Duke 0f Chance (Regency Stories Book 2) Page 2

  Albert nodded and then took the coin. “Are you sure?” he whispered, though his voice lacked any reluctance on his part.

  “I never lose,” Joseph replied and then stood beside his friend. “Proceeded.”

  The men watched as Albert set the coin on his thumb and then flipped it high in the air, Mr. Finnley calling for luck to be with him. Landing in the dirt, Joseph looked at Mr. Finnley. “Well, what is it?”

  The man took a half-step, leaned over, and looked down. His dejected stance said it all. “The skull, sir.”

  “Vacate the premises by nightfall, or I will have the magistrates throw you and your wife in prison,” Joseph said, walking past the man, who sniffled as he mounted his terrible excuse for a horse.

  When the man was gone, Albert came up to stand beside Joseph. “Two months late on rent and you evict him?” he said. “That seems a bit steep. Most will allow three.”

  “Oh, it was not just the rent,” Joseph said as he mounted Shadow. “The man called out to me in public three days ago. The embarrassment those types cause is unacceptable.”

  Albert laughed. “Well, he has learned his lesson.”

  “And many more will,” Joseph said as he heeled his horse to a gallop.

  ***

  The sun had already set and Joseph poured another measure of brandy for himself and Albert. As he handed the man the glass, Albert grinned. “What do you find amusing, old friend?” Joseph asked as Albert took hold of the drink.

  “Old friend, is it?” he asked with a chuckle. “Neither of us is even five and twenty, and yet you carry on like the miserable men of the ton.” He took a sip of his brandy. “Very good. Oh yes, my smile. I find your use of your coin…fascinating.”

  Joseph leaned against his desk. “And what do you find fascinating about it?”

  “Over the last three years, I have not seen you lose once. No man is that lucky at a game of chance, a game that requires no skills whatsoever.”

  “Well, perhaps I am. Skilled, that is,” Joseph said and then took a drink of the strong liquid. “Or perhaps it’s simply that I have bent the rules to make sure I always win.”

  The smile on Albert's face widened. “How does one become skilled in a game of chance? And if skill is indeed needed, how does one increase that skill?”

  Joseph reached into his pocket and handed over a coin. “Here, inspect the coin.”

  “Same as always,” Albert said as he turned the coin in his hand. “The image of the sun and the skull. It does not appear to be weighted in favor of one side, either.”

  “Your observations are correct,” Joseph said, setting his glass down and removing the coin from the man’s hand. “Or perhaps your vision fails you.” He returned the coin back his friend.

  “I do not follow?”

  “Look at it again,” Joseph said, his own grin now greater than that of Albert.

  The man looked down at his hand and flipped the coin over in his palm.

  His reaction caused Joseph to laugh as Albert dropped himself into a chair. “How is that possible?” Albert cried out. “Both sides now have the skull.”

  “I shall trust you with a secret,” Joseph said and then raise his hand toward his friend. “There are two coins. One is double-sided. I merely use an old sleight-of-hand technique, and no one is ever the wiser.”

  “That is brilliant!” Albert said. “And here all this time, I thought the name the ton gave you was earned.”

  Joseph snorted as he took back the coin and grabbed his drink. “I am called the Duke of Chance because everyone believes that they have a chance to win against me,” Joseph said, raising his glass. “Though, in all reality, they cannot. My stature and legend grow, and I am but three and twenty. Imagine ten years from now; the admiration of the ton will only grow.”

  Albert nodded and took another drink of his brandy. “As long as you do what they want,” he said with a chuckle.

  “No man tells me what to do,” Joseph snapped back. “From where does such an illusion come?”

  “My friend,” Albert said, rising from his chair, “it is no illusion. You are meant to find a suitable bride soon, a woman of beauty and title. For the ton would accept nothing less.” Albert walked over to the liquor stand and added, “And you will have to do their bidding eventually, even if you feel you should not.”

