claim the lucky seat. He let out his breath in a gusty yet silent sigh and permitted a small smile of satisfaction to reach his lips.
“My heavens,” said Lord Framstead, “I’ve never seen nor heard of such gaming. Fox’s losing a plum in a single sitting was nothing to it. Nothing!”
“With the slight alteration in that I won.”
“Indeed you did. That’s what I mean. Anybody can lose. I think I need to send for a dry shirt.” Entering an empty salon, Framstead sat down. “Waiter, brandy. In fact, bring the cask.”
“Yes, my lord. At once. Mr. Grabelein says whatever the gentleman wants.”
Sir Carleton betrayed his relief in the way he seized upon the glass when it came and drained off the red-amber liquid. “I wonder who she was,” he said.
“She? Oh, the girl you followed. Easy enough to find out. Go round there in the morning. Most likely one of your servants brought a wench into the house, heard you coming, and abandoned her to her fate. Not sporting, but understandable.”
“Serving wenches don’t use the front door. It was me she came to see, but she did not count on you. She wanted to see me alone, I think.”
“Well, you know your own business best. Think of the girls you’ve known recently and it will come to you. Some grisette or other, no doubt.”
With a smile, Carleton asked, “Are you still pining over that female in London? What was her name?”
“If you mean Miss Dembly, no. Nor is it the act of a gentleman to bandy a lady’s name in public.”
“I never mentioned her name, Framstead, you did.” He drank again and added, “I wondered because you seem to have lost your respect for womankind. So far, you have decided my visitor was a servant, no better than she should be, or a prostitute. I refuse to believe it. Is there no other explanation?”
“What other could there be?”
Before Carleton could wring his tired brain for another suggestion, Herr Grabelein approached, offering an oblong piece of paper. Without glancing at it, Carleton pushed it carelessly into his pocket and called for another glass. The proprietor did not refuse one drink but would not stay for another. Murmuring that Sir Carleton must play any time he wished, Grabelein bowed himself away.
“And that, I fancy, is our invitation to be gone.”
“I thought the fellow civil enough,” Framstead said, following.
“Oh, he is. Has to be. Only I’m not so good for business. I don’t drink, very much, and I don’t play against the house, as it does not pay. It’s to be hoped I don’t have to give up cards as well as horses.”
“By the way, what do you do in Bath? I should have thought this was the last place on earth a man of your talents would choose.”
“With all the hells in London skinned of company, where else should I come? All the money is here, so here am I.”
“Speaking of money, how much did you win?”
“Gentlemen, a word, if I may?”
The two men turned. The player who had sat so very still at the table came up to them. He had a finely-bred, high-nosed face and walked leaning on a cane. “You must permit me, sir, to thank you for a most enjoyable evening. I trust we shall play again, to perhaps even the score?”
“When and where you will, Your Grace.”
The nobleman coughed. “I had not been aware, at first, that you were not of some degree. I do not as a rule play with any one below the rank of viscount.”
“And I do not usually play with dukes.”
The face before them did not change, even when Lord Framstead smothered a laugh. “No doubt. Nevertheless, you will permit me to inquire into the nature of your title.”
“I am a baronet, Your Grace, of County Sligo, Ireland.”
“Oh, an Irish baronet.”
“I have that honor. And in common with my countrymen, I must tell you I am so ill-accustomed to holding my temper in my two hands that I will bid Your Grace a good evening.”
Once out in the open street, Edward Clarence Stowe, the Earl of Framstead inhaled
“My heavens,” said Lord Framstead, “I’ve never seen nor heard of such gaming. Fox’s losing a plum in a single sitting was nothing to it. Nothing!”
“With the slight alteration in that I won.”
“Indeed you did. That’s what I mean. Anybody can lose. I think I need to send for a dry shirt.” Entering an empty salon, Framstead sat down. “Waiter, brandy. In fact, bring the cask.”
“Yes, my lord. At once. Mr. Grabelein says whatever the gentleman wants.”
Sir Carleton betrayed his relief in the way he seized upon the glass when it came and drained off the red-amber liquid. “I wonder who she was,” he said.
“She? Oh, the girl you followed. Easy enough to find out. Go round there in the morning. Most likely one of your servants brought a wench into the house, heard you coming, and abandoned her to her fate. Not sporting, but understandable.”
“Serving wenches don’t use the front door. It was me she came to see, but she did not count on you. She wanted to see me alone, I think.”
“Well, you know your own business best. Think of the girls you’ve known recently and it will come to you. Some grisette or other, no doubt.”
With a smile, Carleton asked, “Are you still pining over that female in London? What was her name?”
“If you mean Miss Dembly, no. Nor is it the act of a gentleman to bandy a lady’s name in public.”
“I never mentioned her name, Framstead, you did.” He drank again and added, “I wondered because you seem to have lost your respect for womankind. So far, you have decided my visitor was a servant, no better than she should be, or a prostitute. I refuse to believe it. Is there no other explanation?”
“What other could there be?”
Before Carleton could wring his tired brain for another suggestion, Herr Grabelein approached, offering an oblong piece of paper. Without glancing at it, Carleton pushed it carelessly into his pocket and called for another glass. The proprietor did not refuse one drink but would not stay for another. Murmuring that Sir Carleton must play any time he wished, Grabelein bowed himself away.
“And that, I fancy, is our invitation to be gone.”
“I thought the fellow civil enough,” Framstead said, following.
“Oh, he is. Has to be. Only I’m not so good for business. I don’t drink, very much, and I don’t play against the house, as it does not pay. It’s to be hoped I don’t have to give up cards as well as horses.”
“By the way, what do you do in Bath? I should have thought this was the last place on earth a man of your talents would choose.”
“With all the hells in London skinned of company, where else should I come? All the money is here, so here am I.”
“Speaking of money, how much did you win?”
“Gentlemen, a word, if I may?”
The two men turned. The player who had sat so very still at the table came up to them. He had a finely-bred, high-nosed face and walked leaning on a cane. “You must permit me, sir, to thank you for a most enjoyable evening. I trust we shall play again, to perhaps even the score?”
“When and where you will, Your Grace.”
The nobleman coughed. “I had not been aware, at first, that you were not of some degree. I do not as a rule play with any one below the rank of viscount.”
“And I do not usually play with dukes.”
The face before them did not change, even when Lord Framstead smothered a laugh. “No doubt. Nevertheless, you will permit me to inquire into the nature of your title.”
“I am a baronet, Your Grace, of County Sligo, Ireland.”
“Oh, an Irish baronet.”
“I have that honor. And in common with my countrymen, I must tell you I am so ill-accustomed to holding my temper in my two hands that I will bid Your Grace a good evening.”
Once out in the open street, Edward Clarence Stowe, the Earl of Framstead inhaled
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