“Count up your hand.”
“A pair of fives.” Fives were particularly valuable cribbage cards. That a pair of them had yielded only two points was also annoying.
“Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, fifteen-six, and a double run for fourteen.” Portly moved his peg about halfway up the board. “The settlements wounded you. I thought you’d never stop bellowing.”
Portly had served as William’s witness at the wedding and had thus heard William’s outrage as Papa had explained the details of the arrangements. Even Clarice had seemed displeased that most of the money remained under the collective control of the parents. William was sure that provision had been added after he’d seen Fontaine’s last offer.
Clarice would doubtless attempt to bankrupt William with her fripperies, but he’d teach her the folly of trying to manipulate her husband. He was looking forward to it, in fact.
“I have never been reliant upon my parents’ largesse,” William said, refilling his brandy glass. “Marriage won’t change that.”
Portly found another six points in his crib. “Marriage should change that. You are begging for a bullet between the eyes, Chastain, and the Dornings know their way around firearms. Your father’s title will die out with you, and the fair Clarice will become a wealthy widow. Is that what you want?”
What William wanted was to see Lady Della and her devoted Dorning brought low. Della had broken her word. She had promised to tell Papa that the elopement was her idea and that she earnestly longed to marry William. Instead, she’d been yodeling to the rafters about how dare you and this is not what we discussed.
Her volte-face meant William was doomed to marriage with a woman who was about as interesting between the sheets as an old pillow. Clarice’s complete lack of amatory enthusiasm added insult to indignity, and once William got her away from this infernal house party, he’d explain to her the welcome he expected to find in her bed.
“I’ll ruin Dorning,” William said, accepting the deck of cards from Chastain. “He’s the gentlemanly sort. He’ll be easy to ruin.” William shuffled and managed to get the five of clubs from his sleeve back into his hand while Portly poured himself another drink.
“Have you seen Ash Dorning at Jackson’s?”
“Bah. I can defend myself. Pugilism is a sport for men who have no good looks to risk. Dorning thought he’d be the knight in shining armor and make me look like the villain. I don’t appreciate that. Tried to provoke me before supper too.”
“You delude yourself,” Portly said, picking up his drink and leaving his cards facedown. “I saw you slip the five of clubs up your sleeve, Chastain. If you think to cheat your way into a small fortune at this house party, you will have to do better than that.”
William grinned. “Just keeping you on your toes, old boy, and you are right. I am only a passable cheat. I am a much better bully. Suppose I’d best be about it. The Marchioness of Tavistock is quite pretty for an older female, and she’s wealthy enough to regularly gamble. I know a few things about her darling step-son.”
Portly sipped his drink. “You will come to a bad end, and I will read your eulogy. I will comfort Clarice—and her inheritance—in her hour of need, and we will name our firstborn in honor of your sainted memory.”
“A man after my own heart,” William said, though he wished Portly the joy of Clarice’s limited charms. “Seriously, I need to get my hands on some blunt if I’m to comport myself in the style to which a man of my station is accustomed. Keep your ears open, Portly. You never know when a bit of gossip will turn into more than a bit of coin.”
“Pass me the cards,” Portly said. “I was at the Coventry a few nights ago and heard the staff talking. Seems Ash Dorning was due to repair to the family seat again for the winter, and only Lady Della’s situation changed his plans.”
“What’s so unusual about that?”
“He suffers melancholia so severe he must be removed from society for months on end.”
William was not a superstitious man, but he did believe in his own good instincts. Those instincts warned him with a pleasant tingly feeling in the region of his cock when portentous news had been imparted. Beneath the table, he arranged himself behind his falls.
“Do go on, and don’t spare the details.”
“You’ll let me have a turn with your curricle?”
The curricle had been payment for a debt of silence incurred by a beer baron’s randy young son. “Of course, but you will not wreck my conveyance lest I emasculate you.”
Portly dealt another hand—wouldn’t do to appear to be merely gossiping and getting drunk should any busybodies poke their noses in the door—and began to recount what he’d seen and heard of Ash Dorning’s little problem. Given what William already knew about Lady Della’s little problem, the possibilities for lucrative mischief were endless.
The evening had been endless, but Della was at long last behind a locked door with her husband.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” she asked Ash as she undid his cravat. “Want to be gone by morning.” Della certainly did.
“Lady Wentwhistle was a friend of my mother’s,” Ash said, staring over Della’s left shoulder. “She has clearly heard the gossip about you and Chastain, and she didn’t see fit to whisper to you or to me that the bounder was among the guests. Perhaps Sycamore got wind of it, in which case why didn’t he say anything to us?”
Della was almost glad that Chastain had shown up. She’d been all but overcome with panic simply standing at the foot of the steps. Had Chastain’s ambush in the guest parlor not distracted her from that near disaster, she might have succumbed to her nerves before she and Ash had consummated their vows.
Instead, she’d spent the evening smiling until her cheeks ached and clinging to Ash’s hand. Her nerves had held up, and the gossipmongers had been thwarted.
This time. She undid the buttons of Ash’s waistcoat and then those of his shirt. “We failed to provide the grand scene Lady Wentwhistle was hoping for. Perhaps now the house party can settle into the usual semi-discreet debauches house parties are known for.”
She turned and swept her hair off her nape. Ash made short work of her hooks.
“You are so calm,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist. “So serene in the face of provocation. Is this the result of having so many older siblings? Sycamore takes a different approach to being the youngest.”
“I am not calm. Inside, I am a pathetic mess, but pride prevents me from collapsing into a fit of the vapors.” Usually. With Ash’s arms around her, Della was tempted to say more. Sometimes, I can hardly breathe. I have been known to faint from sheer terror when nothing terrifying is about. I am not entirely sane.
William Chastain had used the words hysterical and daft, and he hadn’t been wrong.
“You,” Ash said, kissing her shoulder, “are the steadiest person I know, Della Dorning. If your abundant womanly charms, quick wit, and unstoppable determination didn’t steal my heart, your sheer good sense would. I’ll give you first crack at the privacy screen, while I warm the sheets.”