With his usual air of interested enquiry, Toby glanced about him, taking in the expressions of grim determination with which many of the gentlemen applied themselves to their cards and dice. There was a large table devoted to Hazard, another to Faro. Smaller tables attested to the hell’s reputation for variety; there were even two older gentlemen engaged in a hand of Piquet.
This was the third night Toby had spent with Gurnard, and the third hell they had visited. He was, as usual, following one of his father’s maxims, that which declared that experience was the best teacher. After tonight, Toby felt, he would have learned all he needed of gaming hells. His real interest tonight lay in the play. Gurnard had allowed him to win for the past two nights; Toby had begun to suspect the captain’s motives.
Initially, Gurnard had brushed against him with apparently no particular intent; they had subsequently struck up an acquaintance. It was after their sojourn at Little Bickmanstead that the captain had sought him out and, being apparently at a loose end, had offered to show him the sights. Toby had accepted the offer readily; he had not previously spent much time in the capital.
Now, however, he wondered whether the captain had taken him for a flat.
By the end of the evening, which Toby promptly declared once his losses had, almost mysteriously, overtaken his current allowance, he was quite sure the captain had done just that. Comforting himself with the reflection that, as his father was wont to say, there was no harm in making mistakes just as long as one didn’t make the same mistake twice, he frowned slightly as he looked across at Gurnard. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet that last vowel until the pater returns to town—but he should be back any day.”
He hadn’t expected to outrun his ready funds. However, as his father had settled a considerable sum on him two years before, and managed it for him under his direction the better to teach him the ways of finance, Toby had no real qualms about asking Horatio for an advance. “I’ll speak to him as soon as he returns.”
Gurnard sat back, his face flushed with success and the wine he had steadily consumed. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.” He held up his hand in a fencer’s gesture. “Never let it be said that I caused father and son to fall out over the simple matter of a few crowns.”
Toby could have set him straight—he fully expected his father to have a good laugh over his adventure—but some sixth sense made him hold back. “Oh?” he said guilelessly. There were rather more than “a few crowns” involved.
Gurnard frowned, his face a mask of concentration. “Perhaps there’s some way you can repay the debt without having to apply to your pater?”
“Such as?” Toby asked, a chill stealing down his back.
Gurnard looked ingenuous. He frowned into space. Then his face cleared. “Well, I know I’d count it a blessing to have a few minutes alone with your sister.”
He leant across the table and, with just the slightest hesitation, conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Your sister mentioned that your party are planning to attend the gala at Vauxhall. Perhaps, in repayment of your debt, you could arrange for me to meet with her in the Temple of Diana—just while the fireworks are on. I’ll return her to you when the show’s over, and no one will be any the wiser.”
Not only a flat—a foolish flat. Toby hid his reaction behind a vacant expression. The poor light concealed the steely glint in his eyes. “But how will I get Clarissa to agree?”
“Just tell her you’re taking her to meet her most ardent admirer. Don’t tell her my name—I want to surprise her. Women like the romantic touch.” Gurnard smiled and waved a languid hand. “Dare say you haven’t noticed, but your sister and I are deeply in love. You needn’t fear I’ll take advantage. But with all the attention that’s focused on her we’ve found it hard to find the time to talk, to get to know each other as we’d like.”
Concluding that the captain was the sort of gentleman he should hand over to higher authorities, Toby slowly nodded. “All right,” he agreed, his tone bland. He shrugged. “If you’ll be happy with that instead of the money…?”
“Definitely,” Gurnard replied, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Ten minutes alone with your sister will be ample recompense.”
* * *
“TOBY, IS ANYTHING wrong?”
Bringing up the rear as his exuberant siblings tumbled back into the house after their morning ride, Toby jumped and cast a startled glance at Sophie. Seeing the conjecture in her cousin’s open face, she nodded.
“I thought so.” With a glance at the horde disappearing up the stairs, Clarissa trailing absent-mindedly behind, she linked her arm with Toby’s. “Come into your father’s study and tell me all.”
“It’s nothing really dreadful,” Toby hurried to assure her as they crossed the threshold of his father’s sanctum.
“Then there’s probably no reason for you to be so worried about it,” Sophie returned. Sinking into one of the armchairs by the hearth, she fixed Toby with a commanding if affectionate eye. “Open your budget, my dear, for I really can’t let this go on. Doubtless I’m imagining all sorts of unlikely horrors; I’m sure you can set my mind at rest.”
Toby grimaced at her, too used to Lucilla to take offence. He fell to pacing before the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s that bounder Gurnard.”
“Bounder?” Sophie looked her surprise. “I know Ned’s been calling him that for ages, but I thought that was just Ned.”
“So did I—but now I know better. Dashed if Ned wasn’t right.”
Sophie looked pensive, then cast a glance up at Toby. “I’ve just remembered. Your mother said she didn’t trust the man, and Clarissa agreed.”
“Did she?” Toby brightened. “Well, that makes it easier, then.”
“Makes what easier?” Sophie stared at Toby, consternation in her eyes. “Tobias Webb, just what is going on?”
“No need to get into a flap. At least, not yet.”
When Toby said no more but continued to pace the hearthrug, Sophie straightened her shoulders. “Toby, if you don’t tell me what this is all about immediately, I’ll feel honour bound to speak to your mother.”