Wager for a Wife Page 10

  The Marquess of Ashworth, looking even more stiffly aristocratic and dignified than he had a mere moment before, took his time looking about the room, and it seemed to William that he was making it clear before he spoke that what he was about to say was not to be questioned.

  “Lady Ashworth and I were blessed to have but one daughter, our precious Louisa,” he said. “No father could love a daughter more, nor be as proud of her as I am this evening.” He turned to look at her, and William watched the marquess’s face soften with emotion. William had never seen such a look on his own father’s face, not even toward his mother.

  And then the marquess’s eyes turned on him, and William watched as the man’s eyes turned steely with an implicit warning from a protective parent. “And so it is that I announce her betrothal this evening to William Barlow, Junior, Viscount Farleigh,” he said.

  An audible gasp could be heard around the room and beyond, followed by a brief moment of dead silence, which was then followed by a groundswell of murmuring.

  And then William heard Louisa gasp.

  He turned to her in concern and then followed the direction of her eyes. There, at the side of the room, standing just inside the door that connected the room to the entry hall, was a distinguished young gentleman looking directly back at her. He gave her a discreet nod of acknowledgment before turning his gaze on William. And then he left.

  William went cold all over. There was only one person it could be: the Earl of Kerridge, to be precise, heir to the Duke of Aylesham, Louisa’s former betrothed.

  “Hear, hear,” Lord Halford called out, raising the glass in his hand. “To the betrothed couple.”

  “To the betrothed couple,” echoed some of the assembled guests. Others appeared too busy expressing their shock to join in.

  Louisa was trying desperately to hide her own shock at seeing Lord Kerridge, if the overbright smile on her face was any indication. Lord Kerridge should have known better than to show his face here tonight. Or . . . perhaps no one had even thought to tell him the announcement would take place.

  William should have seen to the task himself. He should have sent a note to Kerridge, informing him of their plans and asking, as a gentleman, that he not attend the assembly out of respect for Louisa and her family. Kerridge’s appearance had poured salt in a raw wound—one William had created, certainly, but one Kerridge hadn’t needed to make worse.

  The next few hours were a blur of activity, during which he was sure he and Louisa received the congratulations of every person in attendance. There were a few people, like Halford’s friend Kit Osbourne, who was now the Earl of Cantwell, and his brother Phillip, both of whom William recognized from their school days at Eton, who were, surprisingly and thankfully, genial in their congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. William hoped their affability would help convince Louisa that he was generally well regarded by those who actually knew him.

  There were also, thankfully, others who seemed happy for them both. Close friends of Louisa’s parents and several of her brothers’ friends offered their congratulations and good wishes and undoubtedly would do their best to offer support.

  Many of the guests had been unable to hide their surprise, however, while others had smoothed their faces into polite masks before offering bland congratulations. William suspected some must have previously witnessed Louisa in the company of Lord Kerridge, while others may have known William’s father but hadn’t wished to offend the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth.

  All in all, William thought as he called for his carriage while Louisa chatted with friends at the end of the evening, he’d at least gotten over this first hurdle with a modicum of success. But he would not rest easy until the marriage vows had been made.

  Chapter 6

  The evening couldn’t have gone any worse.

  Louisa slept until well past noon the following day, awaking with a terrible headache from the feigned smiling she’d done—hours and hours of smiling—until her jaw had been sore and she’d feared her face would permanently remain in some ghastly grimace afterward.

  That had all been more than enough to bear—but then the absolute worst thing that could have happened had happened. The Earl of Kerridge had made an appearance at the assembly, arriving fashionably late—but just in time for the announcement of her betrothal. He had locked eyes with her at the announcement—and then left.

  Brief though his appearance had been, it had been enough.

  She sipped the hot chocolate Tibbetts had brought to her room, hoping it would ease her throbbing head. Chocolate was the best remedy for nearly everything Louisa could think of, and Tibbetts knew this.

  “Choose something drab and comfortable for me to wear,” Louisa said as Tibbetts rummaged through her wardrobe. “I don’t think I can manage wearing any bright colors today.” What she longed to do was go riding. If she were at Ashworth Park, she would give Athena her head and let her gallop through the countryside, just the two of them, free to do as they chose and go where they wished. That would never do in London, where she must take Tibbetts or a footman or a brother with her everywhere. Besides, that would require talking.

  Louisa was not in the mood to speak to anyone today if she could help it.

  Tibbetts selected a simple mauve gown for her to wear, and all too soon, Louisa had no excuse but to leave her bedroom. If she didn’t, her mother would show up to see if she was unwell, and for the world, Louisa wouldn’t worry her mother.

  “It’s about time you showed your sleepy head,” Anthony said when Louisa arrived at the morning room. He and Alex were still breaking their fast, which meant they hadn’t beaten her here by much. “Mama told the staff to serve breakfast later than usual.”

  Alex was shoveling food onto a plate over at the sideboard. “It’s a good thing you finally showed up, Weezy,” he said. “I may not have saved any food for you otherwise. I’m famished.”

  “Where is Mama?” Louisa asked, picking up a plate and nudging Alex out of the way so she could help herself to a few sausages before he could take them all. She already knew Papa would be seeing to his duty at the House of Lords, as he did every day while they were in Town.

