Diane Gaston - A Marriage of Notoriety

When they entered the room, it seemed transformed, a riot of colour and sound. The rhythm of rolling dice, the hum of voices, the trill of shuffling cards melded into a strange symphony. Could such noise be recreated in music? What might be required? Horns? Drums? Castanets?

‘Ma’am, do you wish to join us in cards?’ One of her gentlemen escorts broke her reverie.

She shook her head. ‘You have assisted me enough, sir. I thank you both. Please be about your own entertainment.’

They bowed and she turned away from them and scanned the room as she made her way to the hazard table. To her great relief, she did not see Xavier. A pretty young woman acted as croupier at the hazard table, which surprised Phillipa. She’d not imagined women employed to do such a job. She knew the rules of hazard, but thought it insipid to wager money on the roll of dice. Phillipa watched the play, interested more in the people than the gambling. Several of the croupiers were women. The women players were mostly masked, like she, but some were not. She wondered about them. Who were they and why did they not worry about their reputations? Perhaps she was in the company of actresses. Opera dancers. Women who would not hide from life.

There certainly seemed to be great numbers of counters being passed around in the room. Those who won exclaimed in delight; the losers groaned and despaired. Happy sounds juxtaposed with despairing ones. She’d never heard the like.

She glimpsed Rhysdale. He circulated through the room, watching, stopping to speak to this or that person. He came close to her and her heart raced. He looked directly at her, nodding a greeting before passing on. She smiled. He had not recognised her.

She walked over to the faro table. If hazard was an insipid game, faro was ridiculous. One wagered whether a particular card would be chosen from the deck. If you placed money on the banker’s card you lost, if on the winning card you won double.

Still, she ought to gamble. To merely gape at everything would appear a bit suspicious.

She stifled a giggle. Out in society, people treated her as if she did not exist. Here she feared them noticing her.

She played at faro and became caught up in the spirit of the game. She cried with joy when she won and groaned at her losses, just like the other patrons. She was merely one of the crowd. Even her deep-green gown blended with the tableau as if she were a part of the décor of reds, greens and glinting golds. Her anonymity became like a cloak around her, protecting her so well she forgot that, besides Rhysdale, there might be someone at the club who could recognise her.

* * *

Xavier defused some escalating tempers, interrupted some reckless wagers and otherwise performed the same tasks as always at the Masquerade Club. His mind, however, continued to wander back to that morning.

Ought he have sent Phillipa to Rhys? Should it have been Rhys’s choice of whether to tell her about her father, about the gaming house?

No. Rhys might have some of the same blood flowing through his veins as Phillipa, but she was a stranger to him. Xavier had known her for ever, even before her injury. He’d been close to her once. Her injury bound them together.

Or at least it bound him to her.

He’d been wrong to neglect her since the war ended. He should have sought her out before this. Made certain she was in good health and in good spirits. Perhaps that was why she was so cold to him at the ball.

Perhaps he would call upon her soon. See how she was faring after what he’d told her this afternoon.

Satisfied with that thought, Xavier circulated throughout the room, perusing the players and the croupiers, remaining alert to any potential problems. Most of the players here tonight were familiar to him as regular attendees. Even the masked ones were familiar, although there were a few whose identities he’d not yet guessed.

A new woman caught his eye. He’d not seen her arrive and did not know in whose party she might be included, but there was something about her...

She dressed expensively in a gown of dark-green silk. Its sheen caught the lamplight and transformed the rather plain style into something elegant. Who was she and why she was here for the first time?

Xavier watched her.

And came more disturbed.

His brows knit as he walked closer to her. He knew her, did he not?

Xavier stood across the faro table from her, waiting for the puzzle pieces to sort themselves. She glanced up and her gaze held his for a brief moment. She quickly looked away.

He walked around the table and leaned towards her ear. ‘May I have a moment to speak with you, miss?’

She bowed her head and allowed him to lead her out of the room.

He brought her to a private corner of the hallway and backed her against the wall. ‘What the devil are you doing here, Phillipa?’

She glared at him. ‘How did you know it was me?’

How did he know? The set of her shoulders. The tilt of her chin. Her smile. ‘It was not that difficult.’

‘Rhysdale did not recognise me.’ That chin lifted.

‘He does not know you as I do.’ But he would not allow her to change the subject. ‘Why are you here?’

She shrugged. ‘To gamble. Why else?’

‘Who is with you?’ Her brothers were gone. And, if they had not been, they would have had to answer to him for bringing their sister here.

‘No one,’ she said.

‘No one?’ She could not have come alone. ‘How did you get here?’

She gave him a defiant look. ‘I walked.’

Walked? ‘Alone?’

She did not waver. ‘Yes, alone.’

He seized her arm. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? You cannot walk about alone at night.’

‘It is only a few streets.’ She continued to stare into his eyes. ‘Besides, Ned and Hugh taught me how to defend myself.’ She lifted her skirt and showed him a sheathed knife attached to her calf.

As if she would have time to draw it, if a man accosted her. As if such a man could not easily grab it from her hand.

‘And that makes you safe.’ He spoke with sarcasm.

‘There were plenty of people about and street lamps were lit along Piccadilly. It was like walking in daytime.’

He doubted that. He also doubted that she was there for the simple reason of gambling. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let us talk in the supper room.’

The supper room served wine and spirits and a buffet supper. Designed in the style of Robert Adam, its décor was light and airy, the opposite of the game room with its darker colours. Chairs and tables covered with white linens were arranged for conversation. Along one wall stood a huge buffet table upon which were set out a variety of cold meats, cheeses, cakes and compotes. Patrons could help themselves to the food and sit at tables covered with white linen. Servants attended the room, providing drink.

The supper room was a needed respite from the high emotions in the game room, Xavier thought.

‘Be seated. I’ll get you something to eat.’ He led her to a table set away from the few people seated in the room and made his way to the buffet.

To his dismay, Rhys was in the room, chatting with some gentlemen seated not too far away from the white pianoforte in the corner.

Xavier glanced back at Phillipa, whose posture had stiffened. She, too, had noticed Rhys.

Rhys excused himself and crossed the room to Xavier. ‘I noticed we have a new woman patron.’ He faced Xavier but his back was to Phillipa. ‘What is wrong with her? She did not seem to be falling at your feet like other woman.’

Xavier’s good looks did not matter one jot to Rhys. In fact, Rhys was perhaps the only person, besides Xavier’s own family, of whom he could say such a thing. Rhys was no fool, though. He knew women were attracted to Xavier.