Effington made a show of perusing his kings, though he’d be a fool to try for an ace when Mannering was holding sixteen points. The chances were greater that Mannering would go over twenty-one, or do no better than tie the dealer, who won all draws.
“Shall we make this round interesting?” Effington said. “If you win, the amount you owe me is cut in half. If I win, it doubles.”
Mannering held Yorick up before him. “What say you, lucky dog? Shall I chance my fate on the turn of a card?”
Yorick yipped and squirmed.
“Yorick says I’m lucky today. I accept the wager and with what I have in my hand.”
“A deal then,” Effington said, smiling at his kings. “I have a pair of handsome fellows, for a total of twenty. When shall I expect payment?”
“I’ll send my man around tomorrow,” Mannering said, “for I’ve twenty-one.” He kissed Yorick’s head. “Three sevens. What could be luckier than that?”
Well, damn. Either the seven of hearts had acquired an extra nick along the edge, or Effington’s focus had been distracted by the memory of Trudy Mannering’s ample breasts.
“The loser gets a boon,” Effington said, collecting the cards. “You had the benefit of my lucky dog, after all.”
“We can be generous in victory, can’t we, Yorick?” Mannering asked, holding the dog to his cheek. “Yorick says yes. What boon would you like?”
Half an amount paid in the next day was, at present, better than the whole amount paid at a future date, and some favors were worth more than money.
“Tell your sisters that I don’t care what venom they spew regarding Lady Della, provided they spew it in Jonathan Tresham’s direction. I don’t trust him, and can’t think he means well by my intended. If he takes Lady Della into dislike, she’s the better for it.”
Mannering cuddled Yorick against his chest. “Damned confusing, if you ask me. You don’t protect a lady by spreading talk about her. If you put your ring on her finger, then Tresham wouldn’t have anything to say to it, would he?”
“Tresham is a ducal heir, Mannering, and reportedly quite wealthy. His interest in the lady does not bode well for my plans, or for her future.”
What boded ill for Effington’s plans was the notion that Tresham might become fond of Lady Della, or worse, enamored of her. Tresham could afford to be indifferent to the settlements, while Effington could hardly afford good black tea anymore.
“I’ll say something to the twins,” Mannering allowed. “They’ll be at the Henningtons’. See that you dance with neither of them, if you please.”
Mannering’s tone was pleasant, his caresses to Yorick’s head gentle, and yet Effington was touched to think genuine fraternal protectiveness had inspired that warning. The twins, oddly enough, could turn up protective of Lyle too.
“You are a good brother,” Effington said, rising. “And you shouldn’t begrudge the ladies a bit of fun. It was all long ago, and hardly worth mentioning now.”
Mannering stood and set Yorick on the chair by the card table. “Then don’t. Mention it, that is. My sisters need marrying too, Effington, and sooner rather than later. Yorick, thanks for your assistance.” He blew the dog a kiss. “See you tonight, Effington.”
Without so much as a bow, Mannering was on his way, Yorick trotting to the door in his wake.
“You were no help at all,” Effington informed the dog. “Three sevens, indeed.” He aimed a halfhearted kick in Yorick’s direction, but the little beast was nimble.
“You’ll have to be quick when I turn you over to the badger pits,” Effington said, snapping his fingers. “Come along, for tonight I must look my best. I’ve a lady to woo, or ruin, or perhaps both.”
Twelve
“Quimbey’s heir is handsome,” Susannah said, swaying slightly to the music. “Or he would be if he didn’t look perpetually serious.”
Jonathan Tresham was in conversation with his uncle several yards away, and while Tresham didn’t smile, he was clearly fond of Quimbey. Della thought protective would be a better description—a more inconvenient description. Harder to confront a man who was protective of his elders.
“You still can’t recall where you met Mr. Tresham?” Susannah asked. “He looks familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him.”
“Perhaps he resembles Quimbey?” Della suggested, silently crossing her fingers behind her back.
“That must be it. Same nose. Quimbey puts his hands behind his back when he’s launching into a discussion, as Mr. Tresham does.”
Della brought her wrist corsage up for a sniff. “Nicholas has the same habit.”
No, he did not, but Susannah was distracted, searching the ballroom for Mr. Willow Dorning, and any response from Della would have placated her.
The musicians had embarked on a break, and Della and Susannah had retreated to the benches among the potted palms and tipsy dowagers. Tresham had spotted Della, of that she was certain.