“You’re Irish.” Lady Orpington’s pronouncement upon receiving Gwendolyn startled both her and the brown-and-white, overweight, and obviously

very spoiled King Charles spaniel sleeping in the folds of her ladyship’s purple dress. It looked up and growled as if agreeing

with its master’s outraged declaration.

Her ladyship was not an attractive woman. She appeared to be barely five feet tall with watery brown eyes, a too prominent

nose, and a mouth sporting the deep lines of a permanent scowl. In short, she and her dog shared a strong resemblance, and

neither was happy.

Gwendolyn didn’t quite know how to respond.

All of London knew the Lanscarr sisters were Irish. Gwendolyn knew for a fact there had been many conversations behind closed

doors in Society about the Irish Upstarts, a well-worn pet name for her and her sisters. The comments stemmed from jealousy and silliness. However, no one had ever curled their lip in Gwendolyn’s face.

She could have explained that, actually, no, she wasn’t Irish. It was her half-sisters who had the proud Irish heritage. But

she did have a lilt to her speech, a soft one.

However, she wouldn’t give her rude hostess the satisfaction. If anything, an Irish accent was going to be in every word she

said to Lady Orpington from this moment on if the woman didn’t change her manner.

And where was Mr. Steele?

He had not been in the coach that had been sent for her. He was also not in this room.

“Dear, dear cousin,” a woman sitting in a chair beside Lady Orpington’s chaise lounge said in a softly chiding voice, “you

are being a trifle disrespectful to Miss Lanscarr?” She was perhaps sixty years of age, the same as Lady Orpington—but she

was taller and less well-dressed.

Her ladyship was a vision in purple half mourning and what seemed like a hundred onyx stones around her neck, pinned to her

turban, and on her fingers. Even the dog collar had onyx.

In comparison, the other woman’s clothing was drab. She wore a brown dress with a gray pelisse, two colors that Gwendolyn

would not have put together. Her hair, which might have once been red, was now the faded color of a mouse pelt. She held knitting

needles and appeared to be working on a blanket. A brown blanket.

“I’m Mrs. Newsome,” she said, introducing herself. Her voice was quiet, but Gwendolyn sensed she wasn’t completely subservient. “I’m Lady Orpington’s cousin and companion.”

“ Distant cousin,” Lady Orpington clarified as if wishing to distinguish the difference between herself and this dowdy woman.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Newsome.”

Mrs. Newsome smiled a response, then suggested with proper timidity, “Could Miss Lanscarr be invited to sit?”

“This will not work,” Lady Orpington replied, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. Nothing good comes out of Ireland.” The dog

in her lap grumbled an agreement.

“My dear,” Mrs. Newsome said with a hint of forceful patience, “perhaps you are being hasty? You have been looking for the

right partner for a very long time.”

“I have.”

“Time is running out,” came another gentle reminder.

“It is.” Lady Orpington’s gaze narrowed on Gwendolyn as if she was still not certain. “She appears presentable. And she doesn’t

sound coarse or annoying.” She gave a sniff, a sound echoed by the pup. And then, reaching a decision, she waved a purple

gloved hand at Gwendolyn. “Sit in a chair, Miss Lanscarr.”

In truth, Gwendolyn would have happily walked out the door at the “nothing good comes out of Ireland” comment. However, her purpose here was to see what Mr. Steele wished of her. She did believe he would make an appearance— sooner or later. Therefore, she would persevere. And she would be polite. But Lady Orpington had best be careful.

She started for the comfortable-looking chair next to Mrs. Newsome. Lady Orpington redirected her. “Not that one. The one

directly across from me.” She pointed at a severe-looking high-backed wooden chair that stood out plainly against the cream-and-gold

furnishings of the room. “Prepare everything, Vera.” She directed this comment to Mrs. Newsome.

“Leonard?” Mrs. Newsome said in her fluttery voice to the butler who waited by the door. “Please have the table set up for

whist.”

Whist?

Two bewigged footmen in plum livery came forward to carry a gaming table from the wall and set it between Gwendolyn and Lady

Orpington.

“Here, take Magpie.” Her ladyship held up the dog to one of the footmen. Magpie, who had been grumbly but docile, came alive.

With a growl, she snapped her unhappiness at the footman, who pulled his gloved hand back just in time. “ Go on. Take her,” Lady Orpington said. “She needs to wee.”

As if on command, Magpie did exactly that, in the direction of the footman’s chest. To Gwendolyn’s amazement, he calmly took

the dog, still weeing, and carried it from the room. The other footmen followed, leaving the women alone.