  “She promised the Duchess of Atherton she would call on her today,” Anthony said. “They’re probably compiling a list of suitable young ladies for Alex so he will do his duty and marry one of them.” He shot a lazy grin at Alex, who was seating himself next to Anthony, his plate piled with food. “Now that you’re betrothed, Weezy, I think Mama has matrimony on the mind.”

  The Duchess of Atherton was one of Mama’s closest friends. She was short and plump, with twinkling hazel eyes that missed nothing. The duke frequently referred to her as The General, so clever she was at everything, whether it came to running her household or offering astute opinions on politics. Louisa adored her.

  “Luckily for me and sadly for them, I am making plans to leave for Rome shortly, which will allow me a little more time before my heels are held to the fire,” Alex said, spearing a piece of fried kidney with his fork.

  “Besides, you’re forgetting that Alex is as good as promised to Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, Anthony,” Louisa said. “Papa and the Duke of Marwood have been planning their nuptials practically since she was born. If Mama and the Duchess of Atherton are making lists, they are most likely intended for you.”

  “Good point, Weezy. Perhaps I’ll join you on that trip, Alex, even if Bonaparte is rattling his saber wherever he goes,” Anthony said.

  “He’s too busy rattling his saber at Austria presently, so I’m not all that worried, and you’re welcome to join me if you’d like—although I suspect Papa will insist you return to Cambridge.”

  “Likely true, blast it. Of course, as his heir, he may not let you go haring off to parts unknown, you know, with the turmoil from France spreading everywhere.”

  “You’re probably right. But Lady Elizabeth is still a child, and I’m not ready to settle down and marry yet.” He took a bite of eggs
and chewed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ll consider the West Indies.”

  “I wish I could travel to Rome,” Louisa said wistfully. “I imagine Rome to be an entirely enchanting place, from what I’ve read. It is quite unfair that young gentlemen are allowed to travel on their own, while a young lady may only travel well escorted. It is to protect her from ‘dissolute men,’ Papa said.” She paused, pondering the topic for a moment, in spite of her aching head. “What would qualify as being dissolute?”

  “Do you really wish to know?” Anthony asked, looking shocked, while Alex choked on his tea before bursting out laughing.

  “Not really,” Louisa said, taking a bite of toast as Alex regained his composure. “Except—well, Grandfather must have been somewhat dissolute.” She wouldn’t be stuck in this mess and marrying Viscount Farleigh if he hadn’t been. “And Lord Farleigh’s father was apparently even worse than Grandfather.”

  “If you truly wish to know,” Alex said with a diabolical twinkle in his eye, “some fellows like to pursue reckless indulgence, leading to excessive wagering and drunkenness . . . and then there are the actresses and—”

  “A true gentleman knows his limits, Louisa,” Anthony said firmly, interrupting Alex. “That is all you need to know. Stop teasing her, Alex. We don’t need to scandalize our baby sister.”

  Alex shrugged, chuckling. “She asked.”

  Since Alex hadn’t actually said anything Louisa didn’t already know, she didn’t precisely feel scandalized, and she supposed she didn’t really want to know the sordid details anyway. “Tomorrow at church, the first of the banns are to be read,” she said.

  Alex set down his knife and fork, and Anthony reached for her hand, both her brothers’ faces instantly sobering.

  “How are you holding up through all of this, Weezy?” Anthony asked her.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She loved her brothers, truly, and knew they were there for her—but she wasn’t sure she wanted to share her feelings with them. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she could put what she was feeling into words.

  “Truly, Weezy, we are concerned about you,” Anthony said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to do this. Father would understand completely. In fact, I wonder if he wouldn’t actually prefer it.”

  “We’ve talked about all this before, and the argument is always the same,” Louisa replied. “If honor constrained you to do something you were otherwise loathe to do, serve your country in the military, for example”—she looked directly at Anthony, as he intended to buy his commission as soon as he completed his studies at Cambridge—“or were compelled to make a dynastic match, as the heir to a marquess is like to do”—she directed this remark to Alex—“you would do it, wouldn’t you? Your honor would demand it.”

  “Yes, unquestionably, we would,” Alex said in a tone that sounded suspiciously as if he were explaining the obvious to an imbecile. “But that is because we are gentlemen, as we’ve pointed out before, and you are not.”

  “You think I am less of a Hargreaves, less a child of the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth than either of you?” she challenged, trying to keep her voice low and reasonable but without success. “That because I am a female, I cannot have honor?”

  “Of course not, Weezy,” Anthony said soothingly.

  “Precisely,” Alex countered. “It is not the same thing at all. Women are weak and vulnerable, prone to hysterics, subject to fainting spells and vapors—”

  “When have you ever known me to faint? Or Mama either, for that matter,” Louisa exclaimed hotly. “I have followed the two of you all over the countryside my entire life—exploring attics and sheds, climbing trees, swimming in ponds, riding. You yourself said I was as good a horsewoman as you’d ever seen, Alex—”

  “That’s true, Weezy, but—”

  “But nothing,” she said, cutting off Alex, unable to control her growing irritation. “I will do what I must. I refuse to be the member of the Hargreaves family, the lone child of the Marquess of Ashworth to act with dishonor after all our father has done to restore the family name.”