  Joseph felt anger move through his body. “Who I choose to court and eventually marry has nothing to do with them,” he said, though he knew his friend was right. It was not that Joseph would even consider marrying a woman of the Gentry, and most certainly not one of the lower class, but even if he did, the looks of disapproval would be strong.

  “I do not mean to offend,” Albert said, turning around. “But you may be able to win at the toss of a coin for rents due or other games, but you can never win over the ton, not when it comes to propriety and expectations. That, my friend, cannot be left up to chance.”

  Finishing the last of his brandy, Joseph walked over and refilled it. “I have known you too long to not suspect you have something up your sleeve.” This made him laugh, of course, given the topic of conversation. “What are you proposing?”

  “It’s quite simple. I will select a woman of the Gentry for you to court for the time of, oh, let’s say three months.” He flashed Joseph a sly grin. “You must not hide her away nor see her only once or twice. No, with all the engagements and parties this season, she must attend them all with you.”

  Joseph laughed and then took a drink. “That is simple enough. I can do that.”

  “Not so fast,” Albert said, retaking his seat. “This is the key; you must be able to have the ton look at her with admiration by the end of the season.”

  Joseph turned around, the smug look on Albert's face infuriating him. “That is impossible!” he blurted out.

  Albert nodded. “That is why the stakes are high.”

  “And what are the stakes exactly?” Joseph asked.

  “If you can do this, which we both know you cannot, I will sign over my millinery shop in London.”

  Joseph felt a twinge of greed move through his body. The shop was quite profitable, and the rents were high, a location he desperately wanted, even if the shop itself he cared nothing for. “And if I were to lose?” Joseph asked, attempting to keep his voice even. “What would I owe you?”

  “Your home in Rumford,” Albert said. “I have been wanting a new home for Alice and me, and I know how much you cherish it.”

  Swirling the liquid around in his glass, Joseph thought about the proposal. “I pick the woman?”

  “I do,” Albert replied.

  “The three months start when?”

  “Tomorrow night. I have a woman in mind. Her father owes me money, and the family is broke and desperate. That alone will disgust the ton.” He chuckled. “So, are you willing to play my game of chance?”

  Joseph considered only a moment. He was the Duke of Chance, and it was not only his trick coin that allowed him to win almost every time. “My friend,” he said, raising his glass. “Coin or not, the Duke of Chance never loses. I will play your game. And I shall win, just you wait and see.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chapter Three

  Six shillings. That was the price of the used gloves that Hannah had just pulled onto her hands. A year ago her father would not have thought twice about buying her a new dress or gloves or any other article to complete her ensemble. Yet, things had changed drastically since that time. Yet, though the gloves were used, it did not bother Hannah, for if new gloves determined if a gentleman looked her way or not, then she would find someone who cared enough for her and not for her choice in gloves.

  “You look beautiful,” her mother said, setting the brush on the table. “Surely looks of admiration—and jealousy—will greet you tonight.”

  Hannah looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her gown, made of muslin, was light blue in color with white embroidery on the shoulders and bodice and was one of her favorites. She ha
d only worn it twice before and cherished it above all others she owned. However, despite how beautiful her gown was, that did not mean she was herself was beautiful enough to be noticed by any man.

  “Thank you for saying so, Mother,” Hannah replied and then turned to her. “I am excited about tonight, that is true. But I must admit, I am also worried.”

  “Worried?” her mother asked, brow scrunching. “Why would you be worried?”

  “I have to hope a gentleman is drawn to me,” she said in a near-whisper. “Then there is a chance for courting, which is such a commitment, I cannot imagine any man, especially a gentleman, finding me interesting enough.” She lowered her head. “And what of marriage? That is the least likely of them all.”

  Her mother laughed as she pulled Hannah in for a tight embrace. “Oh, my darling Hannah,” she said, “we are not expecting an announcement of an engagement this night.” Her mother broke the embrace. “Above all else, enjoy yourself. The right gentleman will find his way to you, so do not concern yourself with that.”

