Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 11

When they reached Newcastle upon Tyne, Anthony found a comfortable inn in which to settle his exhausted wife, whilst he took a turn about the common areas in search of a moment’s entertainment.

As anticipated, there was plenty to distract him.

A handful of couples were just setting out for some sort of local assembly with drink and dancing. A few younger bachelors joined the party in the hopes of encountering a nice young lady…or a naughty one, as the case might be.

The rest of the unattached gentlemen gathered in the inn’s main salon. In moments, drinks were in every hand and the cozy chairs were rearranged into gaming areas.

Anthony’s blood raced at the sight. There was nothing he liked better than the thrill of a good wager. The risk of losing it all followed by a dizzying rush of euphoria when an improbable card won it all. This was where he thrived.

A few nights of exceptional hands, and he could come close to paying his debts back. It was unlikely, perhaps, but certainly not impossible. He’d almost done it in Scotland, had he not?

Before Charlotte joined the table, he’d been well on his way to winning back at least a tenth of what he owed. If he could have a run like that every day for a fortnight, he’d not only pay off his debts, but he’d also have plenty left over to whisk Charlotte wherever she wished. How happy she would be then!

“Fairfax?” exclaimed a surprised voice from the other side of the room.

Anthony whirled to see a familiar London face. “Thomas Quinton!”

“As I live and breathe.” Quinton stared in disbelief. “Daresay I’ve never seen you anywhere but St. James. What on earth brings you to Newcastle upon Tyne?”

Fleeing creditors seemed the wrong response if Anthony sought an opportunity to rid his friend of his purse at the tables. Instead he offered, “My wife wanted to visit family.”

“Your what?” Quinton’s jaw dropped. “Now you must be bamming me. Sit, sit. Allow me to buy you a drink while you regale me with lies about some poor debutante silly enough to tie the knot with a man who’s never home at night.” He laughed.

Anthony did not. The humor was lacking. Not because it was an inaccurate description of him—what single gentleman spent his evenings at home?—but because of the unflattering implication that Anthony was unlikely to change, even for a wife. Guilt assailed him.

Given that Charlotte was dozing in a guest chamber whilst Anthony had gone carousing, perhaps Quinton’s teasing assessment wasn’t so far afield.

“All that’s over,” Anthony said firmly. “At the moment, she’s recovering from a long journey. I don’t see any harm in taking a stroll about in the meantime, do you?”

“Oh, perambulate all you like—be my guest! Just make sure you end up at my table, so you can tell me all about the bewitching creature you’ve hidden away upstairs. What’s her name? Do I know her?”

“You don’t,” Anthony said quickly. “And the bewitching creature is Mrs. Fairfax to you.”

“My, you’re prickly,” Quinton teased. “Don’t be the jealous sort. Every man enjoys a pretty face.”

Anthony’s shoulders stiffened. What if Quinton recognized Charlotte? Anthony curled his fingers. He didn’t think Quinton would insult her, at least not purposefully, but a jokester like him could make just the right comment in front of just the wrong person, and even the briefest of stays at this inn would feel like a lifetime of misery to Charlotte. Anthony’s palms went clammy.

If it was happening already, this far north, what would it be like the closer they got to London? How could he protect her from that?

“Well?” Quinton took a seat at a gambling table and motioned toward the last empty chair. “Will you not join us?”

Anthony paused. God knew he needed a win. Quinton’s pockets weren’t too light, and if Anthony managed to sweep the table… He shook his head. His dwindling purse was upstairs in Charlotte’s valise. He wouldn’t wake her. She needed to rest.

And Anthony needed to not lose what little they still had.

“What?” Quinton gasped, clutching his chest melodramatically. “Anthony Fairfax not wager? There can be only one reason. Sit, man. If you’re at Point Non Plus, I’ll give you ten quid to get you started.” He turned to the other gentlemen. “Mind your purses. Fairfax can turn ten quid into two hundred faster than you can blink.”

Anthony hesitated. The empty chair beckoned him. Quinton was right. With a few quid—even with a mere sovereign—Anthony had been known to turn a table to his advantage with devastating ease.

He’d also been known to lose the whole lot on the turn of a card.

He stared at the inviting stacks of ivory betting fish next to each fat purse. At the seductive fan of cards just waiting for him to pick them up and turn the table into a battleground. The pull was overwhelming.

His gaze darted about the room. He couldn’t sit down. Not even for a moment. One peek at those cards, the mere scent of a winning streak, and he’d wager every penny in his possession, right down to his stockings. He couldn’t dare. Risking his own future was one thing. He would not risk Charlotte’s.

He bowed. “I’ve a beautiful creature waiting for me, I’m afraid. Some other time, perhaps.”

His fingers were shaking at the thought of walking away. At the urge to pick up the cards, the suspense at what their faces might show. At the delirious uncertainty of each new hand, and the accompanying rush of excitement thudding through his veins.

But gambling money he couldn’t afford to lose was something a useless wastrel did—which was something he was no longer willing to be.

Charlotte, he reminded himself. He had to be a better man for Charlotte.

“Why, I cannot trust my eyes,” Quinton exclaimed with an expression of honest shock. “If I try to tell anyone back home that this gentleman turned down a game of cards, they’ll laugh me right out of the club.”

Frankly, Anthony couldn’t believe it either.

Before his itchy gambling fingers could change his mind, he bid the company farewell and strode out of the common area and back up to their chamber.

When he opened the door, Charlotte was out of bed and standing before the vanity.

“Did you have supper?” she asked as she freshened her hair.

He shook his head. “I was waiting for you. Are you hungry?”

She set down her pins and turned to face him. “You look pale. Did something happen?”

He touched his face, surprised she had discerned his conflicted emotions. The spinning of one’s head must be more visible from the outside than he’d previously supposed. His addicted mind was still down at that gaming table.

“Something didn’t happen,” he admitted. His fingers still longed for a quick game. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t gamble.”

She tilted her head.

He tensed. She had every reason not to believe him. From the moment she’d laid eyes on him, he’d established himself as being fearless to wager. The first impression he’d given her was of winning everyone’s money within minutes of making her acquaintance—and losing it all the very next instant.

If Quinton couldn’t believe Anthony would turn down the chance to win a few purses… He could hardly expect Charlotte to have any greater faith in him.

She returned to pinning her golden locks. “Well, that’s good. One never knows if one will win or lose. You made the right choice.”

Anthony’s breath escaped his lungs in a whoosh. He straightened his shoulders. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

That was it? He stared at her as she finished dressing her hair. His mouth parted in shock. The first time he’d turned down a gaming table in fifteen years, the first time he realized he was strong enough to walk away, and when this fantastical event occurred…Charlotte simply believed him without question.

He strode across the room, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her as if he could drink in her words, drown in her faith, die in her arms. Perhaps he could. She was his talisman.

In her eyes, he was a different man. A better man. With her lips pressed against his, he could almost imagine it was true. He cherished this moment.

She would never understand how much her trust and acceptance affected him. How much he’d needed it. How much he needed her. To have her melt into his embrace. To make her proud. To hold her close.

He’d never been dependable enough before for anyone to have a reason to believe in him. Even if her faith in him was in part because she hadn’t known him long enough to understand the catastrophic depths of his unreliable nature, that innocence made him all the more determined never to fail her.

When she looked at him, she didn’t see the man he was, but rather the man he could be.

The man he would be from this day forward. For her.