“My lady wife enjoys quite good health,” Dorning replied. “She did point out to me that with Tavistock gone, you are lacking a partner for the remainder of the week’s tournament.”
William could put the puzzle pieces together easily enough. Dorning had either seen or been told that Della and William had been in close conversation before lunch. Della had had no choice but to divulge a version of the conversation to her spouse and perhaps throw in a little histrionic swoon, as high-strung females were wont to do.
“I offered the post of partner to Lady Della,” William said. “She suggested you would exert your husbandly authority to forbid her even that much diversion. You own a gambling hell, such as it is, and you deny your wife a few games among friends. Word of advice: People remark that sort of behavior, Dorning. It suggests you already don’t trust your wife to behave sensibly, or you can’t afford to drop a few pounds at the tables.”
Those remarks were, in William’s humble estimation, well-placed shots. Sycamore Dorning lounged on the shady side of the terrace in conversation with Mr. Golding. Miss Catherine Fairchild—nose in a book, as ever—sat not far from them.
Dorning would behave himself in front of such witnesses, alas for all concerned.
“Thank you for that advice, Chastain,” Dorning said. “Regarding the card tournament, I would not want a fellow guest to miss out on the remaining play, and thus I offer myself as your partner. My role managing the Coventry means I don’t often have the opportunity to engage in friendly games, and my wife is not inclined to accommodate you. She needs her rest, being newly married. Late nights at the tables don’t appeal to her.”
Dorning for a partner? That was not part of William’s plan. “You’re newly married too.”
“And that happy circumstance frequently renews my energies. I’m sure you grasp the notion, having so recently spoken your own vows. What say you, Chastain? A few friendly hands over the next several days, my skill combined with yours, and devil take the hindmost? Tavistock’s slate has already been wiped clean, and yet, you have substantial losses to recoup.”
Lord Tavistock—or rather, the marchioness—was supposed to cover William’s losses to date. She was proving hard to catch alone, though, and Golding had been less useful at manufacturing fodder for threats.
Golding, in fact, had completely bungled the business with young Tavistock, according to Portly. But then, William had played his hand with Golding subtly, lest the fellow realize he’d been manipulated.
A shrewd man knew when to change tactics, and recouping losses rather than increasing them was always a better strategy. Lady Fairchild’s baubles might well be paste—who brought their finest jewels to a rural house party, after all?—and Mrs. Tremont was inclined to hoist her skirts rather than pay for William’s discretion in actual coin.
Which took a lot of the fun out of the whole endeavor.
Besides, if William continued losing, he’d just threaten to expose Lady Della’s mental instability, and Dorning would pay off the debts willingly enough.
“Dorning, I accept your offer, and devil take the hindmost.”
Dorning bowed and ambled off, while William congratulated himself on knowing when to bend circumstances to his advantage. If he won, so much the better. If he lost, Dorning would pay and pay and pay.
A delightful plan indeed.
“Chastain will ruin you,” Sycamore said, pacing the length of the gallery. “He will ruin you—my business partner and brother—and Della, or finish ruining her. You cannot best him, Ash, not with the cards you hold now. If you sink him into substantial debt, he takes you down with him. If you earn him buckets of money, he’ll be encouraged to try the same scheme again and make you repeat the performance.”
Sycamore was prone to dramatics, but Ash had to concede these fears were sensible. The gallery had been set up for the afternoon’s play—piquet—while at the sideboard, servants laid out sandwiches, canapés, and two different blends of punch.
The session would begin in twenty minutes, and this was as close to privacy as Ash was likely to have with his brother.
“What would you have me do, Sycamore? Chastain threatened Della with rape—again. He’s menacing every female, from the maids to Lady Fairchild. He’s threatened to ruin Mrs. Tremont and her brother, and he’s already driven Tavistock off and cost his lordship dearly. Somebody has to stop him.”
Sycamore waited until the footman at the sideboard had departed. “Why is that someone you, Ash? You’ve already had a bad