  The doubt did not leave, but Hannah did not want her mother to worry as much as Hannah herself did. “I understand and I will.”

  “Excellent. Now, come. We must leave or we will be late.”

  Hannah nodded and her mother left the room. When the woman was gone, Hannah glanced once more at her reflection. With Jenny and many of the others now gone, the house would be nearly vacant in six months’ time, leaving her and her parents alone. The seasons of laughter and love in this home had now passed, and a new season had arrived. And though it was hard not to think of the worry and pain her parents were experiencing by losing everything around them, Hannah kept hope that, somehow, she could keep everything together for them. Her parents had given her a marvelous life, so she would find a way to give back, and tonight would be the first step in doing so.

  ***

  At least a hundred people waited with Hannah and her parents in the foyer of Richfield Estates, and the whispers around her were many. Parts of conversations came to her ear, mostly rumors of affairs, deaths, new holdings, or whatever news that held the attention of the ton—which seemed limited to say the least—was making their rounds.

  Hannah’s eyes studied the women, all dressed in the finest gowns she had ever seen, each gown perfectly stitched and of the latests fashions. The men wore suits that had been clearly tailored by the finest tailors of London and not bought locally. Those were the men who laughed with a boldness that matched their clothes, for they had not a care in the world.

  On the white walls hung several paintings of men on horseback, some riding during fox hunts while others raced through open fields. Other paintings showed landscapes of a city, perhaps even London, a city Hannah had always wished to visit but had yet to see. All around her was wealth—people of the ton, people who, since her arrival, curled their lips in open disgust when they looked upon her and her family. Almost every time one of the women looked at Hannah, they would whisper behind their hands, looks of distaste on their faces, until their gazes fell elsewhere. The men cast lustful glances her way, must to her surprise—and dismay—but their noses remained high all the same.

  To be a member of the Gentry and invited to such an event was not all that common, or so Hannah understood. Apparently it was his dealings with Lord Whitely that had somehow gotten them an invitation to the Duke of Charrington’s party. The invitation had caused great celebration for her father, for he hoped to secure new connections that would lead to new business ventures as a way to save their home. Of course, her father did not share this with her. Hannah just happened to lean against the door to his office as her parents spoke the night before, for she knew they were keeping the truth from her, and overheard his underlining plan.

  The whispers died down, and Hannah turned her attention to Lord Whitely, whose bright red hair contrasted greatly with his olive coat. Not a handsome man by any stretch of the word, he stood as if he was the most important man in the room. At least the man was already married; that would mean he would not need to pursue her in any way.

  Handsome the man was not, but his voice carried strength and surety. “It is with great honor that I present His Grace, Joseph Larson, Sixth Duke of Charrington.” He turned his gaze to the grand staircase, and Hannah found herself following that gaze as much as those around her. How interesting that Lord Whitely announced the man and not the man’s butler. Interesting and strange.

  Then her heart skipped a beat, for at the top of the stairs stood the man she had heard referred to as The Duke of Chance. Rumors had it that his business decisions were made with the toss of a coin and that his luck was so great, he had never lost, not even once. Some said that his fortunateness came due to a deal he made with a witch—Hannah dismissed that as utter nonsense—while others said his luck came with his nobility, handed down from the father of his father’s father.

  Hannah did not know what to believe, but she could not help but be transfixed by the man. Beneath his coat, she could make out broad shoulders and muscular arms that stretched the fabric of the sleeves. Lace peeked out at his wrists and the top of his coat, and a white cravat was tied neatly beneath his chin. His hair, which was the color of wheat, was long and fastened with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Though Hannah had heard scandals concerning the man, besides the various rumors about where his luck originated, none of that mattered, good or otherwise, for he had to be the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the man nodded at a few people, and then without a word, turned and walked down a hallway. The room remained silent, and then people began to follow him. The procession was slow, but Hannah did not need to be reminded that she and her parents would enter last due to their social standing. Her mother had schooled her in such etiquette, and the sneers of those around them as they passed by only reinforced the fact that they stood well below anyone else there, besides the servants themselves.

