“I shall now shuffle the card deck.”
There were more hushed whispers as Arnaud suited words to action, under the eagle eye of several Lords, a Duke and a Margrave from somewhere in Europe Max couldn’t pronounce. The riffle of the cardboard was quite clear, even though the room was filled to the point of explosion with people trying to see what was happening.
It was, thought Max, quite a moment, and would probably be written up for several generations to come as one of the nights of the year.
“J’ai fini. Fait accompli.” He held the deck aloft. “You see, yes?”
Many voices agreed with yes’s and indeed’s and other confirmative phrases.
“Et maintenant…er, and now is ze moment.” Arnaud soldiered bravely on in an awkward mix of French and English. “Should Mademoiselle Kitty of Ridlington draw the high card, she is ze winner. Et si Monsieur Max draws ze…um…ze carte la plus élevée…”
“The highest card, Arnaud.” One of his friends loaned a verbal hand.
“Merci,” he laughed. “Yes. If Monsieur Max’s card is higher, then he will win.” He leaned over to his wife. “What do they win, encore?”
La Comtesse Natalia’s smile betrayed icy charm and a lot of teeth. “Mr. Seton-Mowbray, cheri.”
“Vraiment?” Unaware that his wife might cherish an interest in that direction, Arnaud simply lifted his eyebrows.
“Oui. Truly.”
Arnaud shrugged. “Quelle extraordinare, les anglais.”
It might indeed be extraordinary, but Max found himself wishing Arnaud’s grasp of English was better, and that he’d get on with the damn thing. Besides, the Comtesse’s expression was none too friendly, and getting worse by the minute.
There was no indication in Kitty’s expression if she was wishing that too, but he’d bet a hundred guineas she was at least thinking something very close.
“Right.”
Finally. English.
“Mademoiselle. As ze lady involved, it should be you first. La première, oui?”
“Thank you,” smiled Kitty.
Max watched as her hand—betraying not a tremor or a twitch—reached out and took the top card from the deck, concealing it as she did so, not revealing any emotions, nerves or excitement. She might have been selecting a sweetmeat from a pretty box.
He bowed with great elegance, sweeping one arm wide and locking the other behind his back. “After you, Miss Ridlington.”
She nodded, glanced at her card, smiled slightly, and held it high. “The nine of clubs.”
There was a ripple of excitement as word spread through the crowd and out into the ballroom. It was a good card, high, not as high as she probably would have liked, but a decent draw, nonetheless.
Damned if he was going to be outdone. He drew the next card in the same cool and collected way, neither frowning nor smiling, then moved to stand next to Kitty.
Now it was down to one card, the one Max held in his hand. He waited for silence and it fell quickly enough, coming with a noticeable lack of oxygen in the room as Max looked at his own card. He could have sworn the candles dimmed slightly.
He stepped forward and raised his hand. “The King of hearts.”
And the rafters rattled with the ensuing roar, which gave him the perfect opportunity to dispose of his backup card. All’s fair in love and war, as the saying went. Max had been determined not to lose this wager. He wanted Kitty Ridlington too much to take the risk.
~~~~*
“I should have known I would never win against you in anything to do with cards,” pouted Kitty as they walked together toward the foyer.
“That’s nonsense and you know it,” Max scolded. “Fate decided the course of events, not you or me.”
She snorted. “Well, that’s as maybe. So what do we do now? Or, more to the point, as your new mistress, what do I do now? Go back to Aunt Venetia’s and wait for you to procure me a house? I’d like something nice, you know. Several bedrooms, servants’ quarters, a good kitchen—that’s always important—and at least two parlors. Oh, and I’d like a small room I could use as an office. I shall need somewhere to keep my records and so on.”
He stood patiently, waiting until she reached the end of her list. “Are you finished?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few other things if you give me some time,” she answered.
“Yes, I’m sure you could.” He watched as a servant helped settle her cape over her domino. “No, you will not go back to your Aunt’s. That would be inviting half the busybodies in London onto her doorstep first thing tomorrow morning. She’ll have enough to deal with as it is.”
“Oh.” Chastened, Kitty nodded. He was quite right.
“You and I will return to my home for this evening. Tomorrow we shall discuss how this matter is to be best handled.” He accepted his own cloak and walked Kitty out into the cold air.
“You’re very dictatorial.” She glanced up at him. “Are you angry at the way this evening turned out?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. I’ve never actually won a formal, publicly-announced mistress before now. So I look upon this as a challenge. I have to set the standards for those who follow in our footsteps, you know.”
She smiled at his somber pronouncement. “A heavy burden, I have no doubt.”
“Indeed.” He frowned as he looked around. “Where the devil’s Harris got to?”
“Your driver?”
“Yes. He should be here. A servant was notified we were leaving…”
They looked either way, but there was no sign of the Seton-Mowbray carriage at all. The road was lined with a variety of conveyances, but not one belonged to Max.
After a few moments, a breathless servant ran to the bottom of the steps. “I’m sorry, sir. Your carriage isn’t here. T’other lad says it was borrowed by a friend of yours.”
“Damn it all to hell,” cursed Max. “This is why I try not to have friends.”
“Never mind,” said Kitty, patting his arm. “It’s only a few miles walk. We can get to know each other on the way. Do you prefer tea or coffee in the mornings?”
Her tone was light and social and Max stared at her. “You are quite close to a line I wouldn’t recommend crossing, dear Kitty.”
“A mere jest, dear Max.” She smiled up at him, an innocent gaze that she must have practiced quite a bit in front of her mirror.
“There will be retribution.” He couldn’t help but smile back. “I don’t need a few miles walk to know that you are incorrigible and in serious need of discipline.”
“Really?” She challenged him with her tone.
“Oh yes. And it will be my pleasure to administer it.” He sighed in exasperation. “If I can ever find a bloody carriage to take us home.”
“Trouble, Max old lad?”
A new voice sounded behind them, and Max turned, recognizing the owner. “Sinjun Forrester, by God. I didn’t know you were here.”
“That’s the way I like it. Pop in to these things, catch the latest on dits then move on to the next one with tidbits to share. And I should thank you most specifically, because I’ll be dining out on yours for quite some time.”