Duty and Desire (35 page)

“Sayre!” shouted Monmouth above the hum, “I propose that your metaphor be turned to fact and that the ‘battle’ be engaged in the honor of each gentleman’s own lady!” He turned a wicked grin upon the twittery bevy of silk and added, “Of course, each lady must favor her champion with a token to display on the field, something intimate of her person to spur him on, a charm — as it were — to provide him luck at the table.” The outcry from the ladies that greeted his demand was one of deliciously scandalized delight, and immediately they set about in frantic searches of their costumes for ribbons, lace, or handkerchiefs that might answer Lord Monmouth’s requirement.

It was then that Lady Sylvanie came to Darcy, her lips curled in a derisive smile that invited him to join her in amusement at the scrambling and posturing of the others. Without a word, she brought from the warmth of her bodice a scrap of white linen bound into a small bundle by a strip of leather, and taking a pin embedded in her dress for the purpose, pinned the token to his lapel, directly atop his heart.

“What is this, lady?” Darcy asked in a whisper, remembering his glimpse of it earlier when she had tucked it in her bodice.

“My favor, Sir Knight. Were you not listening?” she teased him. An involuntary current raced through him. For all his suspicions of her, her closeness and their intimate contact were still not easily dismissed.

“But you could not know that Monmouth would suggest such a thing. This ‘favor’ was not lately made.”

“No, not ‘lately’ made, you are correct.” She smiled as she tested the charm’s security on his breast, “but of far greater worth than the trumpery now being exchanged. You see, everyone believes in luck. It is merely a matter of degree…or daring.”

“
Dare
I ask what it contains?” he returned, hiding his distaste behind a show of wit. Given what he suspected of her, the possibilities were revolting.

“This and that,” she answered lightly. Then looking up at him through thick, black lashes, she added, “It will not fail us. Later, when all is well and we are private, I will show you.”

Sayre’s voice called them to order with a command to the gentlemen that they escort their fair ladies to the library. The excited pairs took their places, and it was soon seen which of the females had dared to accept the invitation. Lady Felicia’s presence on Manning’s arm did not surprise Darcy in the least, nor the disclosure that Miss Avery would be retiring at her brother’s command. Lady Chelmsford also declined to pierce the mysteries of the gaming table, declaring herself too fatigued to begin a new amusement. Miss Farnsworth had bestowed her favor upon Poole, Lady Beatrice’s hand rested on Monmouth’s arm, and Lady Sayre clung to her lord. To Darcy’s mind, she appeared somewhat agitated, and he could well imagine that Sylvanie’s interference in her designs for the evening had not been received with equanimity.

Sayre and his lady took the head of the line, and the company proceeded under their lead. Darcy cocked his head in wordless invitation to Lady Sylvanie and offered his arm. With equal hauteur, the lady obliged him, and they took their station. Their stately procession was conducted with only a solitary lamp held high by a manservant to light their way through the shadowy corridors. Aside from the two servants who opened the library’s doors, Darcy saw not a single soul but those of the company.

The library itself was transformed. The bare shelves had been arranged with candles, a fire crackled in the hearth, and around the room were set chairs and tables for the ladies. To one side the board, which usually supported only the stronger beverages, now boasted the lighter fare favored by ladies as well as the sterner stuff required by the gentlemen. In addition, serving dishes of sliced bread and cold meats, along with chicken salad and fruit, competed with the tall amber and green bottles for the company’s attention. But most compelling was the repositioning of the gaming table. It now occupied the middle of the room, and all else was arranged around it in receding circles. The gentlemen’s chairs were already drawn up, and at each place rested a card. A quick survey confirmed Darcy’s expectation. His card placed him facing the nearby window. He looked back at the woman on his arm, who returned him a percipient smile. But even as he nodded his understanding, the smile suddenly fled her face; and her hold on his arm convulsed, her attention wholly caught by something behind him.

“Good evening, sir…my lady.” Fletcher’s voice came from behind Darcy’s shoulder.

Thank God!
Darcy exhaled deeply while the tension of the evening abated. He turned to acknowledge his trusted ally. “Fletcher?”

