Kellett shook his head sorrowfully. “A man’s time is always restricted. I believe you will be busy enough with your family’s concerns. I will remove one of those from your shoulders when I marry your betrothed.”
The murmurs from the onlookers increased and Charlotte’s name was clearly mentioned.
Ignoring everyone else, Val uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He plucked the pin from his coat. Sweeping at the coins aside, he dropped the pin in their place. “We will play for her. If you win, I will agree to break the contract. If you lose, you will step back.”
If he won this play, he would free Charlotte from any obligation she had with him. She would have a free choice, as long as she did not choose the man before him. He would do that much for her. He knew, better than anyone, that he did not deserve her. But he would do his best to earn her regard and perhaps even her love.
Brave words. His act would be the first self-sacrificing thing he had ever done in his adult life.
“I believe Lady Charlotte has already made her choice. This would merely ratify it.”
The ruffian had the impudence to name her. Playing cards for a lady’s hand would make Charlotte notorious. She could be ruined. Kellett had done it on purpose. Once ruined, she would have little choice but to marry whoever asked for her and retire in disgrace. Val had no intention of that happening. Her endearing efforts this evening to make herself notorious were now eclipsed by this genuine scandal. Her carefully cultivated reputation for quiet respectability had shattered when Kellett used her name.
Val would have his head for that.
He picked up two packs of cards and broke the seals. “Piquet.” He glanced up to receive his opponent’s assent before he set his fingers to work. Val would call all his talents to use now. Never had he needed his skills more.
Piquet was a two-hander and required only the seven and up of each suit. Val took barely five minutes to sort through the two packs, shuffle, and deal the required hands and the talon, the reserve cards each player could call on.
As Val had dealt, he had the first use of the talon. He duly won the first set of six, known as a partie, but not by a great number of points, taking his time to learn his opponent’s style. Piquet was one of the few card games where skill could make a difference.
He had Kellett’s measure after the second partie. He was a steady player, with no attempt at reckless play. His gains were sound but not spectacular.
For the next few parties, the honors remained even. While they were playing for an ultimate prize of Charlotte’s hand, they still used gold to mark the play. At the end of each partie, they tallied the points and handed over the money. Then Val lost heavily, and what was more, he lost when he dealt, which by the odds of the game should not happen. Kellett’s pile overflowed the cup carved into the wood of the table, the smooth bowl completely hidden by the glint of gold. Notes of hand replaced coin as the stakes rose.
Ivan was keeping score, announcing the tallies after each hand in a toneless voice. Darius checked the numbers. Kellett must be keeping it in his own mind, because he nodded tersely when Ivan declared the points.
The room was tense now, the silence overwhelming. People gathered around the table, watching the play. Nobody was making the polite conversation usually heard in these situations. It could be said that the ball had turned into a gaming hell.
When Val lost again, the gasp from the spectators was almost palpable. He had lost ten thousand guineas, the stakes having risen with each partie, but he kept his expression blank and his smile fixed firmly in place. This time his loss was not so bad.
“I will send you an invitation to the wedding,” Kellett purred.
Val growled softly. “I will not send you one.” He shrugged. “Shall we make this the last game?”
Kellett smirked. “Are you losing your nerve?”
Val won the next partie, but only by a narrow margin. Not that he cared. He had calculated to a nicety what he needed to win. He assessed the risk and found it high, but not too much for him to overcome.
A little manipulation was in order. Leaning back, he held his cards negligently, as if they would drop at any moment, and crossed his feet once more. Nodding to a servant, he touched his glass and received another drink.
When Kellett made a play, Val immediately put his card on top, as if he weren’t thinking about his game. He had a reputation for growing bored easily. He might as well use it.
While Kellett pondered, Val took snuff and gave his box to his brother to note the exquisite enamel. “A new shop has opened in ’Change. Remind me to take you next week. I fear this week might become somewhat crowded with regard to engagements.”
Darius did not need any more hints. He had played this game before. “Do you intend to use the box at the theater tomorrow night?”
Val shrugged. “I don’t think so. I know the world admires Garrick, but occasionally I find his antics tedious. I may take my betrothed to Ranelagh.”
Kellett growled low in his throat. He bent over his cards, studying them as if his life depended on it.
Val had allowed society to see him lose his temper earlier this evening, so he had ground to make up. During the declaration part of the hand, he claimed an outrageous number of bids, which Kellett, having won the previous two parties, riposted with high claims of his own.
They played. Val won. His winnings covered his losses that evening, and five thousand more.
A ripple of applause ran through the crowd when people realized what he had done and how audaciously he had done it. By letting Kellett win, he had led him into over-declaring his hand later on, believing himself the superior player. Val could not have used that tactic at the start of the play. He’d risked a huge amount of money to assess his opponent’s mettle. But he had never risked Charlotte. Even if he had gained a reputation for cheating, he would not allow Kellett to have her.
But he did not. He had won the lady and five thousand guineas on top of that. After accepting the note of hand the man scribbled, he picked up the gold pin and restored it to his pocket. “I believe our business here is done,” he said mildly.
