When Giles Calloway had made the suggestion on their last meeting, quietly so that the ladies might not hear, Hunter had been most receptive, as had Algernon.
The tables had been set up in the drawing room at Croston Hall, just as they had been on the bridge afternoon. But instead of tea, the men were drinking strong liquor and had their bulging purses sat upon the tables for all to see.
“I see you have been very lucky again, Cousin.” Algernon approached him with a smile of congratulation and woeful look which spoke volumes about the man’s own luck.
“And I can tell by your countenance that you have lost, Algernon. Ordinarily, you are a formidable player, especially when there is money involved.” Hunter laughed.
“Mock if you choose to, Cousin, for I fully intend to go back in and regain all that I have lost this evening.” Algernon took a deep breath and stood up a little taller.
“As you well know, Algernon, that is the worst thing to go back in and play for. Seeking to win back all you have lost will only make you reckless and determined, and that, in turn, will see that you lose even more money.”
“The problem I have is this, Hunter. The more I realize that you are speaking the truth, the more I realize how right you are, the more determined I am to play. It is a strange dichotomy, is it not? On the one hand, I know I shall lose and ought not to attempt the thing and yet, on the other, I know I shall not settle unless I play. Does that make any sense at all?”
“I am afraid so,” Hunter said and laughed.
“Anyway, I shall stand with you for a moment and perhaps have another couple of brandies before I settle down at a table again.”
“For heaven’s sake, your reasoning gets worse and worse.” Hunter laughed. “For what man’s reason is made clearer by brandy?”
“No man’s reason is made clearer by brandy.” Algernon laughed heartily. “But his senses are wonderfully dulled, and it is a most comforting feeling.”
“Then I would not seek to deny you your simple pleasures, Cousin. Your health,” Hunter said and held his glass up in front of him in a toast.
“I thank you.” Algernon held his up likewise, and the two men laughed again. “But enough of this talk of my failures; let us talk of your successes. Miss Fitzgerald seemed to do awfully well at the dreaded wedding, did she not?”
“Yes, she did manage very well,” Hunter said and felt somewhat dull.
“You do not seem convinced.”
“I am convinced that she did well, but I think she was greatly upset by it, however much she hid the thing.”
“Well, it would appear that your first assessment of the young lady was correct, and that she did, indeed, love Christopher Lennox. But surely that is not a matter which concerns you, given the fact that you would not be at all pleased to find yourself the object of Miss Fitzgerald’s genuine affections.”
“No, it does not concern me at all,” Hunter said in an offhand manner.
“And once again, you do not seem convinced,” Algernon said and grinned.
It was true that the brandy was beginning to take its toll on Hunter’s cousin. Algernon’s face had a high colour, and his eyes were a little glassy and full of mischief. However, although Algernon did not overindulge very often, he always made a most pleasant, amiable, even amusing, drunk.
“Fear not, I am quite convinced.” Hunter smiled.
However, he knew that he was not speaking the truth. As much as he had told Emmeline that there was no need for them to attend the wedding that she very likely feared, still he had wanted to go. Hunter had wanted to be there and see her reaction for himself, to gauge if she still had such a depth of feeling for the man she had once thought herself intended to marry.
Quite why he had wanted to see, he could hardly explain to himself. There was a part of him that wanted to be convinced that she had no love at all for the man who had betrayed her, no regard for him whatsoever. He knew, of course, that to see such regard or love in her on that day would have caused a little envy within him. But Hunter had not imagined for a moment that the envy would have almost consumed him. He had seen her look sadly at Christopher Lennox; he had witnessed a little something of the moment in which the two of them had locked eyes as the young man’s bride made her way down the aisle. And then he had seen her smile at him, and it was a most curious smile. He was not sure if it held warmth or not; he could hardly work it out, but it had unsettled him a good deal.
And after that, after witnessing that moment which had passed between Christopher Lennox and Emmeline Fitzgerald, he had seen, almost felt, her low spirits and her sadness. Hunter had asked her continually if she was well or if she wished to leave. She had assured him over and over that she was managing and, as the afternoon celebrations had continued, Emmeline had seemed to recover herself entirely, even seeming to enjoy being with her mother and sister. The whole thing had been most confusing for Hunter. He had wanted to know what she felt and why. And, at the same time, he knew he had no right to ask. Theirs was to be a marriage of convenience, and to seek intimate knowledge of the lady’s feelings would surely have turned everything on its head.
“I see that the dreadful Kent Fitzgerald has wormed his way into Croston Hall again,” Algernon said in a voice that was not quite as hushed as it ought to have been.
“Yes, he has got himself very well in with Giles Calloway. Curious, really, because Calloway seems like a very decent sort of a man.” Hunter spoke in almost a whisper, hoping to encourage his cousin to do the same.
“He looks over at you a good deal, Hunter. I cannot help wondering what his game is, for I am sure that he has one.”
“Yes, I had perceived much the same myself. I must admit, I do not like the man, and I was not at all pleased to see him here this evening when we arrived.”
“Well, poker is certainly not his game. He has lost every hand he has played this evening,” Algernon said, and Hunter laughed. “Yes, I realize that I too have lost every hand I have played this evening. But mine is simply an unlucky streak whereas I genuinely believe that Kent Fitzgerald’s poor performance is utter lack of skill.”
“And how on earth can you tell that?”
“I can tell it because of his manner.” Algernon looked over towards Kent Fitzgerald and back again. “He tries always to give an air of one who knows what he is doing, one who fits perfectly into the world he is trying, quite clearly, to infiltrate.”
“Yes, there is a certain inferiority about him which I think he seeks to cover. And I think that is why he clings so to Giles Calloway; he sees him as a man much easier to get to know, a man who has great means and is personable enough to shepherd Fitzgerald into society.”