“Mr. Darcy.” Fletcher bowed deeply. “All is in readiness, sir.” He rose and met Darcy’s eyes only briefly before adding in a meaningful accent, “I have seen to everything myself.” If Darcy understood his valet aright, he had examined the tables and chairs for hidden compartments and assured himself of the inviolate purity of the packs of cards that lay in their seal-bound boxes. “Good man.” Darcy nodded his approval.

“May I prepare a plate for you, sir? Or Her Ladyship?” Fletcher’s gaze passed blandly from Darcy to Lady Sylvanie. “A glass of wine, perhaps?”

“My lady?” Darcy inquired, looking down into Sylvanie’s face. Her eyes, he observed, were narrowed upon Fletcher in an alarming manner, and her hold upon his arm had not diminished since her first sight of the valet. To his supreme credit, neither Fletcher’s face nor his posture indicated notice of the lady’s animosity. Nor did he flinch from his purpose, for he stood his ground and waited in seeming polite, disinterested silence for a response.

The tension of her clasp lessened, and with a brief glance at him, she answered, “A glass of wine is all I shall require for the evening.”

“Very good, my lady.” Fletcher turned to his master. “Sir, His Lordship has ordered broken open a bottle that has aroused some interest among the gentlemen. Would you care to examine it before I procure you a glass?” The polite disinterest Fletcher had turned upon Lady Sylvanie still ordered his features, but new as they both were to this sort of game, Darcy did not need a sign painted for him.

“My lady,” he addressed her carefully, “may I escort you to a chair before seeing to this bottle?”

“You may,” she answered smoothly and indicated a chair immediately behind and to the right of the one assigned to him at the table. “I shall be most comfortable. We both shall, as you come to understand.” She lightly caressed the token at his breast and then, with a secret smile, allowed him to conduct her to her place. Repressing a shudder at the dark, conspiratorial temper of her words and the satisfaction of her countenance, he seated her and strode directly to Fletcher at the board.

“Yes?” he hissed to him as he took the bottle Fletcher handed him and feigned a serious contemplation of the label.

“Something is happening, sir. The old woman had everyone in a state over the preparations for this game. Is it not unusual for ladies to be present, sir?”

“Yes, in my experience; although I’ve heard — But that is not to the point. The servants are disturbed, you say?”

“Indeed, Mr. Darcy, but not only due to the sudden change. The snow ceased some hours ago, and servants caught in Chipping Norton by the storm have finally gotten through to the castle. It is the rumor they’ve brought, sir, that has the underhousehold in such a ferment.” He paused, and his eyes fell upon Lady Sylvanie’s token. “What is that, sir?” he whispered in a horrified voice.

“Lady Sylvanie’s token for luck tonight at the table. Forget it, man! What is this rumor?” Darcy’s effort to keep his voice and body from expressing his agitation was near choking him.

His gaze still focused on the token, Fletcher’s voice quavered. “The rumor, sir, is that a child is missing, a boy-child of one of Sayre’s poorest tenants. A babe, really, not yet old enough to walk.”

“What!” Darcy hissed and looked involuntarily to Lady Sylvanie. The lady cocked her head in question in such a way as to communicate that her patience for his conversation with his valet was wearing thin.
A child missing! Good God!
Darcy’s stomach turned as he warred against the rising fear that the scene he’d come upon at the Stones was about to be played out in truth. If this was so, the danger of the situation was now multiplied, but he could not multiply himself, nor could he send Fletcher out to turn over the entire castle single-handed. Neither could he call upon Sayre. What did he have but his suspicions and servants’ gossip? He saw his only course and set it into motion. “I must take my seat, and you must attend me; but I will send you on various ‘errands’ during the game. See what you can learn. But for God’s sake, Fletcher, take care!”

“Yes, sir.” The valet breathed deeply and nodded, then indicated the bottle. “Do you wish anything, sir?”

“Not this!” Darcy dismissed the ancient bottle of Scotch whisky. “A thimble of port for now will suffice. Your news…” He left the sentence unfinished, dismissed Fletcher to procure the wine and port, and turned back to the room.

The other gentlemen, glasses in hand, were taking their seats while the women floated toward theirs, giddy at their daring in attending an activity from which they had heretofore been excluded. Lady Sylvanie waited for Darcy, her pose one of patient calm; but when he took his seat, she reached out her hand, her fingertips brushing his, and he knew that the fire he had detected during their dance was returned. He forced himself to respond in kind to her smile, but in truth, after this latest news he could now barely stand to be near her. Uncomfortable at the realization that she would be at his back throughout the night’s play, he renewed his gratitude that he had thought to require Fletcher’s attendance.

