discretely behind the screen had ceased. All in the room were straining to hear the words that passed between the Earl of Drennan and the mistress of the house.
Belatedly realizing that something was amiss, Druscilla hurried over to her. She stood at the ready, at the slightest nod from her mistress to administer to His Grace, the Earl of Drennan, a proper kick to the selfsame nobleman’s shins.
The couple might have received permission from Lord Patrick to court, but there were, until the day the banns were published, certain proprieties to be followed, even by an eccentric spinster and a handsome earl. And he had just now stepped over the boundaries defining discreet gentlemanly behavior.
“Do you wish me to ask His Grace to take his leave, my lady?” Druscilla whispered nervously into her ear.
“Nay, the uh—earl was only making a feeble point, Druscilla. A lesson, I assure you, he’ll not be repeating,” answered her mistress, a slight tremble in her voice betraying her normally calm facade.
She nodded in the direction of the earl’s man servant. “You may return to your conversation with Master Davis. There is no need for anyone to question what has passed here.”
“But, ma’am,” whispered the maid, reluctant to leave her mistress’s side. “He made an improper advance upon your person.”
Beatrice nervously swallowed, forcing the rest of her statement out in a faked lighthearted manner. “Really, Dru’, my father, as everyone well knows, gave the earl permission to court me. Therefore, nothing unseemly passed between us just now.”
“Well, then, my lady, I best fetch your shawl. I expect you and His Grace will be wanting to take a little walk in the garden.” The companion sniffed, properly shocked.
“That won’t be necessary. It’s rather cool outside. And we intend to play one more hand of cards.”
Beatrice sighed to herself. Oh, if only she could be rid of the knave. Then her life could continue on the calm steady course that she’d set for it. Waving her fan back and forth, she tried to calm her nerves as her acknowledged suitor picked up the strewn deck.
The cool manner in which he dealt the deck reminded her that she needed only to play out the next hand in order to gain back the slippery control of her once well-ordered, tranquil life. Squaring her shoulders, she claimed her own set of cards. A soft gasp escaped her lips. There lay in her hand a series of unmatched low numbers of no particular suit. They gleamed mockingly up at her.
She glanced back hopefully at the earl. His rugged face revealed nothing about his own hand. If he had any feelings about the game, he kept them well-hidden, letting nothing about his silent demeanor betray his thoughts about his own cards.
He discarded one last time.
The moment had come to reveal their hands. Slowly turning his over, he showed his points and uttered simply the single word of triumph in French, “ Gagné. ”
Hands shaking with frustration, she ungraciously slapped her own worthless cards down on the playing table. “Good-evening, sir,” she whispered and silently walked out, the soft rustle of her skirts the only noise in the room as servants retreated to their own quarters.
They left him with Davis to enjoy his victory alone. In the flickering light of the smoking peat fire, the earl spread his cards out, tapping the four winning points. He’d shrewdly gambled on her assumption that he was a foppish dolt who didn’t know an ace from a queen. He, of course, had won.
“If my luck holds,” he said aloud to the empty room as he flipped his lucky gold coin in the air, “I may win myself a bride, as well.”
Chapter 6
Lord Patrick moved uneasily from foot to foot as he stood among the bulbs his daughter dug around. His dog, a high-strung black and white border collie, sat at his feet anxiously wondering why his master had stopped in their usual walk about the manor.
“Have a spark of sense, Bea’. The earl’s not one
Belatedly realizing that something was amiss, Druscilla hurried over to her. She stood at the ready, at the slightest nod from her mistress to administer to His Grace, the Earl of Drennan, a proper kick to the selfsame nobleman’s shins.
The couple might have received permission from Lord Patrick to court, but there were, until the day the banns were published, certain proprieties to be followed, even by an eccentric spinster and a handsome earl. And he had just now stepped over the boundaries defining discreet gentlemanly behavior.
“Do you wish me to ask His Grace to take his leave, my lady?” Druscilla whispered nervously into her ear.
“Nay, the uh—earl was only making a feeble point, Druscilla. A lesson, I assure you, he’ll not be repeating,” answered her mistress, a slight tremble in her voice betraying her normally calm facade.
She nodded in the direction of the earl’s man servant. “You may return to your conversation with Master Davis. There is no need for anyone to question what has passed here.”
“But, ma’am,” whispered the maid, reluctant to leave her mistress’s side. “He made an improper advance upon your person.”
Beatrice nervously swallowed, forcing the rest of her statement out in a faked lighthearted manner. “Really, Dru’, my father, as everyone well knows, gave the earl permission to court me. Therefore, nothing unseemly passed between us just now.”
“Well, then, my lady, I best fetch your shawl. I expect you and His Grace will be wanting to take a little walk in the garden.” The companion sniffed, properly shocked.
“That won’t be necessary. It’s rather cool outside. And we intend to play one more hand of cards.”
Beatrice sighed to herself. Oh, if only she could be rid of the knave. Then her life could continue on the calm steady course that she’d set for it. Waving her fan back and forth, she tried to calm her nerves as her acknowledged suitor picked up the strewn deck.
The cool manner in which he dealt the deck reminded her that she needed only to play out the next hand in order to gain back the slippery control of her once well-ordered, tranquil life. Squaring her shoulders, she claimed her own set of cards. A soft gasp escaped her lips. There lay in her hand a series of unmatched low numbers of no particular suit. They gleamed mockingly up at her.
She glanced back hopefully at the earl. His rugged face revealed nothing about his own hand. If he had any feelings about the game, he kept them well-hidden, letting nothing about his silent demeanor betray his thoughts about his own cards.
He discarded one last time.
The moment had come to reveal their hands. Slowly turning his over, he showed his points and uttered simply the single word of triumph in French, “ Gagné. ”
Hands shaking with frustration, she ungraciously slapped her own worthless cards down on the playing table. “Good-evening, sir,” she whispered and silently walked out, the soft rustle of her skirts the only noise in the room as servants retreated to their own quarters.
They left him with Davis to enjoy his victory alone. In the flickering light of the smoking peat fire, the earl spread his cards out, tapping the four winning points. He’d shrewdly gambled on her assumption that he was a foppish dolt who didn’t know an ace from a queen. He, of course, had won.
“If my luck holds,” he said aloud to the empty room as he flipped his lucky gold coin in the air, “I may win myself a bride, as well.”
Chapter 6
Lord Patrick moved uneasily from foot to foot as he stood among the bulbs his daughter dug around. His dog, a high-strung black and white border collie, sat at his feet anxiously wondering why his master had stopped in their usual walk about the manor.
“Have a spark of sense, Bea’. The earl’s not one
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