  Finally, after a long wait, it was their turn to enter, and as they began to walk, the sounds of string instruments came to her ears. They entered the ballroom, a footman announcing them, although no one paid them much attention.

  Hannah could not have cared less that the other guests ignored her, for her attention was on the grandness of the ballroom itself. On the white walls hung a variety of paintings of all sorts of subject matter from fruit to portraits of people. A chandelier the size of a small carriage—well, perhaps not that large, but bigger than any she had ever seen before—hung from the ceiling, hundreds of candles flickering and giving off a hearty glow. In one corner sat tables laded with food and in another sat numerous bottles of wine and other spirits, footmen gathered around it to pour the drinks into glasses and then carry them through the crowd.

  The attendees had already collected into small groups throughout the room, and Hannah’s father quickly took off, leaving Hannah and her mother alone.

  “Isn’t this amazing?” her mother whispered, and Hannah gave a nod. “To think we were invited to such a party!”

  Hannah continued looking across the room and then felt her cheeks burn when her gaze fell upon the Duke. He was speaking with two women, but when he looked up, his eyes met hers. A smile crept across his lips, and then his eyes returned to his companions. Sadness came over Hannah as she realized that a gentleman of title, especially a duke, would never entertain the notion of being associated with someone such as her.

  “Come,” her mother said. “I see an old friend.”

  Hannah followed her mother through the crowd. Midway, she looked over her shoulder and found the Duke’s eyes on her once again. She turned away quickly for fear it was only in her mind that he truly had been looking at her and not someone else who stood near her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Chapter Four

  Joseph had tried to keep his attention on the conversation with the two women in front of him but found he could not. A woman unlike any he had seen had looked his way twice. She was b
eautiful, with dark hair and the blue dress she wore complemented it.

  He had not seen her before and considered it was an invitation granted by Albert, who had requested to invite a Baron from Pensford, Somerset a hundred miles away. The woman certainly looked noble, and Joseph reached into his pocket feeling the comfort of the two coins.

  “Your Grace,” one of the women in front of him said, breaking his thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “It is an honor to be here this evening,” the woman said, her red curls moving as she bent her head toward him.

  Joseph laughed. “It most certainly is. Ladies, enjoy yourselves, I have business to attend to,” he said and walked away in search of Albert without waiting for their courtesies he was certain followed after him. Moving through the crowd, he was pleased at the laughter around him. Smiles and exclamations of his greatness greeted him. This was not new; it was what he came to expect, and he savored it all.

  Albert stood near the musicians, a glass of wine in his hand as he conversed with a man in his middle years. The man was short with a stomach that threatened to burst open the jacket he wore if he were to lean over even the tiniest bit.

  “Your Grace, allow me to introduce Mr. Ezra Newmont,” Albert said.

  Mr. Newmont dipped his head. “Your Grace, it is an honor.” Joseph did not appreciate those of the Gentry attending his parties, for most made fools of themselves with their attempts at groveling. Yet, the man’s nod was courteous enough and he did not break out in some fantastical grin as most of his class did in the presence of one such as himself, so he would say nothing.

  “Newmont has been seeking a new business partner, for I am afraid…well, his financial standing is dwindling, and quite rapidly at that,” Albert said.

  The man’s face turned a deep red. Joseph smiled at the awkwardness of the situation, for seeing a man such as he suffering in embarrassment pleased him. It kept the Gentry from striving to better themselves beyond the level they should. A man of the Gentry could not seek to be equal to a man born into Nobility, and no amount of land or wealth could do that. Only the King himself had the capability to grant titles, and he was not all that forthcoming with such gifts, especially to one who could not even hold onto his wealth.