Lady Orpington acted oblivious to her pet’s actions. Or the urine that was on the plush India carpet covering the floor, not to mention the footman’s livery. Instead, she reached for a small inlaid chest and set it on the table. She took out a deck of cards, squared them up, and then looked to Gwendolyn. “Shuffle.”

“Because?” Gwendolyn said pointedly. It was high time someone explained what was going on.

Lady Orpington frowned as if confused that Gwendolyn wasn’t jumping to her command. She glanced at Mrs. Newsome, who had set

aside her knitting. She gave her cousin a small shrug as if to say she didn’t understand Gwendolyn’s question either.

“Because we are going to play whist,” Lady Orpington snapped out.

Gwendolyn decided directness was best. “Lady Orpington, why am I truly here?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“ Who tell me?” Gwendolyn wanted to hear her say Mr. Steele’s name.

Lady Orpington did not comply. “I am looking for a whist partner. I now wish to know if you are any good. He claims you are.

However, by the looks of you, I doubt it. Too pretty. And you are Irish.”

“Then, obviously, there has been a mistake,” Gwendolyn said coolly, rising to her feet. She was done with this woman’s manner.

“Please, if you will have your coach carry me home, I shall remove my Irish self from your presence.”

She would have turned and walked out, but Lady Orpington barked, “ You will stay right here .” She looked over to Mrs. Newsome. “Since we have her, we should see what she can do.”

“What if I don’t wish to do anything?” Gwendolyn countered, vastly annoyed with this woman who didn’t speak to her directly

except to bark orders.

“Then that will be a disappointment,” Lady Orpington said. “I was assured that you were the partner I needed to defeat Lady

Middlebury. Time is running out. Her house party is next week.”

“The Middlebury house party?” The Marquess and Marchioness of Middlebury owned Colemore, rumored to be the finest estate in

all of Britain. Their house party was one of the most coveted invitations of the year. Even Gwendolyn knew the significance

of it.

“Yes, I need a partner,” Lady Orpington said with the dismissive air of someone who believes a matter to be solved. She began

taking off her purple gloves, preparing to play. “Now, shuffle.”

Gwendolyn would not be spoken to as if she was a servant who had to let her ladyship’s dog pee on her. “Tell Mr. Steele that

if he wishes to speak to me, he may pay a call.” She turned to go—

“I said you will play.” Lady Orpington’s voice echoed through the room. “If I wish you to play, you will play.”

“ Please , Miss Lanscarr,” Mrs. Newsome said as if she hastened to tack on a touch of gratitude to her cousin’s edict. “This game is

very important to Lady Orpington. We need to find a partner before next week.”

“Why?” Gwendolyn pushed again, insisting they explain themselves to her.

Lady Orpington blinked several times as if Gwendolyn had splashed water in her face. Apparently no one ever challenged her rudeness. She was surrounded with money, luxury, and servants. Everyone jumped to her command... but not this Irish Upstart.

Abruptly, Lady Orpington’s manner changed. She gave a snort of laughter. “He told me she wasn’t one to be cowed, and he was

right, wasn’t he, Vera? Very well. Please , play, Miss Lanscarr. Let us test your skill on the card table to see if it matches your pride.”

“I am not a dancing bear, my lady,” Gwendolyn replied, unwilling to cave just yet. “Besides, I’m Irish. How good can I possibly

be?”

“It is only the Irish comment that has upset you?” Lady Orpington reached for the deck of cards and shuffled them herself,

cackling as she did so. “Very well. Hooray for the Irish. Long may they live. Happy now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Vera

will be your partner, Miss Lanscarr, while I shall play two hands of cards.”

“That puts you at an advantage,” Gwendolyn pointed out.

“I know,” Lady Orpington said happily. “Now sit.”

Gwendolyn hesitated. She didn’t know how she felt about all of this.

“Please, Miss Lanscarr,” Mrs. Newsome said again. “It will make my cousin happy.”

And then Gwendolyn remembered that when she’d first met Mr. Steele, she had been playing cards. He had complimented her play... for a purpose, she now realized.

She would dearly enjoy teaching Lady Orpington a little true respect for the Irish. But first—

“Why is finding a whist partner important to you, my lady?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I told you. The Middlebury house party is next week. Whist is the game we play.”

“Lady Middlebury is devoted to whist,” Mrs. Newsome offered helpfully. “As is my cousin.”

“Do you gamble on it?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Of course.” Lady Orpington shook her head as if that had been a silly question. “However, the money is of no consequence.”

