There were two types of beautiful women in the world, according to young Philip Mallory. There were those who knew how to utilise their beauty well, and those who simply did not.

"It's like this," he explained to his friends. "All beautiful women are vain. But the exceptional ones understand that a cultivated mind enhances her beauty better than any miracle potion. She thinks about her looks, but she's not bound by it, for she realises those looks will wilt like rose petals. When they fall away, she had better marry, or she faces a lifetime of misery. Those who don't understand this will revel in its fleeting benefits until she wakes up one day to discover it's all gone. Her time is finite! These ladies will spend a fortune on useless stuff sold to her by any charlatan promising to turn back time. But no amount of money or miracle cures could stave off the impending doom. And perhaps she even sped up her ageing with all her worrying."

"Who bloody cares!" someone cried out with impatience. "Make your wager and stop your stalling, Philip!"

The young gentleman ignored the remark as he tapped the edge of his cards on the surface of the table. "I find women fascinating. Have you ever heard their turn of phrase? How they can make the smallest, insignificant thing fascinating?"

A drunken, rude voice interrupted him. "A woman's mouth is best used for one purpose, and it's not for speaking!"

Derisive laughter erupted around the table, but Philip continued, though with blushes. "They are so different from us! Exquisite in their loveliness. Intoxicating in their allure. I'm often surprised by how--"

"Ha!" one of the older men at the table scoffed. "When did you have a chance to inspect the fairer sex?"

"I only mean--"

"If you had, you'd know they're about as ruthless, if not more so, than the most brutal ruffian down on the docks. Beneath those lovely exteriors, those cunts all have teeth and claws that would wound deeper than any sabre."

"Your acquaintances perhaps, Milton," Philip muttered, wounded. "I speak of the high-born lady. Gentle, refined and sweet. I believe we men could never bear some of their burdens with half their grace. I would venture to say their sex is far superior to ours."

Gathered around the card table where Philip sat and opined were both card players and spectators. These were all men of wealth, privilege, and pedigree. Yet, their attention was not altogether on the speaker. Instead, their eyes darted towards the large, silent man seated across from Philip.

By his dress - tailored black evening attire, crisp white shirt, high collar, cravat- Lord Davenport was like all the rest. What made the others watch him with such interest and deference was his quiet authority. By his intensity and measured movements, he seemed as if he was always weighing something important no one else could detect. Every time he drew breath, the air crackled with coiled energy.

While the others jeered, Lord Davenport remained composed. He puffed lightly on a fresh cigar as he studied his hand of cards. Then he flicked his deep-set blue eyes up till the tip of his long lashes touched his heavy hooded brows as he met Philip's earnest look. Ribbons of silvery-blue smoke rose around his striking, chiselled face. That striking but impassive face turned a bit to spit out a piece of bitter tobacco leaf. With a slight jerk of his chin, he flicked away a card before picking up another. Light flashed off the surface of his pinky ring with each movement. When he spoke, his voice was soft but deep, like rumbling thunder.

"'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,'" he quoted. "By what measure did you arrive at your conclusion, cousin? Which lady do you or I know suffers burdens greater than having her credit limited?"

Philip had to protest. "Ah, but women are gifted with a softer, gentler nature. They're able to intuit what we cannot. That's what strengthens them. You disagree, cousin?"

"One is left to wonder why they are placed beneath their fathers, brothers and husbands," Lord Milton interjected. "Why, it's common knowledge that logic, which rules men's judgement, is superior to emotions, which dictates women's actions. A few women may rise above the rest in the general esteem, but their entire sex? HA!"

Lord Davenport flicked up a corner of his cards against the tabletop. "Why condescend to them with empty praises and false platitudes? Saying they're superior does not erase a universal truth. But, I say, Philip, what sort of value do you place on these beauties?"

The observers, seven or eight in all, were wholly enraptured by the last moments of this intense card game between the cousins. They erupted into roaring laughter when Lord Davenport fanned out four queens. Several arms reached out to thump the Marquess' back as he scooped up his winnings. Phillips groaned with good-natured disappointment as he held up two useless pairs. Damn! He hadn't had a winning hand all evening. Dragging a hand over his handsome but dull face, Philip smiled as he extended his right hand in defeat.

"Stick to deducing the intricacies of women's nature, you would-be Lamarck," Lord Davenport teased Philip as the two men shook hands. "Games of chance are not for you."

Lord Milton slapped a meaty hand on Philip's slumped shoulder. "I say, do put those observations into practice. Either you're a monk, or you are even more secretive than Lord Davenport here about who keeps you company at night?"

"I have no secrets," Phillip said, turning a deep shade of scarlet. He quickly scooped up what remained of his little pile of chips off the table.

"Well, I'd keep that under wraps, or you might be mistaken for a poof ol'boy!" someone else called out. That earned the speaker an icy glower from Lord Davenport on his cousin's behalf.

Philip refused the bait. "I don't see how bragging about conquests would prove anything."

"Another hand Philip? Davenport?" Lord Milton asked.

Philip Mallory shook his head no as he pushed back from the table with an impatient sigh. He looked around him with growing discontent. What he saw was a throng of noisy men, all decked in their varying shades of black evening wear in that glittering gaming hall. "Is this what we've been reduced to? We few, we band of brothers, of the most powerful empire on God's green earth?"

