Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“ B y the gods, Bennett, you lucky bastard!” one of the men laughed, slapping the table. “I’ll never hear the end of it from you, will I?”

The familiar weight of The Raven’s Den settled over Alexander as he pushed open the heavy, creaking door, two days after the art exhibit.

The low murmur of conversation greeted him, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the room, but tonight, there was a warmth in the air, the kind he was more accustomed to.

He paused just inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim glow.

To the left, a group of young men were clustered around a card table, their voices rising in playful taunts and challenges.

One man, a tall, gangly fellow with a wide grin, had just tossed a handful of coins into the pot with a dramatic flourish, only to win the round in a way that had his companions groaning in mock frustration.

Bennett shrugged with exaggerated indifference, his grin never wavering.

“Luck’s a fickle thing. Best not to question it, mate.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands raised in feigned innocence, while the others picked up their cards again.

As Alexander moved further into the room, he caught the eye of Horace Matthews, who was overseeing the scene with his usual calm demeanor.

The older man gave a slight nod, his ever-present air of quiet authority softened by the jovial atmosphere.

“Evening, Your Grace,” Horace greeted, stepping away from the far corner where he’d been chatting with a few regulars. “It’s a good night for cards, if you’ve a mind for it. We’ve a few gentlemen here who might challenge you.”

Alexander couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “My luck’s never as good as Bennett’s, though I’d be happy to test it.”

Horace chuckled, casting a glance over to the young man who had just won. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him. He’s just on a lucky streak. Most of them know better than to get cocky.”

Across the room, the sounds of a dice game reached Alexander’s ears—laughter mixed with the clink of the dice tumbling in their cup.

One man let out a triumphant whoop as the dice landed in his favor, and the rest of the group erupted into cheers and playful insults.

“Let them enjoy it. We have business to attend to,” Alexander told Horace, who nodded and led them away from the cheerful scene, and into his office upstairs.

“Can I just say, my lord, by the looks of it, you and the missus have been having a good time,” Horace threw a wink at Alexander.

“She is the Duchess to you,” Alexander growled. He paused, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Horace. I am fine but I am on edge. I have been running from the danger of my wife discovering this.”

He jerked his chin at the gambling hell beyond the office door. Alexander released a deep sigh.

“She sounds like a smart girl.”

“She is,” Alexander muttered, accepting the drink Horace pressed into his hand. “Too smart. And yet I have told her half-truths. I think a part of me is hoping she will figure it out so I do not have to keep it from her any longer.”

“Why can’t you just tell her?” Horace shrugged as he dropped into the chair opposite Alexander. His hands spread to cover the desk.

“This is a prosperous business, Alexander. Your main financial revenue comes from this place. Why shouldn’t she know?”

“You do know her former husband is our deceased Lord Kinsfeld?” Alexander said.

“’Course I do.”

“That is why I cannot tell her, Horace. What if she somehow blames me for his death when she finds out I own the place upon which his heaviest debts lay?”

“Heaviest, yes, but that was his own dug grave. We were nowhere near his greatest danger. He was found dead because he owed money to bad people. You can’t be takin’ on that burden.”

Alexander sighed, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“We have had a wonderful time together.”

“I can tell. You’re looking a lot more… refreshed, shall we say?” Horace said with a smile.

“Look, Alexander, I knew you when you were a lad, running around at your governess’s skirts. I knew you after the former Duchess died. I knew you when you dragged the scraps of your father’s legacy from the grave he buried himself in and all, and you rose above it. I’ve seen you fight for what you have, and I’ve seen you almost lose yourself to grief and anger.

“But look at this place. You provide employment and an escape from men’s troubles. Your wife deserves to know, and you deserve to not have to hide such a thing. You ain’t to blame if late Lord Kinsfeld had loose pockets when it came to gambling and owing money, much like she ain’t, either. Gambling can be violent and it can get messy, but that is not all it is.”

Alexander pursed his lips, taking Horace’s words in.

“You have to make her see that. At the very least, let her see the life it has given me. You took me from the Silverton stables to managing this place. You promoted me, saw somethin’ in me worth sprucing up and put behind this desk, overseeing the Raven’s Den. She’s only ever known gambling to be bad. Sure, it ain’t completely good either, but it has helped some people. Show her the good it has done here.”

Alexander still could not decide, and he nodded still, mulling over his friend’s words.

“You were a brilliant stable hand,” Alexander joked. “I recall you always being there whenever my father hopped off his horse, always ready to take the reins.”

“I still am,” Horace said, his double meaning not lost on Alexander.

He could not have run the Raven’s Den as a duke, and Horace managing the establishment meant he could have such a prosperous venture.

“I meant to tell you that the new Lord Kinsfeld is steering very clear of the Raven’s Den. He likely doesn’t want to get his fingers sticky with us like his brother did. He refuses to meet with me or the collectors to discuss Donald’s debts.”

Alexander sighed. “I am not surprised. Would you like me to try to speak with him?”

“I have it covered, don’t you worry. All I want you to do is spend time with your wife. She is good for you, Alexander. I can see it in your face. I witnessed you vehemently against marriage, and yet here you are, enjoying yourself. In many ways, I imagine.”