“What is of consequence?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Winning.” Lady Orpington said this as if it should be obvious. “Proving who is the best player. Who can amass the highest

points. But what does it matter to you? You play. That is all that is being asked.”

“Except I wish to know who I am playing with and why winning matters.” Gwendolyn knew people went to Mr. Steele for many reasons.

Some to find missing loved ones like she and Dara had for Elise. Others because they had special requests that only they understood.

“Why do you wish to win so badly you are willing to play with a stranger? Or go to whatever lengths?” Mr. Steele’s services

always came with a cost.

Lady Orpington set the stack of cards in the middle of the game table, her expression bullishly solemn.

Mrs. Newsome prodded. “Tell her, Ellen.”

At the soft words, tears suddenly welled in Lady Orpington’s eyes. She blinked them back. “You do it.”

Mrs. Newsome looked as if she would have patted her cousin’s hand but stayed herself as if knowing such a kind gesture would

be unwelcome. “Lady Middlebury is a devoted player,” she said to Gwendolyn. “She hosts a whist tournament at her house party.

It is well-known.”

Not to Gwendolyn, but that was unsurprising.

“Lady Orpington’s partner—winning partner, I should add—was her late husband. They were a very good team. They always won.

Lady Middlebury had long wished to defeat them.”

“Her desire to best us was about more than the cards,” Lady Orpington said. “My husband and I were a love story. She was jealous

of us.”

Mrs. Newsome nodded agreement. “Lord Orpington did adore you. He was also a brilliant player. A great mind.”

“Charles and I knew each other’s thoughts without speaking,” Lady Orpington declared. “That is how close we were.”

“Unfortunately,” Mrs. Newsome continued, “during last year’s party, he began to fail.”

“His mind... it went away,” Lady Orpington whispered. “It came about so suddenly. It didn’t make sense.” She squeezed her

eyes shut as if hating the memory.

“Yes, it was sad. And quick. Nothing was wrong until they started playing, and then he somehow became lost in the game,” Mrs.

Newsome said. “He made the wrong bids.”

Lady Orpington took over the story, doubling her fists and placing them against her chest as if her heart hurt. “I saw it happen immediately. There was a change in his eyes. They became unfocused. I asked Franny—” She paused, looked at Gwendolyn with hard eyes and said, “Franny, Lady Middlebury, who was my childhood friend, whom I have bolstered and guided and cared for all of the years since we were very young girls—I asked her to put the play on hold. Stop the tournament for that year. The matter had to be handled delicately. Men do not accept they are not all they wish to be.”

“What happened?” Gwendolyn asked.

“She refused. She said honor was at stake. They always had the tournament. The games had started. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t,

cancel. Nor would she let us withdraw. She was very hard about it.”

“Lady Middlebury takes her whist seriously, and these games at her house party are important to her,” Mrs. Newsome said. “Her

husband is very private. He does not come to Town.”

“So I have heard,” Gwendolyn murmured.

“He keeps her locked away on that estate with him,” Mrs. Newsome said.

“Therefore, we go to her,” Lady Orpington said. “Once a year, he allows her to entertain, and her whist tournament is infamous. However, I thought friendship was more important.” She placed her palms on the table. “Charles realized he wasn’t playing well. He was conscious of it, except his pride wouldn’t let him cry quarter. I told him that no matter the consequences, we should drop out and return to London, that the tournament wasn’t important. And then Franny taunted him. She made a pouty face and claimed that leaving would be poor sportsmanship after so many years of being the reigning winners. That touched on Charles’s sense of honor. He always was one to finish what he had started.” The tears that threatened earlier now rolled silently down her cheeks. “We lost. Of course we did. He was ill. It didn’t help that he felt as if he had failed me. I told him I didn’t care about the tournament, but Franny, who was once my great friend, mocked my husband for losing. She couldn’t stop crowing about it.”

“This is so,” Mrs. Newsome said.

“We returned to London immediately, but our physician said it was too late. His mind just grew worse. He died lying in our

bed beside me.” Lady Orpington wiped her eyes with her hands until Mrs. Newsome offered a kerchief. She buried her face in

the small piece of linen.

The room was silent as Lady Orpington composed herself. She lifted her gaze to Gwendolyn. All sadness left her eyes. In its

place was a burning desire for revenge. “Lady Middlebury had the audacity to refer to herself as the new Queen of Whist in

a letter to a mutual friend.”

“It was unsettling,” Mrs. Newsome agreed. “I had always rather admired Lady Middlebury, until that moment.”