  Anthony heaved a sigh. “Very well, Louisa; your willingness to make this sacrifice for honor’s sake is one I highly respect. There is no point in arguing with her, Alex; she has made up her mind. What can we do to help, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Louisa replied, suddenly feeling drained. She wanted to lie down and put a cold compress on her forehead. “Lord Kerridge was at the Meltons’ last night.”

  “He was?” Alex said, his countenance darkening. “Devil take him to Hades and back! Now, that’s what I call dishonorable—”

  “None of us thought to warn him that we were announcing the betrothal at the Meltons’ assembly. He wasn’t there long—only enough to hear the actual announcement.” She could still see his handsome, aristocratic face looking calmly at her. He’d been able to say so much with that one look: pity and irony mixed with a dash of contempt. It had pierced her deeply—she’d felt all the shame and guilt he’d intended for her to feel in that moment. He’d wounded her, and then he’d left. “I cannot blame him for his being there and can only respect his swift management of what could have been an awkward situation.”

  “If you say so,” Alex said, looking unconvinced.

  “We will be at church with you tomorrow, little sister,” Anthony said resolutely. “We will smile and greet all the churchgoers, and we will not leave your side. We will be your support.”

  “And we shall be ready to provide Viscount Farleigh with a black eye if the situation requires,” Alex added.

  Louisa wouldn’t put it past Alex to look for such an opportunity. “I doubt it will come to that,” she said. Truth be told, she would rather have her brothers help her pry information about Viscount Farleigh from him rather than resort to violence against him. It would be much more useful, for, despite her attempts to get him to open up to her, she was still betrothed to an enigma.

  * * *

  William heard nothing during the lengthy church service on Sunday morning, his mind preoccupied with Heslop’s words of urgency to him: You must proceed with haste in courting Lady Louisa. You must win the lady over. You must proceed with haste . . .

  He’d arrived at Ashworth House this morning—he had arranged to drive Louisa to St. George’s today, her parents and brothers following behind them in a separate carriage—trying to convince himself that while he hadn’t been willing to withdraw the vowel, she’d had the right to choose whether she married him or not. He had not coerced her. Not precisely.

  She’d chosen a pink muslin dress and matching pelisse to wear that brought out the color in her cheeks, and a straw bonnet arrayed with flowers the exact hue of her lips. He sorely wanted to kiss her again. Their kisses had been a revelation, an experience he’d thought about ever since and longed to repeat. Instead, he’d silently handed her up into the gig he’d discovered in the mews behind his father’s house.

  He didn’t deserve to kiss her.

  She was now seated next to him in one of the front pews of the chapel, her parents and brothers sitting on the other side of her on the same pew, poised to protect her, William presumed, if anyone in St. George’s were to stand and publicly proclaim a reason why they should not wed.

  And if no one stood? They would still have to go through this same ordeal two more times since he’d promised Louisa she could have the banns read and the extra days that doing so would give her. His father, may his soul rot in his grave, would have said William’s promise to Louisa had been nothing more than a bluff and that Louisa had called him on it, weakening his chance to win the game.

  Except it wasn’t a game. There was too much at stake for too many people.

  Out of the corner of his eye, William noticed Louisa’s gloved hands suddenly clench in her lap, which brought his thoughts back to the services going on around them.

  The rector had begun reading the banns.

  “If any of you know cause or just impedim
ent why these two people should not be joined together in holy matrimony,” the man boomed from the pulpit, “ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”

  Louisa sat as still as a statue, staring straight ahead. William, too, did not move. He held his breath, waiting—no, dreading—the inevitable moment someone stood and claimed knowledge of a just impediment. William himself could recite more than a few without blinking an eye.

  Time stood still.

  But no one stood. No one claimed knowing any impediments. There was only silence. Blessed silence.

  And then, miraculously, the rector continued with the service, and William breathed again. When all was over, William stood by while Louisa and her family greeted their friends and acquaintances afterward, nodded politely, and shook hands with the rector.

  The first reading of the banns had been successful. Two more weeks, two more readings, and he’d have kept his promise to Louisa and they could marry. You must proceed with haste in courting Lady Louisa. You must win the lady over.

  Perhaps, if he were fortunate enough to win her over, he wouldn’t feel such pressing guilt.

  Two weeks seemed an eternity.

  * * *

  “You’re very quiet this afternoon,” Louisa said.

  “What?” Blast, William thought. He should be conversing with her when he was with her, not analyzing the ethics of what he was doing. Or thinking about kissing—

  “I said, you’re very quiet this afternoon,” she repeated. “Even more so than usual, I daresay.”

  “Forgive me,” was his pathetic reply.

  After surviving the first reading of the banns, William had invited Louisa for a drive in Hyde Park before returning her to Ashworth House. Amazingly, she’d agreed. William suspected it’d had more to do with maintaining appearances than any desire she might have had to spend time with him. He, however, hadn’t been ready to return her to the protective arms of her parents—or her brothers, who’d both looked quite menacing during the church services. He longed—