Page 25 of Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected)
A da had donned one of her new dresses and a feather mask decorated with glass beads. Her gown of dark purple brocade silk with a black waist sash would ensure she blended seamlessly with the guests. The scene at The Lyon’s Den was particularly elegant. Artful buffet tables with lavish rose arrangements and drapes of shimmering tulle swagging filled the room.
The occasion was special indeed because Ada would help Seth bet all of Alfred’s money to double the amount not once, but twice. Alfred had only a quarter of the needed down payment. With a few high-stakes bets and some luck, Ada and Seth could quadruple the wagers.
But there were problems. Winning from the house would be theft if Ada used her tricks. That, Aunt Bessie would not tolerate. And if the old woman knew that Alfred was reneging on their agreement, she’d be furious and shut his games down. The wins had to come from guests, preferably those who could afford to lose a bit. Or a lot.
When Ada arrived, play was in progress at multiple tables with regular gamblers in their usual places. Ada should have drawn comfort from the routine. She’d bet on the losing color a few times, engage the cockiest gamblers at the table, and then win their money. Even though Aunt Bessie took fifteen percent of her wins, Ada usually left The Lyon’s Den with a significant gain. The exception had been the night she met Alfred.
She couldn’t have accomplished anything, however, without Aunt Bessie’s capital. Until now, that money was her lifeline outside her prison-like life with the Silvers. Winning was the contrast to her gloomy days in Charlotte’s service. Plus, Ada loved tricking insolent men. They never expected to lose against a girl. Here, at The Lyon’s Den, Ada wielded power over them. Their self-assured arrogance was their greatest weakness, and she took them by surprise at the tables. Would all that come to an end if she failed tonight and she’d never be able to return to The Lyon’s Den if she managed to marry Alfred? Certainly not if she had to marry another man of Aunt Bessie’ choosing. She didn’t want to think about that possibility, but her mind wouldn’t obey.
Until now her diaries had been dear trophies, but if she failed to get the amount Alfred needed and lost what he already had, the books would be reminders of her failure to extricate herself from the miserable situation in which her father’s death had left her. He said he’d always be there for her, but he wasn’t. He promised her that studying languages, art, and literature would open doors in life. Wishful thinking. Here she was, gambling for her fortune, forcing her luck.
Players came and went at the tables. Ada lost track of time. Every once in a while, she glanced at the door, waiting for Seth to arrive, and thought how badly she needed Alfred to stay hidden. What an odd twist of fate and facts. She was typically the hidden one while he was a beacon of light for the community. He insisted that she wouldn’t bring darkness to his promising career as a doctor, but she couldn’t help worrying about it. She was not a shining paragon of virtue by any means and association with her would no doubt cast a shadow on his character and integrity in the community.
Once—not if—Aunt Bessie found out that he reneged on their deal, he’d lose the chance to secure the office lease. Who knew what vengeance their whole scheme would trigger? Perhaps Aunt Bessie would ensure he was shut out of Harley Street altogether, or even all of London! Her connections cast a wide web across the Town and retribution was one of her many talents.
Without an office, how could patients find Alfred? He had a lot to lose. The masquerade was their last chance. This night could cost Alfred his career. If that happened, Ada would have to step back and let Aunt Bessie match him with a woman she’d select. Her heart rose at the thought of losing him and panic rose in her chest again. She fought it back. She couldn’t afford to be gasping in the garden again.
Ada glanced toward Puck, guarding the double doors to that garden as usual.
What was that about?
A burly figure with an obviously homemade mask bet on black two tables over. She recognized him instantly. Nobody else had such long, ragged fingers and his stink of carcasses and dried blood came to her long before he did. It clung to him like a curse. He looked in her direction but didn’t seem to recognize her thanks to the large feathery mask Hermia had helped pin in place to the hair around her face. She took solace in the semi-privacy of the costume that made her seem to be a much more courageous woman than she was in reality.
Ada’s blood froze as Silvers took the only free chair at the rouge et noir table. Her palms sweat as she gripped the cards tightly, her mind racing as she prepared herself for the game ahead. Sitting across the table was the man whose money she planned to take. He was arrogant and condescending, a man who believed that he was invincible and untouchable. But Ada knew his weaknesses. She had studied his mannerisms, learned to predict his behavior, and was confident that she could win if he didn’t recognize her.
As he placed his bets on the table, she swallowed hard, her stomach churning with bile. For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, wondering if what she was doing was right or even moral. But, she reminded herself, she’d done it before—won at cards by capitalizing on others’ mistakes.
And in Silvers’ case—out of anyone, he deserved to lose it. Her father had died at his hand—or at his will, anyway—and then he’d tried to steal her inheritance. Beating him—even if she cheated to do it—was justice. She would not allow herself to feel an ounce of guilt when he finally lost everything. So Ada took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and focused on the game ahead. She was determined to walk away from that table victorious, and nothing, not even fear, would stop her. She watched for a moment and then made her first bet.