In that expansive, vaulted room, under a thick bluish, hazy cloud of smoke, was a room full of card tables. At every card table, shoulder to shoulder, were huddles of players and spectators in near-identical evening attire. More men milled about as they chatted over expensive cigars and even more expensive liquors. No one noticed the attendants who darted around them to clean spills, clear empty glasses, and fetched more libations.

Phillip's light brown eyes took it all in with a single glance. His voice betrayed a tinge of frustration as he declared, "Have we all nothing to do but come here night after night to gamble away your fortunes? We, who are descendants of such conquerors, have nothing better to do than engage in a bit of intrigue before death claims us all?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Lord Milton, his face red with passion. He leaned into Philip, forcing the younger man to stumble back into his seat. "And I'm damned glad! I'll take my pleasures where I can before it's all over. You, young pups, are always trying to ease boredom by searching for significance. What do you know about anything? You read some romanticised accounts of what other men did, and you think you know everything. Well, half of us here lived through those interesting times, including your cousin here. There's nothing romantic or even glorious about war or hardship I'll have you know! Speaking of material comforts, my own fair lady awaits me. If we're not to play cards, I'll leave you to your musings, Phillip. My lords." The ruddy-faced man stood up with a curt bow to his companions.

The cousins stood up with the rest of the table and inclined their heads towards Lord Milton. Someone was about to speak, but Lord Davenport held up a hand to stop him. Then, his lordship clasped his other hand on his cousin's shoulder to steer Phillip from the group.

"What's this all about then?" Lord Davenport inquired when they were away from the rest. "You've been distracted all evening."

Philip uttered another wistful sigh and shook his head in despair. That prompted Lord Davenport to beckon an attendant to bring snifters of whiskey.

"I envy your unaffectedness, cousin," Philip confessed as he stared into the dark amber liquid. "You're so damned dashing, level-headed and certain of yourself. You are everything every young woman dreams of for her husband. If you were to make an offer for the princess royal herself, I dare say she would jump at the chance."

"Is matrimony on your mind then?" his lordship asked. "Have you gone and fallen in love, you silly sod?"

Phillip's usual boisterous brown eyes were forlorn. "Love? I wouldn't call it love-deep, hopeless infatuation might be a better description. I do believe I've encountered God's most magnificent creation in Lady Evelyn. I say this even when this Season boasts some of the most delectable debutantes ever to come out. I would have been happy settling for any of them. Yes, I might have done. But no! I'm enchanted by Venus herself, and like Venus, she is out of my reach."

"Nothing is out of reach if one has the will to take it," Lord Davenport replied. He blew a puff of smoke into his whiskey glass and watched a whirl of whimsical smoke dance a bit before taking a sip.

"It is if she cares nothing for me. I have nothing to recommend myself. I will learn to forget her in time, I suppose... Ugh! I can think of nothing else but her from the moment I laid eyes on her! Her skin- Those lurid, dark blue eyes as deep as the ocean! Such a magnificent creature she is. How miserable I am!"

Lord Davenport clasped a hand on his cousin's shoulder with equal measures of sympathy and impatience. Standing there, side by side, there was no mistaking their resemblance. It was in the shape of their deep-set eyes and their height. But that's where the similarities ended. Philip was by and far the lesser of the two. He emitted the mild, reticent nature of a romantic poet to those who thought well of him. Those not inclined to be gracious would say his manners were indicative of a poor relation to a noble house. The mirror opposite of him, of course, was the indomitable Lord Davenport. He was not only handsome, but he carried himself with a self-assuredness that left no doubt to his station.

In the small world of the aristocracy, who stood in Fortune's favour, and who didn't, were known to everyone. But especially the husband hunters. No one felt more sorry for the imbalance of the cousins' circumstances at the moment than Lord Davenport. He cursed womankind in his mind and felt justified in his own bachelorhood.

His lordship took another puff of his cigar before grounding it out on a nearby ash stand. "If your lady is after a title, well then, no sooner does she gain a coat of arms will she realise it makes for poor companionship. Wait a while, and she will soon set her attention outside her marital bed. You'll have a chance between her milky thighs--"

"I don't want-- not for that!" Phillip protested with another deep blush as his heart swelled from his eyes. "Don't be so cynical, cousin! No, no! Lady Evelyn is beauty incarnate through and through. She's too pure to marry for anything but love. She deserves nothing less than someone who will treasure her. But, unfortunately for me, I wouldn't interest her."

That heartfelt declaration made Lord Davenport shake his head. "I doubt your lady could live long on the pedestal you've erected. Where does she fall in your spectrum of feminine archetype?"

"The first of course! She's perhaps the only one of her kind I would place in that category"

Lord Davenport swallowed his irritation with another mouthful of expensive whiskey. "May I never be similarly afflicted," he thought to himself. Out loud, he said. "Which one is she, then? I know of three Lady Evelyns."

"You would not know her as she just arrived from abroad. This is her first Season."

"Where abroad?"

"Not sure."

"Who are her people? How did she come by her title?"

"She's visiting Earl Warwick's household, I'm told. I assume she's a relation of sorts. Never thought to ask."

Lord Davenport shook his head incredulously. "Bloody incurious you are!"

"I swear I don't care. Her beauty alone--"

"Enough!" Lord Davenport tossed back the rest of his drink, then slammed the empty glass down on a nearby table, startling its occupants. "Come then. Let's go have a look at the lady."

"But I--"

"We'll see what can be done to free you from your purgatory," Lord Davenport said with good-natured annoyance. He threw an affectionate arm around Philip and headed for the exit.