dug Jack in the ribs.
‘Aye, Sir Ronald is right, Major. You lucky dog! How did you do it, man? Are you well acquainted with her?’
‘Not at all,’ Jack replied, picking up his cards and trying to give them his attention. ‘I know very little about the lady.’
‘Ah, the Glorious Allyngham.’ Jack’s neighbour raised his glass. ‘The whole of London is at her feet. She would be a cosy armful, for the man that can catch her! We are all her slaves, but she spreads her favours equally: a dance here, a carriage ride there—keeps us all on the lightest of reins—even Sir Ronald there is enthralled, ain’t that right, Deforge?’
A shadow flitted across the dealer’s face but he replied indifferently, ‘She is undoubtedly a diamond.’
‘Rumour has it she is on the catch for a royal duke.’ A gentleman in a puce waistcoat chuckled. ‘Ladies don’t like it, of course, to see their husbands drooling over another woman. They’ve christened her the Wanton Widow!’
‘So they have.’ Mr Graham sighed. ‘But I wish she were a little more wanton, then I might stand a chance!’
Ribald laughter filled the air, replaced by good-natured oaths and curses as Sir Ronald Deforge displayed his winning cards and scooped up the little pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table. There was a pause while a fresh hand was dealt and the waiters leapt forwards to refill the glasses.
‘Where did Allyngham find her?’ asked Jack, intrigued in spite of himself.
‘She was some sort of poor relation, I believe,’ said Graham. ‘Caused quite a stir when Allyngham married her—family expected him to make a brilliant match.’
‘Caused quite a stir when he brought her to town, too,’ remarked Renwick, pushing another pile of rouleaux into the centre of the table. ‘We were all in raptures over her, but Allyngham was careful. He made sure no one became overfamiliar with his new bride.’
‘Except Alex Mortimer, of course,’ remarked one of the players.
‘Nothing surprising in that.’ Edward Graham grimaced as he studied his hand. With a sigh of resignation he threw one card down. ‘He is a neighbour and close friend of Allyngham. Escorted the lady to town while her husband was in the Peninsula.’
‘While the cat’s away,’ said Sir Ronald said softly. ‘And now the cat is dead do you think Mortimer plans to jump into his shoes?’
‘Shouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his eye on the widow,’ said Charles Renwick. ‘Apart from the title, which died with Allyngham, his lady inherits everything, I hear.’
‘In trust, I suppose?’ said Deforge, dropping his own tokens on to the growing pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table.
‘No,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I heard she has full control of the property.’
‘Making her even more desirable, eh, Deforge?’ murmured Jack.
The dealer grew still.
‘What the devil do you mean by that, Clifton?’
There was a tension around the table. Jack met Deforge’s hard eyes with a steady gaze.
‘I think you might be looking to replenish your fortune.’
Deforge shrugged.
‘No sensible man takes a penniless bride.’
‘Your first wife was not penniless,’ remarked Jack, a hard edge to his voice. ‘I hear that there is nothing left of her fortune now, save the house in Berkshire, and you would sell that if it were not mortgaged to the hilt.’
An unpleasant smile curled Sir Ronald’s thick lips. He said softly, ‘Your allegations have all the marks of a disappointed suitor, Clifton.’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all history,’ declared the whiskery gentleman sitting beside Jack. ‘If you wish to quarrel then take yourselves off somewhere and let the rest of us get on with our game!’
‘Aye, let us play,’ added Charles Renwick hastily. ‘Deal the cards, Deforge, if you please.’
Jack spread his hands, signifying his acceptance and after a final, angry glare Deforge turned his attention back to the game. It did not last long. Luck was running with the dealer and as soon as the last card was played Sir Ronald scooped up his winnings and left.
Charles Renwick called for a fresh pack of cards.
‘You caught him on the raw there,’ he remarked, watching Deforge stalk out of the room. ‘Damnation, Jack, why did you have to mention his dead wife?’
‘Because I don’t believe her death was an accident.’
Charles Renwick leaned over and placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve. He said, ‘Let be, my friend. It was years ago. It can do no good for you to dwell on it now.’
Jack’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles showing white against the green baize of the table. How could he be thankful that the girl he had wanted to marry, the love of his life, was dead?
They subsided into silence as the next game of bassett began. Jack played mechanically, his thoughts still on Deforge. He hated the man because he had stolen the woman he loved, but was that rational? Clara had been free to make her own choice. He had no proof that she had not been happy in her marriage, only a feeling in his gut. He gave himself a mental shake. Clara was dead. There was nothing he could do about that now. It was time to forget the past.
‘I did hear Deforge is running low on funds.’
The remark by one of the players broke into Jack’s thoughts.
‘As long as he can pay his gambling debts, I don’t care,’ laughed Edward Graham.
‘If he marries the Glorious Allyngham his worries will be over,’ said the gentleman with the red side-whiskers.
‘She won’t have him,’ said Jack emphatically.
‘Oho, what do you know, Clifton?’
Jack shook his head. The thought of that beautiful, golden creature marrying Sir Ronald Deforge turned his stomach. He schooled his face into a look of careful indifference.
‘If the lady is as rich and independent as you say she has no need to marry a man like Deforge.’
‘Perhaps you think she might prefer a handsome soldier,’ chuckled Graham, giving a broad wink to his companions.
Charles Renwick cocked an eyebrow.
‘Fancy a touch at the widow yourself, Clifton? Well, I wish you luck.’
‘I need more than that,’ grinned Jack. ‘We have not yet been introduced.’
The red side-whiskers shook as their owner guffawed loudly.
‘What, and you stole a dance with the widow? Impudent young dog!’
‘If