Alexander let out a rough laugh, downing his drink in one and pouring another. “I am happy. It is why I doubt telling her so intensely. I am afraid of ruining that happiness.”

“Let time tell you that,” Horace said.

But before Alexander could answer, a crash from below interrupted him. Horace growled under his breath. “I preached about the good things in this place and yet more and more fights are breaking out.”

“Why?”

They both hurried to the office door, wrenching it open.

“They probably think if the former Lord Kinsfeld got away with so much debt then so can they.”

Alexander swore. “He hardly got away with it.” He leaned over the balcony, witnessing the scene below, and fury spiked in him. “ Hargrove !”

Lord Hargrove—the supposedly banned Lord Hargrove—looked up at him in fright.

Alexander did not care that he was spotted coming from the office. He would smooth that over later. For now, all he saw was red as he stormed down the stairs.

“You dare come back here when Mr. Matthews had you barred?” Alexander roared, his distress boiling over into this man who was a bane of his existence.

Hargrove leaped back. “Perhaps Mr. Matthews ought to get more attentive guards!”

Alexander reached out and snagged the man by the collar, forcing his back to a table. “What bothersome troubles do you bring to Raven’s Den tonight?”

“Nothing, Your Grace. Only a friendly game!”

Alexander snarled and looked to the man Hargrove had been sat with. “He says it is nothing.”

“I disagree, Your Grace,” he said quickly. “Lord Hargrove has been trying to court my sister, but he has kept his gambling habits a secret. I challenged him to a game. Should I win, he has to tell her. If he wins… well, I did not like that he might get away with lying to her. I won, fair and square, and he knows my sister will not stand for such habits!”

“Your Grace,” Horace called out. “I’ll have the guards handle him again. You can… return to your game.”

“Of course,” Hargrove sneered as Alexander released him, accepting the dismissal in exchange for protecting his secret. “The Duke of Silverton is allowed to play upstairs— exclusively . Do you think we do not know how much you frequent this establishment, Your Grace? You look down upon those who gamble, yet you are here quite often yourself, up on that fancy balcony, as if you are too good to play with the mere earls. Does Her Grace know of these habits?”

Alexander’s blood boiled—that bastard dared bring his wife into this conversation?

“Word around the ton is that she killed her husband to marry you,” Hargrove continued, “Shame she is only marrying the same type of man. You are no better than us! And it is about time your wife knew what she has gotten herself married to once again!”

He spat at Alexander’s feet, and Alexander was about to land a blow to the man, his rage snapping at the mention of his Duchess in the mouth of such a vile man, when a guard hauled Hargrove up by his jacket.

“Do not make me banish you again, Lord Hargrove,” Horace called. “I will be watching.”

The guards carried the yelling man off, and Alexander turned back to Horace, who thanked him.

“You may go back to your game,” Horace said again, for those still hovering.

Alexander shared a look with him and nodded, heading back up the stairs.

Once he was there, he ducked into the shadows and slipped into Horace’s office.

“I need to tell her,” he muttered to Horace as he followed moments behind him. “If I do not, then she will hear damning gossip from everybody else that will be hard to disprove. I cannot break her trust by letting her hear untrue gossip.”

Horace nodded. “It’s a hard but good choice. How about another drink?”

As he poured for them both, the door burst open. Alexander shot to his feet, only to find one of Horace’s employees—all of them paid very handsomely to keep quiet about any meetings they stumbled upon involving the Duke of Silverton.

“Mr. Matthews, sir!” The employee gasped, fingers yanking at his shirt and cravat. He heaved for breath, sweat beading at his temples. His face was pale as he stuttered. “I–I saw a ghost, sir! He—he was real and everything! All real.”

“What are you speaking of?” Alexander asked, feeling a slight headache starting.

“A ghost!” the employee shouted, clutching his head. “Right here, in the gambling hell!”

“Frederick,” Horace sighed, “there are no such things. Don’t be bothering us again, you hear me? Go back to your table. And once you’re done for the night, take tomorrow off.”

Frederick didn’t look happy at the dismissal, his eyes still wide, but he nodded, knowing he would not get anywhere.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He ducked out of the office, muttering about what he had seen. Alexander shook his head.

“Are your employees overworked?” It was meant as a tease but it came out more serious than intended.

Horace sighed. “Some have been asking for extra hours lately. It seems the ones who helped us with information about Donald told others about a bonus. Now they all want to try and give tip-offs.”

Alexander groaned. “Wonderful. Who knows what other rumors they will stir?”

“I trust them. They’re a good group.”

Alexander nodded, sipping his drink. “I believe I must return to my wife.”

Horace smiled at him tightly. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. Alexander made a note to check accounts with Horace more often, to share some of the load. The man was older than him, and Alexander did not want him worked to the bone.

“Give my regards to Her Grace,” Horace called as Alexander left.

Once he wound through the Raven’s Den, he was much more aware of how eyes followed him, and whispers echoing Lord Hargrove’s sentiments snaked around him.

He supposed it was better than everybody discovering he was the true owner of the Raven’s Den and potentially losing his good social standing by having a dukedom and a business.

But still, he did not like being branded a gambler, one of many slippery-handed aristocrats.