“Franny has always had a streak of meanness in her, especially after our first Season,” Lady Orpington said. “She wanted Orpington, but Charles chose me. We were a love match.” Her chin lifted. “Can you believe it? At a time when marriages amongst important families with fortunes were arranged, I found the only man I could ever love. She was jealous of us and our money.”

“And yet she caught a marquess,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “A very wealthy one.”

“Oh, no,” Lady Orpington said. “Back then, Middlebury was a second son. His brother was the marquess. What a fine gentleman

he was, far more appealing and enchanting than Walter.” She drew out the syllables of his name with disdain. “Secretly, I

think Franny wanted the older brother. However, everyone claimed he was a confirmed bachelor. Then, to the world’s amazement,

when he was almost forty, he married a Spanish beauty. She was the daughter of a diplomat. Everyone adored her, except Franny.

Especially after she gave him a son.”

She leaned toward Gwendolyn as if imparting a secret. “You see, Franny had discovered a purpose to her marriage. She’d given

her husband a son, and she’d reasoned that her son would inherit the title. Over the years, she’s given him another son and a daughter. She never fails to point out that I’m barren. It didn’t matter. Charles loved me.”

The pride in her voice coupled with the sense of loss brought home the depth of the woman’s feelings for her husband, more

so than the wearing of half mourning over a year later. Gwendolyn found herself sympathetic. “But then something happened,”

Gwendolyn noted.

“As it does,” Lady Orpington agreed. “Not long after the birth of his son, the oldest brother collapsed while at his club. They say he was dead before he hit the ground. It was a sad day. Everyone was shocked. He had been an energetic man. Orpington had admired him very much. Not long after, the Spanish wife

and the son died. It was quite tragic. A whole family wiped from this earth. The upshot is that Franny became the marchioness.

Her son is the heir, just as she wished.”

Lady Orpington shook her head with disgust. “But she lacks the grace of her title. And she demonstrated her true nature when

she put my husband in such a state—” She paused, swallowed, continued, “She disgraced him. She showed no kindness, no gentleness.

She and the marquess didn’t even attend his funeral.”

“Because they do not leave Colemore,” Mrs. Newsome reminded her.

“And what silliness is that?” Lady Orpington demanded. “Orpington deserved that last respect.” She looked to Gwendolyn. “Franny

thinks that my husband and I won because of his skill, but I was always his equal. Whist is a game of partners. Unfortunately,

I have not found a partner to match my husband’s skill and I can’t win alone, not for this level of play. Part of the problem

is who the players are. Colemore has a reputation. It is difficult to be around so much wealth. It unsettles people. However,

you don’t intimidate easy, Miss Lanscarr.”

“The Irish rarely do.”

Her lips curved into a conspirator’s smile. “You won’t let me live that down, will you?”

“Should I?” Gwendolyn removed her gloves and reached for the cards. She wasn’t certain what she thought of Lady Orpington.

Then again, the world was full of people who believed they were more special than others.

Besides, she was here for Mr. Steele.

She began handling the cards, using a special shuffle that her father had taught her. He’d said that it warned players at

the table they were in the presence of someone who understood their game. Her fingers moved with a will of their own, slipping

the cards under, over, flipping them back and forth.

Lady Orpington and Mrs. Newsome watched the cards’ movement as if she was performing magic.

“You are good,” Lady Orpington said with a note of delicious anticipation.

Gwendolyn placed the card deck in front of her. “Anyone can perform a simple card trick.”

“Understood,” her ladyship answered. Then she smiled. “Charles would have said the same.”

Gwendolyn’s attitude toward Lady Orpington had changed. She wanted to help this woman because she understood loss—her mother,

her stepmother, Gram—and she also understood the desire for respect.

“Please deal, my lady,” Gwendolyn told her.

Whist had been one of the first games Gwendolyn’s father had taught her. It was a simple game of collecting cards of a kind or “tricks.” When the cards were finished, the winner wasn’t just the team with the most tricks, but the one with the highest card values. Hence, it made it a good game for gamblers.

The challenge was to understand what cards your partner held and how to use them, and yours, to the greatest advantage. Skill

was involved, but more important was paying attention to the cards as they were played.

Gwendolyn had been born with an almost uncanny ability to remember cards, numbers, people, and ideas. It was her gift.

She now used it. She quickly assessed that Mrs. Newsome was not a skilled or even interested player. She had no intention

of besting her cousin in cards.

On the other hand, Lady Orpington was an enthusiastic player. She also liked to win, and she had the knowledge of two card

hands since she was playing her own partner.

