory Gibbs?”

  Alex gave Sophia a warning look, meaning that she didn’t have to partake in this conversation, but she ignored it.

  “I am—was his wife,” Sophia replied.

  “Well then!” the woman exclaimed. “I feel like I’m meeting royalty!”

  “My dear,” the man sitting next to her said. “You are royalty.”

  “That is the Duchess Jane Williams,” Alex whispered in Sophia’s ear. “The Prince Regent’s cousin.”

  The Duchess was perhaps in her mid-forties, although her plump lips and smooth skin made her at times seem much younger, especially when she smiled. Her dark hair, laced with elegant silver was neatly coiffed into a bun, with a diadem crowning her head, and an almost comically large plumed feather sticking out of her fastener. Her gown was dyed a stately gold, with large, intricately embroidered flowers gracing the bottom of her skirt, with vines adorning the neckline and sleeves. Sophia forced her face to remain passive while feeling very self-conscious about her own clothing.

  The Duchess, however, didn’t seem to mind the differences in appearance.

  “Come over here, Lady Gibbs,” she said. “I want to talk to you some more.”

  Sophia glanced at Alex, but he had already turned away from her to talk to another patron. She then took a deep breath and walked over to take a vacated seat next to the woman.

  The Duchess waved a man over to bring her a drink. “After I read about your story in the paper, I just thought it was so admirable how you kept your dignity, even after all those months you spent in prison,” she told her.

  “Well, I really did not have a choice. When you do not have any choices, I suppose you just make do with the situation you’re in.”

  “Oh, no need to be so modest! Most ladies would go mad under such conditions, not having a warm bed to sleep in, or warm food to eat. I know I would.”

  Sophia would rather not be reminded of her time spent in that pit of hell. Instead of replying, she focused on the game that was being played out in front of them.

  “What game is this?” she asked.

  “Baccarat. Have you played before?”

  “No, I have not; in fact, this is my first time at a gaming club.”

  “Oh, well, welcome to the Green Room! You can watch us and see how it’s done!” The Duchess called to the barkeep: “Pierre, give this girl a drink as well.”

  Almost immediately, an unidentifiable drink was placed in front of her. Not one to be adventurous in her drinking habits, Sophia sniffed it tentatively.

  “Brandy,” the Duchess told her, noticing her hesitation. “The strongest I’ve ever tasted. I’m not sure where St. George gets it—or if it’s even legal in these parts—but I am sure as hell not going to tell anyone.” She gave Sophia a wink as she lifted the glass to her red-painted lips.

  Sophia took a sip. She closed her eyes as the liquid warmed her insides. “Wow, this is strong,” she said, and the Duchess laughed. As she took another drink, she looked around for Alex, but he was no longer sitting by the entrance talking to the patron.

  Perhaps he is indeed taking care of business matters, she mused as she turned back around to the company that welcomed her. They might know that she was Lady Gibbs—accused murderer and social outcast—but these people did not look down at her—not even the Duchess, the highest ranking person in the room. They treated her as an equal.

  No wonder people like to go to these types of places, she thought as she drank her brandy.

  The Duchess was explaining baccarat—which Sophia had in fact seen played amongst men at parties in London—when movement to her right caught her eye. A woman Sophi
a hadn’t seen yet sat at the piano bench in one corner of the parlor and began to play. She was a buxom woman with lips stained brightly with red rouge and dark kohl lined under her doleful eyes. With the way the men were looking over their shoulders at her, Sophia had an idea what type of woman she was. She was both revolted and fascinated by her. Despite her line of work, she made her own money, and, in a way, had complete control over men. She had a certain type of power, and the way she looked back at these men, she knew it quite well.

  Not that Sophia would go down that road. Heavens, no. Perhaps she had had a bit too much to drink to even be thinking about it! She turned her attention back to the game.

  “How about a practice round?” the Duchess asked her. “No bets.”

  Sophia was about to refuse. How could she partake in such a thing, when the very practice of gambling was what brought about her ruin? It would be hypocritical!

  “No money involved. C’mon. Have a bit of fun, eh?” A man coaxed.

  But what could it hurt?

  “A-all right.”

  It took several questions and two full games for her to get an understanding of the rules. And it came as a surprise when she had realized she’d won the second round.

  “Égalité! You are ready for the real thing! Shall we continue?” the Duchess exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

  “Oh, well... I don’t have any coin with me.”

  “Play it big, then! How about an estate? Do you have money in the bank?”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Pierre told her, rolling his eyes.

  “Oh, no need to worry.” Sophia said dryly.

  She then spotted Alex walking away toward the back of the club. The woman on the pianoforte stopped playing and was looking in the same direction. She then got up from the piano bench, pulled the neckline of her already scandalous dress down to reveal more of her bosom, and followed after him.

  Sophia’s stomach twisted into a knot.

  “I will have to pass for now,” she said once she realized that those at the table were waiting for her response.

  She had already made her decision not to pursue love, so really, she shouldn’t care so much. However, her curiosity got the best of her. Yes, that is what I will call it: curiosity, she thought.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the patrons, and then stood up to follow after the prostitute.

  She had turned the corner just as the woman exposed her breasts to Alex. Sophia brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a gasp as Alex gazed down at the woman’s voluptuous form, obviously in no hurry to escape the solicitation.

  “What a vile, loose, and rakish man,” she said under her breath as she turned around and stormed back into the gaming hall. She plopped herself on the barstool in front of Pierre and dropped her head into her hands.

  But what did she expect to find? Alex’s line of work was dripping with debauchery. He most likely had a new woman every night.

  “I do not care!” she said out loud, causing Pierre to turn around.

  “Need another round?” The barman asked kindly, as though it wasn’t the first time a patron had an outburst like that.