“Expect to hear more from me, sir.” Pale-faced, Kellett stood and strode from the room.
Val did not feel like a winner. The battle was not yet over.
Chapter 11
Charlotte’s father had refused to speak to her all the way home from the ball. Their theater visit was, of course, curtailed. She went straight to her room, where Hunter undressed her in silence.
He’d made a mistake, leaving her to her own devices for an evening. Instead of haranguing her as he usually did, he’d left her to think, and by the early hours of the morning, she had a plan.
They would throw themselves on Hervey’s mercy. He had promised to make a home for her and Louisa, and he had enough money and influence to help her deny her unwanted suitor. She would take Louisa and they would leave today.
Having made her decision, Charlotte turned over, tucked her hand under her pillow to cover the spare key to her room, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
The duke sent her a note the next day, tersely instructing her to remain in her room until he summoned her.
With the knowledge that with the day, a new life dawned for Louisa and herself, Charlotte felt emboldened. She dressed as she preferred, refusing hair powder and dismissing her maid as soon as Hunter had laced her into her stays and put her hair up. She could manage the rest herself. Hunter would rush down to tell the duke, via his valet. What she didn’t know was that Charlotte had loosened the stranglehold of her fichu and pulled her hair out of the scalp-tightening bun and done her own, softer, one once her maid had left. Then she had added a smaller prettier lace cap rather than the plain, all enveloping linen one that had made her look like a Puritan maid. She wore the slate blue gown, plain but serviceable. Even that looked better with her new looser style.
She had come this far. She might as well continue along her road to perdit
ion.
Her decision did not help her tenseness as the morning wore on and still her father had not called for her. She could leave now, collect Louisa and just go. She would have sent a note to Hervey, but her father might stop anyone leaving the house with it, and then she would have effectively forewarned him. Her frustration served to deliver a churning stomach and tight throat, a distinct sense of nausea making her glad she was not summoned downstairs for breakfast.
What remained of her savings weighed down her pocket. She dared not leave it behind. On her father’s orders, Hunter could search her room and find her last vestige of independence there. If she had to leave her father’s study and walk out the door, then she would do it. But not without Louisa. They might have to fight a court battle, if the duke sued them for the return of Louisa, but better out in the open than hidden behind closed doors. Louisa was not mad.
She turned her mind to the coming interview.
The most likely outcome was that which would separate her from anyone who might help her. That meant a sojourn in one of the smaller of her father’s houses where she could be efficiently confined. He would want to ensure that she obeyed his bidding, even after her marriage. She would never be free of him if she gave in to his wishes now. Her one night of freedom carried a huge cost, but she would bear the consequences the best way she knew and fight for her freedom.
She would not go quietly or willingly. This time, whatever it cost her, she would fight back. Nobody could help her now, not Val nor Hervey. Her defiance had been absolute.
Worse than that was what the duke might do to Louisa. His most diabolical trait of making one child the scapegoat for another’s transgressions made Charlotte determined to persuade him to allow her to take all the punishment. If he beat her, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time.
She strode up and down the worn carpet laid in her room, waiting for the summons.
A tap on the door broke into her agitated thoughts. Then that someone tried the door, rattling it as if he didn’t believe it was locked.
“My lady.” Her voice was muffled but Charlotte recognized her maid. “Your father requests your presence in his study immediately.”
In this house, “request” meant an order.
Assuming her mask of calm, Charlotte unlocked the door and gave her maid her best blank stare. “You are dismissed,” she said, meaning for good, not for now.
As she expected, Hunter took no notice but followed her downstairs, more like a guard than a servant. Their feet echoed on the highly polished floorboards. The quiet of the house was absolute, but it was not a comfortable silence. It was fraught with tension. Upstairs servants would be attending to the bedrooms, their steps as soft as they could make them. The door to the downstairs area was thicker than usual because the duke preferred it.
Outside, wheels grated against cobbles and people went about their everyday business, but in here, all was hushed, reverent silence.
Charlotte hated this house, where the public rooms and those her father used were furnished luxuriously, but all others had the bare minimum they needed, and the furniture was scuffed and old. The place contained in its own bubble of tense silence, every being inside waiting for the will of the master.
After today, if her plans went well, she need never see it again.
A footman in full livery stood outside the study. He flung open the door and announced her, as if she were a visitor rather than a member of the family. “Lady Charlotte Engles, your grace!”
As usual, Charlotte dropped a deep curtsy and rose in one smooth motion, keeping her head bowed.
“Do you dare to come before me in undress, madam?”
She did not look up. “The hair powder irritates my skin, your grace.” Normally she would have assured him that she would attend to the matter immediately, but she was in no mood for that.
He shot her a hard glare. “You have displeased me greatly. After we left last night, two of the guests—I will not call them gentlemen—played piquet for your favors.” Without warning, he slammed his clenched hand on his desk. Everything arranged neatly on the surface rose a full inch before crashing down again. His crystal ink pot bounced but remained in one piece, and his pot of quills shattered, spilling the pens everywhere. Piles of papers split apart, tumbling on to the floor.