In a few moments, the valet approached them, two glasses in hand, and Darcy marveled again at the impassivity in his face and demeanor. “Mr. Darcy, my lady,” he murmured as he handed them their glasses. Then, at Darcy’s nod, he took up a position on his master’s left.

“Does your valet stay with you?” Lady Sylvanie asked in a tight voice, belying the smile on her lips. “I was not aware that such a thing was done.”

“No more so than the presence of gentlewomen,” he replied evenly just as Sayre, sitting opposite him, rapped for attention. Chairs were pulled up to the large, round gaming table that Sayre had specially commissioned in more prosperous times. Manning took the place to Sayre’s left, and Poole appropriated the next at Darcy’s right. On Darcy’s left sat Monmouth, followed by Chelmsford. As had been his custom, Trenholme did not join them at the table but hovered about the rim of play, anxiously watching his brother while soothing his fears with liberal amounts of whatever libation lay at hand.

“There now, shall we begin?” Sayre reached for one of the packages of cards and offered it to Manning. The Baron obliged him, taking it and breaking open the seal before handing it on to Poole, who shook the cards from their wrapping and passed the deck back to Sayre. “Is Primero agreeable?” Their host looked round the table and, encountering no opposition, began to remove the unneeded 8s, 9s, and 10s. The amendment completed, he then shuffled the deck and dealt out two cards each.

Darcy picked up his cards: The 4 and 7 of spades — a numerus of 35 — possibly the beginning of a fluxus but not enough to tempt him to place a bid. He flicked his hand to pass as Manning and Poole had before him. Monmouth and Chelmsford did the same. Evidently, no one was feeling lucky as yet. Sayre dealt out the remaining two cards each and placed the deck to one side. A wave of expectation flowed around the table as the ladies bent forward to see what their champions had drawn. Darcy’s gaze flickered through the assemblage about the table, assessing the expression of each lady’s face as the gentlemen brought up their new cards and arranged them in their hands. The other players did the same, and Darcy experienced his first satisfaction with the evening when their glances rested briefly on the lady behind him and turned quickly away. No, they would gain nothing by observing Sylvanie, of that he was more than confident. He palmed his two new cards and assessed his hand: an ace of spades and a 2 of diamonds joined the other cards in his possession, now a numerus of 51. He still had the outside possibility of gaining a fluxus from the draw, but if the cards came his way, he held in his hand the majority of the lesser maximus as well. He decided to pass and see what the draw brought him.

Manning passed, discarding two cards and drawing two, but Poole placed half a crown on the table and bid a primero 30, an obvious underbid. Darcy passed as he had intended, discarded the 2 of diamonds, and against all odds, he drew the 6 of spades, satisfying the requirements for both a maximus and the more powerful fluxus! He counted his hand, hardly daring to breathe, and came to a total of 69, only one point short of a perfect 70. A light sigh of satisfaction accompanied by the rustling sound of skirts being rearranged drifted to his ears from behind him. Darcy’s shoulders stiffened. Did Sylvanie mean him to credit
her
for the cards in his hand? He steeled himself against any such temptation as he regarded his incredibly fortunate hand. No, neither the lady nor her devilish token had anything whatsoever to do with it! He set his cards facedown on the table.

Monmouth staked Poole’s half crown and threw in a crown with a bid of primero 36, to the delight of Lady Beatrice, leaving Chelmsford to pass and exchange two cards. The play was now to Sayre, who staked Monmouth and advanced two guineas with a bid of primero 40. Manning looked from under hooded eyelids at the coins on the table and, with a careless smile, tossed out two guineas and another two along with a bid of primero 42. Poole met it, and the play came back to Darcy. Two guineas pinged against the pile of coins on the table, followed by two more as he announced a maximus 55. Poole flinched, but Monmouth gamely staked Darcy’s bid. Chelmsford passed again, replacing only one card, and the play was back to Sayre. His Lordship staked the two golden boys, as did Manning, who peered sharply at Darcy and then advanced three more. Losing his nerve, Poole passed, discarding a card and drawing a replacement.