Have Faith

Chapter 7

"If you want to know what a man's like, take a look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." J.K. Rowling

---

Chapter Seven

"You are awfully chipper this evening, Kensington," murmured Hounslow.

Cassian smirked. "I am always chipper when I am taking your money," he retorted.

Weatherby swore under his breath as he folded. "So bloody lucky. Just once I would like some of your luck, Kensington."

Cassian knew his skill at cards was not luck. In order for him to survive his childhood, Cassian had to learn how to tell if a man was trustworthy. Now the skill helped him to win a very tidy sum every Tuesday evening.

"I need to stop playing with you, Kensington. You will clean me out," complained Townsend. "Then again," he said thoughtfully, "it would give my wife less to spend."

Both Weatherby and Hounslow laughed. Cassian put on a false smile.

"But seriously, Kensington, where has this mood come from?" persisted Hounslow.

All three gentleman, who were now between hands, stared at Cassian waiting for him to answer.

Cassian nonchalantly took a swig of his whiskey. "I suppose I am in a good mood because I made a friend today," he replied honestly.

His conversation with Faith had truly put him in a wonderful mood. Gone was the awkwardness that had lingered between them in the week that she had been in his home, and they could now move forward in friendship.

"A friend?" repeated Townsend. "That is it?"

"She is a very special friend," insisted Cassian. His club friends did not know the circumstances of Cassian's self-made fortune. All they knew was that he had not always been rich.

"Oh, she?" Weatherby said teasingly. "Correct me if I am wrong, gentlemen, but did not Kensington sit here last week claiming that he did not have any time for a woman?"

"Yes, sir, you are right," Hounslow chimed in. "Tell us, Kensington, who is she?"

Much to Cassian's humiliation, he could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. He only hoped the dim candlelight in the room hid his embarrassment.

Faith was a very special person to Cassian for reasons that would always remain between them. He was not about to talk about Faith's business with his club friends. It did not seem right to discuss someone as lovely as Faith in and amongst the company of tipsy gentlemen and scantily clad women.

To end the conversation, Cassian decided to say, "She is a maid in my household."

All three men fell silent.

"A maid?" Hounslow furrowed his brow. "You are friends with a maid?"

"Yes," snapped Cassian.

"But ... she is a servant." Townsend tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "Maids are only good for two things, Kensington. Cleaning and bedding." He spoke as if he stated fact.

Cassian recoiled at his words.

How many maids had the man bedded? Was his wife privy to this knowledge?

And what did her occupation matter? Cassian instantly knew that was a stupid question. Servants were poor. Servants were inferior. Servants were there to serve.

But Cassian did not think that way. He did not behave that way. Did he? For the first time in several dozen Tuesdays, Cassian looked up from the table and noticed his surroundings.