  She nodded gratefully and was graced with another cup filled with that delicious and blessedly strong brandy. As she sipped the liquid, she thought of all the ways she could throttle Lord St. George.

  “Oh, you are back!” the Duchess called out from the card table. “Please, join us for another game!”

  The drink was buzzing like a swarm of bees through her veins. Sophia turned unsteadily around and nodded.

  “How about piquet?” she asked them. “I am much better at piquet than baccarat.” She raised a wobbly finger. “No bets, though.”

  “No bets,” the Duchess agreed.

  “You’re talking to one of the most renowned piquet players in town,” Pierre remarked, gesturing toward the stately woman.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll have to test that theory out.” Sophia replied boldly.

  However, Sophia swiftly lost the first round. Having not played the game for a good year or more, she was a bit out of practice, but by the third game she soon remembered her technique.

  Sophia laid her cards on the table and gave the Duchess a wan smile. “I win,” she declared.

  The table broke out into applause. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the Duchess said, chuckling. “Good job, Lady Gibbs. I’m impressed. Next time let’s play with real money, shall we?”

  “Agreed,” Sophia said, although she wasn’t sure there would be a next time.

  “Sophia?”

  She jumped at the sound of her name and turned around. Alex was standing over her. Any sign of partaking in anything immoral was scrubbed away by his impassive face.

  “Are you ready to leave?”

  She nodded and stood up. At least, she thought she had stood up; when she blinked she was suddenly in Alex’s arms.

  “Oh,” she said, slurring her words as she looked up at him. “How did I get here?”

  Alex cursed softly under his breath.

  “What did you give her, Pierre?”

  “I believe she just had two glasses of brandy, milord.”

  Another curse, this was longer and more formidable.

  Sophia stared up at him. Alex’s face was blurry, like he was a wet oil painting that she had run her fingers across. The thought made her laugh.

  “You’re a rake,” she declared. “And I am drunk.”

  “You are right on one thing,” Alex replied coolly. “Can you stand, Sophia?”

  “Oh, I can stand,” Sophia replied, pushing Alex away from her. “I can also dance, as well. Just you see.” She began to do a little jig but lost her footing and almost tripped over the stool, but Alex was quicker and pulled her back from harm.

  “All right, then,” Alex said. “Off we go. Luckily for us, the coach is waiting just outside, so we do not need to walk.”

  “No, no, I’m not going out there like this,” Sophia cried out. She then started giggling. “But it’s only a few blocks, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I’m sure you won’t want to disgrace your honor by carrying a drunken woman to your house.”

  “If it comes to it, I would gladly do so.”

  The giggles dispensed once again. When she recovered, she shook her head.

  “No, we’ll take the coach.”

  “Very well.” Without further ado, he lifted Sophia into his arms and nodded a farewell to his patrons, who were looking on with polite amusement.

  Sophia wrapped her hands around Alex’s neck and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, as to coat her entire body with his essence.

  “You smell good,” she thought she heard herself say.

  “Is that so?”

  After the short ride back to Widley, Alex carried her inside. Sophia could see through her heavy-lidded eyes that the servants were staring at them with curiosity. However, they said not a word as Alex brought her to her bed on the second floor.

  “You are a rake.” she said again, once her pounding head rested upon her blessedly soft pillows.

  “You really should think of another insult,” Alex told her sarcastically.

  Sophia pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I saw you with that... that whore. That… three-penny upright!”

  Alex’s eyes widened at her speech. He then threw his head back and laughed.

  “It seems like you have learned a word or two in prison,” he remarked.

  “I do not like being laughed at,” Sophia said, as sourly as her stomach felt.

  “Well, I do not like being spied on.”

  “So, she was a whore?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Why?” Sophia started to shake her head, which she realized was a terrible idea. She grimaced and closed her eyes. “No. It’s none of my business.”

  “Why do you care so much, Sophia?”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. There was a hit of amusement in his eyes which made her feel al
armingly embarrassed.

  “Well, the prostitute is named Beatrice.” He began, and then proceeded to explain the situation to her.

  According to Alex’s story, Beatrice had accosted him first. A few weeks prior, Alex had allowed her to work at the Green Room after seeking refuge at the club when her Madame beat her at the bordello across the street.

  A whorehouse in Mayfair? Sophia thought, shocked. She tried to ignore this revelation to listen to the rest of the story.

  Beatrice, with her charmingly good looks, brought many more patrons to the Green Room than ever before, so Alex struck a deal with her that she could live in the upstairs apartment if she made her own business dealings discreet. However, the prostitute seemed to have had the impression that Alex was in want of her services, and she had solicited him after he had stepped out of his study.

  “I was in the process of trying to pry her off me when you rounded the corner,” Alex finished. “Again, I am surprised that you care so much.”

  “I don’t care,” Sophia said, a little too quickly. “It’s just… unwholesome to have a whore in that establishment,” she finished lamely. She would rather not let him know that she was plainly jealous. She felt like the girl she had been four years ago, watching Abby kiss Alex.

  “Sophia, my whole line of work is unwholesome.”

  “Well, you still have the option to give it all up and live as a monastic.”

  “I like women far too much to do that. Goodnight, Lady Gibbs.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sophia woke up with a terrible headache. She moaned as she sat up in bed and reached blindly for her water pitcher, almost knocking it over. She poured a glass of water and drank the contents. As the cool liquid hit her belly she began to feel a bit more human. Blinking the sleepiness from her eyes, she walked over to her looking glass and grimaced at her reflection, trying to remember what happened the day before for her to be in such disarray.

  Her hair was still in its up-do, but as messy as a lion’s mane. The rouge Joyce had bought for her from a recent trip to Chertsey was smeared around from her lips and across her cheek like a gash. Her eyes were bloodshot and her throat felt as though it was coated with sand, hurting whenever she swallowed.