Page 45 of Restored

While the other gentleman played on, a servant arrived with champagne for Henry. He ordered more for the table and sat back to watch the remainder of their play.

Skelton quietly dominated the game and at the close of play collected a good deal of money from the other players, including Freddy, who squirmed under Henry’s calm gaze.

“Are you playing this hand, your grace?” Skelton asked when it was time to deal the cards again.

Henry nodded, watching Skelton closely. He did not react but proceeded to deal out the cards methodically.

Henry waited till he was almost finished to observe, “These are not the house cards, I see.”

Skelton paused, just an instant, before he said quietly, “I beg your pardon?”

Henry began to sort through his hand. “I noticed on my way in that the house cards are green with gold edges. These are different.”

“Ah, yes,” Skelton said. He cleared his throat. “They are mine. This is a private game, you see.”

Henry looked up and met Skelton’s gaze, which was quite blank. Beside him, Tavestock was fiddling with his cravat.

Henry shrugged. “Unusual,” he said succinctly, then turned his attention to his cards again. He examined the faces of the cards with his eyes and, delicately, unobtrusively, the surfaces with his fingertips.

He was unsurprised to find that one appeared to be marked, two tiny, almost indiscernible pin pricks close to the edge of the Queen of Spades.

Retaining that card, he allowed play to proceed through several rounds, picking up and setting down other cards, till he had several marked ones.

How very tedious this was going to be, he thought. Freddy was not going to be happy with him at all, but then, he was going to learn a lesson this evening that should do him some good in the long run.

He set down his hand, and the other players all looked up.

“Are you folding, your grace?” Bartlett asked. He was half-foxed already, and his words were very slightly slurred. Henry decided that he agreed with Marianne—he did not like Percy Bartlett.

“I’m afraid not,” Henry said. “I’m calling an end to the game entirely.” He looked directly at Skelton and said flatly, “The cards are marked.”

“What?” Bartlett shrieked.

Henry ignored him. He kept his gaze on Skelton, who visibly paled, then hissed, “That’s impossible.”

Tavestock shrunk back into his seat. Hammond toyed with his wine glass.

Freddy said, his tone agonised, “Father—”

Henry lifted his cards and slowly laid them out in a line. “There are pin pricks on these cards,” he said calmly. “Here, and here”—he touched the edges of the cards, showing where the marks were—“and here.”

No one moved or said anything.

Skelton’s nostrils flared, and twin spots of colour blazed on his cheeks. Henry had not—as yet—outright called him a cheat, but the word hung in the air. Idly, Henry wondered if Skelton would call him out if he said it. He suspected he would not. Twenty years ago, Skelton had been considered a decent shot, but Henry—who had been something of a sportsman in his youth, excelling at horsemanship, swords, shooting, and pugilism—would certainly have bested him.

And Skelton wasn’t to know he’d let most of those skills lapse.

Henry glanced at Freddy, who was staring miserably at the green baize, utterly mortified. How he would hate any further escalation of this already unpleasant scene.

It was that thought that made Henry decide to be merciful.

Calmly, he said, “Mr. Skelton, I believe you’ve been given a bad set of cards. It’s most unfortunate, but I’m sure if you return your winnings from the earlier games, the matter can be forgotten.”

It was a generous concession to make, Henry thought, and both Tavestock and Hammond looked relieved. Skelton, though, plainly burned with resentment—though not so much that he’d ignore the lifeline he’d been thrown.

“I was quite unaware of the markings,” he bit out, “but as a gentleman, I will of course return my winnings, though they were fairly won.” He turned to the pile of guineas and vowels at his elbow and began to sort them into piles.

“I don’t—” Freddy said desperately, as Skelton shoved a pile of guineas and a paper at him, but Bartlett interrupted him.