‘Play for them,’ Leo said suddenly.
‘Quiet,’ the Duke snapped at his cousin.
‘No, listen, Sev. You must see Vier doesn’t have to sell them to you – though I must say, fifteen hundred – but he’s a sporting man. Let’s make it a game. A return match, even. What do you say, Vier? A few rounds of whist, you and Plath against Severn and me, with the greys on the table, and there will be no question of who owns what.’
‘There is no question as to my ownership now,’ Vier said, but his eyes were calculating. ‘A game, you say? I was not aware you play, Your Grace. And I play deep. Are you sure you can meet your cousin’s expectations?’
‘I can certainly meet my obligations, whatever they may be,’ the Duke said icily. ‘But as to gaming—’
‘Of course you shall play, Sev,’ Leo said. ‘Come, now, if you want your greys back, what choice have you?’
The Duke looked round sharply at his cousin. Sir James Vier laughed, an unpleasant sound. ‘Quite, yes. In this particular circumstance, I fear His Grace has no choice at all. Shall we say two days hence?’
They were to meet for the game in Lady Wintour’s hell: a public match after the public argument. Lady Wintour – a hostess from a faro den who had married well above herstation – had run her establishment for some years. Its veneer of respectability was thinner than the sheerest of muslins, but at least it wasn’t the Cocoa-Tree, and more importantly, Daizell was an old friend of the proprietress. He had gone for a chat with her a few days previously.
It was crowded when Cassian and Leo arrived. Apparently the word had got round that the Duke of Severn had lost his temper, forgotten his breeding, had a vulgar public argument, and would probably be losing a great deal of money to Sir James Vier.
Cassian knew several of those present, and didn’t greatly care for any of them except Daizell, who was deep in conversation with Lady Wintour. He took a glass of brandy, watching the room, and realised his face had slipped once more into his usual public expression of that polite, faint, offputting smile. No wonder people didn’t talk to him.
To blazes with that. He turned to the closest man who looked friendly, and said, ‘Good evening. I’m Severn. How’s the play here?’
‘Deep but honest,’ the man replied. ‘Lady Wintour takes a firm line, and Ned – the big one there whose hand looks incomplete without a cudgel – applies the line firmly, if you follow me. The brandy is drinkable but I wouldn’t call for champagne, she watches the pennies too closely there. Loxleigh, by the way.’ He gave Cassian a nod, paused, then said, ‘It has just occurred to me – when you said Severn, you didn’t mean—’
‘Yes, but “Severn” will do very well, please.’
Loxleigh took a second to digest that, then opened his hands with a smile. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Severn. First time here?’
He proved to be as friendly as he looked, and the nextfew moments passed in enjoyably inconsequential chatter. The Duke had never been good at that before Daizell: he’d been taught that a duke’s speech was always heavy with consequence. Now he managed a very satisfactory idle conversation with remarkable ease, since his companion was a fluent chatterer, and was almost distracted when Sir James Vier walked in.
Sir Francis Plath was behind him, a smooth sort of fellow. There were grunts of greeting from around the room, but Vier ignored them, approaching Cassian as Leo came to his side.
‘Your Grace. Crosse.’ Vier nodded at Leo. ‘I thought you might have reconsidered, considering the sums you already owe me. I trust I may expect those in due course.’
Cassian felt Leo inhale, trod hard on his foot, and gave Vier a chilly look. ‘We have an appointment to play. Let us do that.’
‘Certainly. My dear Lady Wintour—’ He turned, and saw Daizell. ‘What ishedoing here?’
It was loud enough to attract attention. Daizell was still speaking to Lady Wintour; he entirely ignored Vier, who said, louder, ‘You, Charnage!’
Daizell looked around, keeping his poise though his cheeks were rather red. ‘Vier.’
‘What the devil areyoudoing among gentlemen? Lady Wintour, I am surprised at whom you let through your doors.’
Lady Wintour’s nostrils flared. ‘If His Grace don’t object to my friends, I dare say you can deign to tolerate ’em, Sir James.’
‘I am very happy with the company,’ Cassian said. ‘Good evening, Charnage, I didn’t see you there.’
‘Ah, Severn, good evening,’ Daizell said with a cheery nod. ‘Hello, Crosse.’
Sir James looked between them, pantomiming surprise and disapproval. ‘You are acquainted? Really, Your Grace, I must venture to give you a little advice.’
‘Must you?’ Cassian said. He said it very gently, in the manner of his more dangerous aunts, and noted that Loxleigh’s eyes widened. Possibly he had aunts too.
‘Your Grace, that individual assisted his father in a notorious robbery that left my dear friend Haddon dead. His father is a murderer and he an accessory to murder. Deny it all you please,’ Vier went on loudly over Daizell’s response. ‘I have made it my business to warn Society of him, even if the law will take no action. Your Grace must consider your acquaintance better.’
‘I – beg – your – pardon,’ the Duke said, and he put all the duke he had into each stony word.
Sir James’s faint smile slipped a fraction. ‘Excuse me, Your Grace. I should have said “might”.’