Charlotte leaped along with the items, as if all his possessions were jumping to his will. Her heart leaped too, pounding against her ribs and making her breathless.
She knew these responses. She recognized them so she did not panic as another person unused to this treatment might have done. Knowing the way to recover, she concentrated on her breathing and keeping her expression calm.
Her father roared his anger. “I will not have my house brought into disrepute. You alone have created the biggest scandal in my family that I have ever experienced. I had no idea I was harboring a wanton, madam. Your appearance shocked everyone who spoke to me last night. You are a disgrace, and you must learn to behave.”
He drew a breath and watched her. Charlotte remained, her hands folded before her and her face clear. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say, for he would attack every word she uttered and every word she did not. Why should she waste her time?
“You will leave for the country this very day. Your maid will pack what is suitable, and you will stay at the manor of Conset in Devonshire until you learn correct behavior. I will cancel the marriage contract with Lord Shaw, and you will not be allowed to see Lord Kellett again.”
Shock arced through her. “Father!”
He stared at her, even his jowls unmoving. She knew what he was waiting for. He wanted her to use his title and beg for mercy. From previous experience, she knew she would obtain none. “Sir,” she said, “why would you do this?” To her shame, her voice quivered. Tears were imminent and she could do nothing about them. Either she stopped and controlled herself, or she let the tears fall. “Those two gentlemen are my only expectation of marriage.” By the time he allowed her back to town she would be an old maid, truly on the shelf.
“They were the gentlemen wagering over you last night. They brought your reputation into disrepute, madam, as if you had not done enough in that direction already. Society is gossiping about you. Gossiping! You will prepare for your departure.”
They’d cared enough to do that? Despite her terror, a thread of warmth crept through Charlotte’s being.
“Your sister,” he went on relentlessly, “will go where she was always meant to be. I have found a house to take her.”
That only meant one thing. “You’re committing her?”
“It is time.” He sounded as if he were talking about someone else, someone he knew only tangentially.
“She is not insane! She’s your daughter!” Now terror had her in its grip. If she did not know where Louisa had gone, how could she rescue her? She’d be under guard at cold, charmless Conset, unable to do anything to help her sweet sister.
He met her gaze coldly. “So are you.” Slowly, he got to his feet and his fist came down on the desk again, crashing in time to his words. “You have let me down. You have disgraced this house and the family name. You will make amends for your transgression if it is the last thing you ever do!”
She was breathing too fast. Concentrating, she tried to slow it down. He was sending Louisa to a place that would surely kill her. There was nothing wrong with Louisa, but he would drive her mad. Without her helper, her family, and her familiar possessions, she would fall ill and waste away, if her delicate health did not get her first. “You cannot do this. You would not be so cruel!”
The front door slammed, and her father’s concentration broke for a brief instant. Voices sounded in the hall, and he grimaced. “Go to your room and dress for your journey.”
Charlotte couldn’t do it. For her sister as much as for herself, she stood her ground. “No,” she said. “I will not go to Conset.” She even stamped her foot.
His head snapped around to regard her w
ith a dead snakelike stare. He had probably assumed she was finished business, such was his arrogance. “I don’t think I heard you properly.”
“Yes, you did.” She clamped her teeth together to stop her jaw trembling. She had to do this, or she was lost, a creature instead of a person.
“Go.” He flicked his fingers as if getting rid of a fly. He glanced at her sharply. “You will be whipped. I will instruct Hunter to do so.”
At her age? He had not done that for years. She would not allow it. “No.”
The duke’s face reddened, and his eyes narrowed, the gleam needle-sharp. Turning, he picked up the switch that he kept behind his desk. “I will inflict your punishment myself. Turn around and lift your skirts.”
The voices outside came closer. None that she recognized, at least—shock turned her rigid. A female voice mixed in with the protestations and shouted instructions. Charlotte knew that voice.
Whirling around, she flung open the door to the study and flew to the arms of the woman she wanted most to see. Her sister, still in bonnet and cloak held her arms wide. Tears poured down their cheeks, as they shared their first embrace in two years.
Charlotte did not have much time before they would be separated. Servants were converging on them, and they would not hesitate to pull them apart. “He’s sending me to Devonshire and locking up Louisa!” she cried in between gulps as she fought to control her emotions. Sensations heaped on her and over her, as if bombarding her with everything she had denied in the past few years. The rose fragrance she remembered so well swept over her, bringing back a wave of memories to add to her already overloaded system.
Sarah’s arms tightened around her. “I will fight him,” she said. “I have allies now.” She spoke over Charlotte’s head to their father. “You, sir, should be ashamed of yourself. I know your game, and I will not let you make another play.”
Charlotte swallowed, forcing calm on herself. She could not reach her handkerchief, so she grabbed her fichu and pulled. It came free, and she pressed the linen against her face, drying her tears and blowing her nose. Sarah put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Come, my dear.” Over her shoulder, she snapped out instructions. “Bring tea to the drawing room, and something to eat, too.”
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