Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer

with which he held out a hand to young gallants so consummate a piece of artistry that Prudence was shaken with silent laughter. He seemed to know by instinct how to flirt his fan, and how to spread his wide skirts for the curtsey. Apparently he might be left safely to his own devices. His sister withdrew her gaze from him, reflecting that she would give much to hear what he was saying to the beautiful Miss Gunning standing beside him. If the spirit of mischief did not carry him away there was naught to be feared in his bearing. Prudence turned away, and came upon my Lady Lowestoft, in gay talk with Mr Walpole, who, since he lived so close, was naturally a late comer.
    My lady manoeuvred the elegant Mr Walpole away from Prudence’s vicinity, and disposed of him at length to his dear friend Gilly Williams, who, with Mr Selwyn, seemingly but half awake, stood talking by the fire.
    My lady came rustling back to the door, for there were guests still ascending the stairs. To Prudence, under her breath, she said: ‘I take him away, so! Of an inquisitive disposition, my cabbage! You would not believe! I feared he might pry too close. . . . Ah, madame!’ She curtseyed to a new arrival, and, a moment later, was exchanging witticisms with my Lord March, that saturnine peer.
    A gentleman but lately introduced to Prudence suggested a hand at picquet. She looked calmly at this gentleman and professed herself all readiness. It took her no more than a minute to reach the conclusion that she was to be a lamb for the fleecing. Well, the gentleman should see.
    There were several men in the card room, some few dicing, some talking idly beside, and one party engaged in a hand of lansquenet. Prudence sat down with Sir Francis Jollyot at a table away from the door, and assented placidly to his proposed stakes. They seemed large, but she had played for larger, and was in no wise perturbed.
    ‘’Tis a game I’m devilish partial to,’ Sir Francis observed. ‘You play it much, eh?’
    ‘A little, sir,’ Prudence said and displayed hesitation over the question of her discard. Across the table Sir Francis smiled in infinite good humour. He had played with young gentlemen from the country before, and foresaw a profitable evening. When the game was over he condoled with Mr Merriot on his ill-fortune, and proposed a fresh one. Prudence accepted most cordially. She perceived a greater skill at picquet in herself than in her smiling opponent. Played carefully this game of turning the tables on the wolf would be amusing. With no less hesitation in her demeanour, but with much less folly in her discards, she won the game. She was complimented on the cards she had held, and embarked upon the third encounter.
    ‘A reverse!’ commented Sir Francis gaily. ‘I hardly thought you would keep a guard to that Queen in the last hand, throwing the King of Hearts.’
    The crease showed between Prudence’s brows. ‘Did I throw my King? You played out your cards so fast, you see, I scarcely . . .’ She left the end of her sentence to be understood. Sir Francis thought that he did understand, and sorted his hand with a smile ill concealed.
    There came a fresh arrival into the room, and paused a while in the open doorway. This gentleman was very large, with wide shoulders under a coat of maroon velvet, and a strong, handsome face. Under heavy lids his eyes fell on Prudence and rested there.
    ‘Why, Fanshawe! I had thought you were out of town. Someone told me you had gone down to Wych End.’ Mr Troubridge, standing nearby, stepped closer to Sir Anthony, and offered his snuff-box. ‘What are you looking at? Oh, my Lady Lowestoft’s protégé! By name Merriot, and seemingly a pleasant youth. That face should captivate the ladies.’
    ‘It should,’ Sir Anthony replied. ‘Jollyot wastes no time, I see.’
    Mr Troubridge laughed. It was after all, no concern of his. ‘Oh, trust Jollyot! By the way, young Apollo has a prodigious fine sister. Have you seen