My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(7)
At times she felt a pang of remorse for living off others’ losses. She remembered well Mrs. Upton’s lectures against gaming, and she knew that the headmistress had been correct about it being dangerous and ruinous. Even though she had developed iron--clad rules to prevent herself losing too much, there was always the matter of her reputation . . . such as it was.
Her friends worried about that, too. Ever since that first day at Mrs. Upton’s over a decade ago, she, Georgiana, and Eliza had been inseparable. During the years when Sophie was with Lady Fox and her friends were still at school, their letters had flown back and forth weekly. Now that they were all in London—-Eliza at her father’s home in Greenwich and Georgiana with her chaperone the Countess of Sidlow—-they made sure to have tea every fortnight, usually at Sophie’s snug little house in Alfred Street.
“Surely you could invest some money, as well?” Eliza often asked. “It must be safer.”
“Never,” was Sophie’s firm answer. “Playing the ‘Change is the riskiest gambling there is.”
“Papa does quite well, and he’s offered many times to advise you,” Eliza reminded her. Which was no solace at all to Sophie; Mr. Cross could afford to lose a thousand pounds on a bad stock, while she could not.
Georgiana thought she should make a different sort of investment. “What you really ought to do is make one of the gentlemen at Vega’s fall in love with you. Sterling says Sir Thomas Mayfield would be a brilliant match for you.” Viscount Sterling was Georgiana’s intended husband, and her most frequently cited authority on everything.
That made Sophie laugh. “Thomas Mayfield! A baronet? You must be mad.”
“Mad!” Georgiana widened her expressive green eyes. She turned to Eliza. “Am I mad to suggest she set her cap for a tall, handsome gentleman? The sort of gentleman who could make most ladies in London swoon with just one devilish smile?”
Sophie rolled her eyes as Eliza laughed. “You sound quite smitten with him yourself. Should we warn Lord Sterling?”
“Of course not. Sterling’s got nothing to fear. I’ve been in love with him for ages,” said Georgiana with a flip of one hand. Viscount Sterling, whose property neighbored that of the Earl of Wakefield, had proposed to Georgiana as soon as she turned eighteen, and been happily accepted. Lord Wakefield had dithered and delayed the match, but everyone knew he was an eccentric fellow, and her engagement left Georgiana free to enjoy two Seasons in London, buying an endless wedding trousseau while Wakefield and Sterling argued about the settlements.
“Perhaps that’s why you should leave Sophie in peace about him,” said Eliza gently. “You’ve found your hero so easily. Not all of us are as fortunate.”
“Oh, but I want you to be!” cried Georgiana, contrite. She turned to Sophie. “Is Sir Thomas really that bad?”
“No,” she lied with a smile. “He’s just not for me.” She hadn’t missed how Sterling thought the baronet would be a brilliant match for her. Sir Thomas, with his wandering hands and flexible sense of honor, would be utterly unacceptable as a husband for Lady Georgiana Lucas, even for the heiress Eliza Cross. But for Mrs. Sophie Campbell, a supposed widow of modest means who spent her evenings at a gaming club, he’d be a marvelous catch. Sophie was not unaware of her standing in society.
“A younger son, then,” said Georgiana, undeterred. “Lord Philip Lindeville.”
“Who? No!”
“You must remember him, Sophie. You’ve been seen with him several times in the last month,” said Georgiana somberly. “Sterling says he’s a great fellow, and he’s devilishly handsome.”
“Papa says he’s a rake,” reported Eliza.
“In need of reform through true love.” Georgiana winked at her.
Sophie laughed. “Far too much trouble for me, I’m sure.”
Eliza looked shocked, and Georgiana snorted in amusement. “Only you would view a suitor as trouble, Sophie!”
“Lord Philip,” she had replied, “is not a suitor.”
For some reason that conversation stuck in her mind as she reached Vega’s that night. It was a cool and cloudy evening, with passing sprinkles of rain, and she wore her crimson gown, not for luck but for cheer; the bright cotton was her favorite. When Mr. Forbes, the club manager, carried away her cloak, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. She didn’t feel old, but at twenty--four, neither was she young. She didn’t want to turn up her nose at mention of a suitor. Sophie wouldn’t mind at all finding a gentleman who would fall in love with her and win her love in turn. If only the men she met were interested in the same thing.
Assuming she kept winning at about the same rate, it would take her another six years to reach ten thousand pounds, the amount she’d decided meant financial security. Six years plus ten thousand pounds equaled independence. That was the equation she should keep in mind, or she’d find herself at the mercy of lecherous baronets who weren’t even as handsome as Sir Thomas Mayfield. She squared her shoulders and strolled into the salon. It didn’t take long to find a table of partners, and she took a seat with a confident smile.
At least an hour passed. She lost a little at first but then made up for it. She was ahead sixty pounds when someone exclaimed behind her, “Mrs. Campbell!”