However, her eagerness to win was her downfall.

In contrast, Gwendolyn noted the cards being played. She knew her ladyship was not playing anything that she believed would

give her opponents an advantage in the points.

That was fine. After allowing Lady Orpington to take two tricks, Gwendolyn believed she’d gained a good idea of what cards

were still left to be played among all four hands. She and Mrs. Newsome began taking tricks.

They won the game with higher points. Mrs. Newsome behaved as if she’d never bested her cousin before.

“Again,” Lady Orpington said. “Only this time, I shall play with Vera.”

So Gwendolyn had two hands of cards.

She won handily.

Lady Orpington kept them playing, sharing Mrs. Newsome as a partner back and forth between them. Her ladyship won a few games.

The wins gave Gwendolyn insight into how her mind worked. Lady Orpington did have a good understanding of strategy.

Nor had Mr. Steele been wrong in his assessment. She and Lady Orpington were excellent whist partners.

Her ladyship said as much at the end of the eighth game. “We can do this,” she said to Gwendolyn. “You and I can defeat Franny

and whomever she brings against us.” She looked down at the neatly laid out tricks on the table. “You might even be a better

player than Charles was.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Gwendolyn now understood what high praise that was from his widow.

Lady Orpington stood and rang a bell. The butler opened the door. “Have this cleared up. Bring in Magpie, and I would like

to see Mr. Curran.”

The man bowed and left the room. A beat later, footmen entered and removed the gaming table, but not the cards. Gwendolyn

noticed that Lady Orpington returned them herself to their inlaid box.

Once the table was cleared, Gwendolyn heard the complaining whines of an upset dog in the hall. The door opened, and Magpie came padding in, her little head high as if she had suffered a grave insult.

And right behind her came, not a Mr. Curran, but Mr. Steele.

Time stopped at the sight of him.

He appeared different than she had ever seen him. He appeared the very image of a Corinthian, handsome, broad-shouldered,

commanding. Instead of his usual black, a bottle-green jacket was pulled snug across his broad shoulders. Buff leather riding

breeches clung to the thighs of a horseman, while his boots, sporting a single spur in manly fashion, shone with the gloss

of a champagne blacking that only the most expert valet could achieve.

He’d even cut his hair. It no longer brushed his collar. Instead, his dark curls with the light smattering of gray gave him

the air of a poet, and yet there was still that sense he was untamed. Every dandy on the street would have eagerly aped his

manner of casual, very masculine elegance.

Thankfully Gwendolyn was sitting, or else she would have been tempted to run up to him like an infatuated girl fresh from

the schoolroom. She squeezed her trembling hands into fists. Yearning tightened inside her the way it did whenever he was

near.

She prayed she did not give herself away... and yet she could not stop smiling.

Lady Orpington lifted Magpie beside her on the lounge. “Nicholas, you are right about Miss Lanscarr. She is exactly who I

need.” She spoke to Mr. Steele.

“I did not think she would disappoint,” he re sponded with lazy good humor. His voice rolled through Gwendolyn like thick honey. His faint praise was just as sweet.

“Miss Lanscarr, this is my nephew, Nicholas Curran.”

He bowed politely on cue... just as someone she did not know would behave. “Miss Lanscarr.”

Gwendolyn tried to gather her scattered wits. Nicholas? And the surname was Curran, no?

But this was Mr. Steele. A well-shaved version, but Mr. Steele all the same. The erratic beat of her pulse proved it.

However, what game was being played? And what was her role? Was it possible Lady Orpington did not know his true identity?

Of course she knew. She’d introduced him as her nephew. She had to know that was not true.

Dara would really not be pleased with this at all.

But Gwendolyn was almost giddy with excitement. Something was afoot. And whatever was about to happen, Mr. Steele was including

her.

Lady Orpington spoke. “Miss Lanscarr, you will come with us to Colemore next week. I shall pick you up on Wednesday midmorning.

I expect you to be ready on time. Prepare to spend two weeks.”

“Of course,” Gwendolyn murmured, pleased she sounded poised and unruffled. “I shall look forward to the adventure.” She began

pulling on her gloves, needing to have something to do with her shaking hands.

“Adventure? Ha!” Lady Orpington said. “There will be good food, boring company, and, hopefully, excellent cards. One can’t ask for more, can one?” She looked to Mr. Steele. “Nicholas, will you please escort Miss Lanscarr home?”

“Happily,” his deep voice answered. He stretched a hand toward the door, an invitation for Gwendolyn to leave with him.