The Dark Earl by Virginia Henley Page A

riffraffy crowd as sixteen-year-old males are wont to do.”
    Will flushed slightly. “It’s my pleasure, Your Grace.”
    When Harry and Rachel came on the scene, they were wearing dark cloaks over their gowns. Both had pulled back their hair in a severe style and donned a hat with a veil that partially obscured their features.
    “Why the incognito?” the duchess asked. “You look as if you’re on a secret mission.”
    “We are,” Harry declared. “We don’t want our other suitors to gnash their teeth with jealousy because we are attending the theater with the Earl of Dalkeith. When you sit front row in the Montagus’ theater box, the eyes of the world are upon you.”
    “Mmm, that’s something you usually thrive on, Harry,” the duchess pointed out.
    “Yes—everyone remarks how much I take after my mother.”
    “Flattery will get you everything.” She raised her voice. “James, where the devil are you? Surely you know it is déclassé to keep ladies waiting?”
    Her son arrived, out of breath from rushing. “Sorry!” He almost laughed out loud when he saw Harry and Rachel, but his sister lifted her veil and gave him such a militant look, he sobered immediately.
    When the conspirators climbed into the Montagu carriage, they found John Montagu waiting for them. “I gave Angus directions to Hazard House and bribed him with a guinea to keep his mouth shut.”
    “Ye witless sod! I already gave him five quid,” Will declared.
    Harry almost choked with laughter. “Speaking of money”—she looked expectantly at Will—“Rachel and I don’t have much.”
    “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll bankroll both of you.”
    “Thank you, my lord. Never again will I allow anyone to insinuate the Scots are tighter than bark on a tree.” Harry felt Rachel kick her for the blunt insinuation, and it sent her off into another peal of giddy laughter.
     
     
    The carriage hadn’t gone too far before it pulled up in front of a tall house on Half Moon Street. When Will helped Harry to alight, she stared up at the dark facade, marveling that it had no distinguishing features that made it stand out from its neighbors in the row. It looks like a respectable home, not a gaming hell.
    At the front door, a porter held out his hand and when Will put something into it, they were welcomed with a bow. The party ascended to the second floor, which consisted of four brilliantly lit gaming rooms. The tall windows were covered by heavy drapes that prevented the lights from spilling out into the street.
    The first room was for ombre and faro card games, the second for baccarat and chemin de fer. A third room held small dice tables to accommodate the hazard players. The fourth had a roulette wheel at one end and a long dice table at the other.
    “We are not the only females,” Harry noted, as the group toured the rooms.
    “No, but we are likely the only ladies,” Rachel whispered.
    Most of the males were unaccompanied, but it was obvious that the few females who were escorted by gentlemen were mistresses rather than wives.
    “Oh, I want to play roulette. How exciting!”
    Will Montagu bought a quantity of chips and handed some of them to Harry and Rachel. Harry placed her bet immediately, but Rachel waited for Will to make his choice before following his lead. Young James and John each placed their bets and the croupier spun the wheel, and then spun the ball in the opposite direction. After it slowed, the ball dropped into the pocket of 6 red.
    “I won!” Harry was elated.
    All the men had chosen black as they usually did, and placed their bets on uneven numbers. “Whatever made you choose six red?” Will asked.
    “I was born on the sixth and red is the ancestral Abercorn color, of course.”
    He shook his head. “That would only make sense to a female.”
    “Don’t be too superior—you lost!” Harry continued to bet on red, while the men stuck to black. Rachel changed her course, deciding to follow her niece’s example