He wasn't so sure he did either. All he knew was that his instincts were telling him now that he had to do something to avert this disaster before it was too late. His instincts had got him through a fair number of tight spots during the war. He valued his friends' opinions, but he had to do what he thought was right, no matter what.
He drained his glass of sherry and sighed. He would just have to sort things out with Thomas later. He simply could not leave the table now.
Malcolm moved to refill his glass.
"Are you sure-" he whispered under his breath.
Clifford gave an imperceptible nod. "Thanks, Malcolm, you're a mind reader. This is exactly what I needed." He met his friend's eye for a brief moment, then downed another mouthful of the dry amber wine and tugged at his impeccable linen cuffs.
He now gazed fixedly at Gerald, deliberately not looking at Malcolm, and waited patiently for the game to begin.
It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done in his life. He affected a mien of ennui, attempting to ignore the outraged sputterings of several bystanders who also thought he had taken leave of his senses, or shown his true colors at last.
Some of the remarks cut him to the quick. He was more than grateful his own brother Henry wasn't here. He wouldn't put it past his younger sibling to try to drag him away forcibly if his sense of outrage was strong enough. He only prayed he was safely dancing outside with his lovely fiancée Josephine Jerome, and wouldn't come in until it was all over.
"A disgrace. Blond like an angel, black-hearted like a devil to treat a woman so," one older man asserted.
"I'm more shocked than I can say!"
Clifford gazed at his future in-law Mr. Jerome. "Then by all means argue with Mr. Hawkesworth. After all, it is he gambling his sister, not I."
"But Clifford, you are wagering for her," Mr. Grayson the vicar protested.
Clifford stared at him fixedly, and said in a tone intended for his ears only, "Can you imagine wishing any female you respected to be married to any of the bucks sitting here?"
Mr. Grayson's mouth worked up and down like a thrashing trout's. He lapsed back from the table with a resigned air.
Clifford could not believe the way he had been rendered the villain in this piece. Could the rest of them not see that Gerald was the one behaving barbarously?
He made no further attempt to defend himself. So far as Clifford was concerned, they could think whatever they liked about his motives so long as the lovely young woman he recalled as vividly as his own name was safe. He simply sat with his hands folded now and risked one tiny peep at Malcolm's face.
He could see the thin sheen of perspiration on the younger Branson's refined features. He brushed a dark hair out of his eyes impatiently, and flexed his fingers in an unconscious gesture which told Clifford he had understood what was being asked of him. While he had his doubts, he would play his part in this charade until the end.
Gerald surprised them all by beginning to dispute his nearest neighbor's presence at the table. "I don't want you to play, Stone."
Clifford countered smoothly, "Why not? I have no wife."
Gerald tried to stare down the tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, well-dressed Adonis he had always envied. But Clifford was not a man to be intimidated, or outmaneuvered.
"And my money is as good as anyone else's here." Clifford pulled out his checkbook and large leather purse from his jacket pockets. He opened the drawstring and plunked the bag down on the green baize, scattering its contents in front of him.
The sight of so many shiny gold coins won the argument in favor of Clifford remaining seated far more eloquently than mere words could have served. The dissipated young rake could barely tear his eyes away. At last he nodded, called for more wine, and reached for the deck.
Malcolm stretched out a hand to forestall him. "Since you seem so determined to go through with this folly, Mr. Hawkesworth, the least I can do is ensure its all carried out fairly. Since we have an uneven number of players here, I suggest vingt-et-un.
"Normally the dealer would play as well, but I refuse to gamble for your sister. So in this case, you simply have to top each other. The closest hand to twenty-one without going over is the winner. In the event of a tie, those players will be dealt a second or even third hand to determine the winner."
Malcolm drew his chair up closer to the table, and shuffled the cards expertly several times, though not too expertly that anyone began to smell a rat. He could just imagine the even further scandal caused if he weren't careful. The magistrate's son, cheating at cards in a game where they were gambling for an innocent young woman... His family would never live it down.