Page 35 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Antonia’s ears pricked up like a spaniel’s. Her hunch had been correct. The duchess liked to gamble. “Oh, we have dancing.” She scooped her cards up and fanned them out. “I wouldn’t have dared to venture out on the floor if I hadn’t believed I understood the rudiments. Our style is a bit more boisterous. My sincerest apologies for failing to understand the rules, Lady Jersey.”
She had no idea whether this was true. In New York, she had witnessed plenty of dances as a maid scurrying to and fro to ensure the party guests had sufficient food and drink. There had never been a single moment to watch the dancers’ footwork. A convenient fib to fit these fine ladies’ preconceived notions was all Antonia could offer. Fortunately, she was a practiced and accomplished liar.
Those gatherings had provided her first opportunities to pluck gems from a rich woman’s neck. They had given her a glimpse at a life she aspired to live. A decade later, here she was. Seated at a card table playing as an equal to women. It ought to be enough. She should feel satisfied. Instead, Antonia’s heart remained as cold and lonely as ever.
The woman called Lady Jersey, who appeared to be around Antonia’s age or perhaps a few years older, wore a velvet turban with a large feather sticking up from the center. She scooped up a trick and tapped it together.
“Don’t be such a cursed sourpuss, Sarah.” The Dowager Duchess of Summervale tossed out another card. “It isn’t like you to be so judgmental.”
Paper cards again covered the table. Quick as a shark, Lady Summervale scooped up the next three tricks. Antonia began to see the strategy behind her discards. It didn’t matter whether Antonia won a single hand. Tonight was about getting the woman to talk.
“I will recommend you receive a voucher for next Wednesday if your instructor approves of your progress,” Lady Jersey offered. “How do you find Mr. Bendetti?”
Mr. Bendetti?Right, Malcolm had mentioned something about paying the owner to use his dance space. “Delightful,” Antonia lied glibly. She placed a card down. Lady Summervale scooped up the trick with a triumphant stretch of her lips over bared teeth. “He says I am making great progress in such short time.”
With the right partner, anyway. Antonia held no delusions that she could perform the same steps as capably as she was learning to with Havencrest. They had spent hours learning how one another’s bodies moved. Now, he remembered to shorten his stride just enough to prevent her from leaping after him like a hare spotting a fox. How she had begun to associate his features, memorized from staring into his eyes, with smiling.
Add a stranger to the mix, and Antonia’s innate iciness would freeze over again. He would be nothing but a mark, someone who could be used to get her further along her path to freedom or trampled in the process.
“‘Delightful,’” repeated Lady Jersey in disbelief. “Tis a miracle. If Mr. Bendetti has ever delighted a woman in his entire life, I should be most astounded.”
The three women tittered as though she had told a great joke.
Antonia tried again. “He is a harsh task master. But I confess I needed that degree of instruction. I don’t resent him for teaching me a useful skill.”
This only made Lady Jersey roll her eyes. Antonia tried not to mind. This was not going as planned, but for now, it served her purposes for them to believe she was a naïve ninny. If only it didn’t flay her pride to be mocked in this manner. She laid down a card. The trick fell to her. Antonia scooped up the stack. She laid down her best card and took the next trick as well.
The ladies lost interest in teasing her as they zeroed in on the remaining hands. Lady Summervale held four, Lady Jersey three, and Lady Woolryte and Antonia two each. With thirteen tricks at play, either one person would win easily or there would be a draw. Antonia claimed the next hand as well.
“Your rose gown is lovely, Miss Lowry,” commented Lady Woolryte idly as she tossed out a card. “It bears a remarkable similarity to the dress a corpse was found in when she was fished out of the Thames this morning.”
Antonia’s hand froze mid-flick of her wrist. “I was going to say thank you. But now I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
Lady Woolryte’s chin lifted and her wrist snapped. “The description of the dead girl bears several similarities to you. Height. Coloring. Approximate age.”
Antonia had chosen Edith Webber’s body her for each of those reasons. It had required a great deal of coin to convince the resurrectionist to part with his freshest specimen—coin that, until Malcolm’s five thousand pounds had hit Anthony Lowe’s bank account, had been badly needed.
There you go, naming people again.
“I still don’t know what you’re implying,” Antonia smiled with her teeth. “As you can see, I am very much alive, and my dress is very much intact. I do feel great sorrow for the woman who ended up in the river, of course,” she added. More than these women could know. “However, I cannot claim to know anything about the incident.”
Lady Summervale’s gnarled hands scraped the cards together over the green baize. “I cannot see the point of your questioning, either, Jane. We are proving ourselves atrocious hosts. Worse, you are distracted, and we have lost the rubber. I expect you to do better when see you on Sunday. Excuse me.” The duchess unceremoniously levered herself out her chair with the aid of an ebony cane.
“What is this about Sunday?” Antonia asked.
“Lady Summervale hosts a ladies’ whist game every Sunday afternoon. High stakes. You need at least a hundred pounds in funds to gain entry.”
Interesting. Havencrest must be estranged from his grandmother indeed if he didn’t know this detail. “I have that much.” Thanks to Havencrest, it was truth.
“Do you, now.” Lady Woolryte signaled to another player to take the duchess’s place. “If that’s the case, you might join us.”
“I am afraid I have plans.” A lie, of course.
“Of course you do,” Lady Woolryte replied condescendingly. A vise tightened around Antonia’s temples. She would give almost anything to beat these snobbish women at their own game. Cards or social schemes, Antonia didn’t mind which.
“Let her come the Sunday after, if she wishes,” interjected Lady Jersey. “Pay me a call on Wednesday afternoon. If your dancing has sufficiently progressed, I shall give you a voucher for the evening. If not, I am afraid Lady Evendaw will have get along without you for the evening.”
“Little Margaret seems quite well cared for under her new beau. Whoever would have thought it?” commented Lady Woolryte.
