Wager for a Wife Page 11

  “You are the most aggravating person,” she muttered, interrupting his wandering thoughts once again. “I am trying desperately to understand you, but how I’m to accomplish it when you tell me virtually nothing, I’ll never know.”

  They were nearing the park. Once inside the gates, she would be busy once again, greeting her many friends and chatting with all and sundry who went to see and be seen in Hyde Park in the afternoons—Louisa was not only exquisitely lovely, but she was also well-liked, he’d quickly learned, which would allow William to sit back quietly and watch. He would be free of her demands for conversation and her questions about his past. To be successful, one does not give away what is in his hand all at once, nor does he allow his face to reflect what he holds at any time.

  William despised wagering. His father’s vices had killed his mother day by torturous day. And yet his father’s words had become ingrained nonetheless. He could still feel the burning welts on his back that he’d received as a boy whenever he’d succumbed—as his father had been wont to say—to “emotional outbursts.”

  They had barely passed through the park entrance when Louisa’s hand moved to his thigh briefly before returning to her own lap. His eye traveled from her hand to her face, void of its color, to the source of her distress.

  William had seen the distinguished-looking gentleman before. Today, he was elegantly dressed and seated in a dashingly turned-out barouche, a beautiful and lively female companion by his side.

  The Earl of Kerridge.

  William went cold all over.

  The earl was obviously exceedingly wealthy, his carriage and horses of the finest quality. As the barouche drew up alongside William’s gig, William felt a fierce stab of resentment and jealousy.

  “Lady Louisa, what a pleasant surprise to cross paths with you this afternoon. Lovely day, is it not?” Lord Kerridge said. “But surely you know Miss Hughes.”

  William shifted the reins into his far hand and placed his other over Louisa’s fist. He’d heard of Miss Belinda Hughes. She was an heiress and a wealthy young lady, in her own right.

  “I am indeed acquainted with Miss Hughes,” Louisa said. “How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you.” Miss Hughes shot Lord Kerridge a distinctive look that William knew was intended to point out her own good fortune at Louisa’s expense.

  “Perhaps you would do us the honor of an introduction?” Lord Kerridge asked, gesturing subtly toward William.

  “Oh. Of course,” Louisa said. “Lord Kerridge, Miss Hughes, allow me to present Viscount Farleigh. Lord Farleigh, the Earl of Kerridge and Miss Belinda Hughes.”

  “Your betrothed Viscount Farleigh, I understand,” Lord Kerridge said in what could only be considered a dig at Louisa. “My felicitations.”

  “Thank you,” Louisa said in a muted voice.

  “I am the most fortunate of men,” William interjected, wishing he were more adept at polite conversation so he could smooth over the awkwardness of the situation for her.

  “Indeed,” the earl replied with a cool glance at Louisa, who dropped her eyes. “Well. I have promised this young lady an ice at Gunter’s, so we must be on our way. Good afternoon Lady Louisa, Farleigh.” He turned the barouche with accomplished ease. The man was a dab hand with the reins as well; blast him for all his perfections.

  It was apparent to William that despite the earl’s hauteur, the man’s pride had been wounded by what had happened. Louisa had accepted Lord Kerridge’s proposal, and William’s actions had made an end of it, so Lord Kerridge had made a point of showing her he had moved on quickly from his attachment to her.

  William’s actions, on the other hand, were taking her from a loving family and marriage to a man she loved, who had promised her wealth and rank and security, to a dwindling estate wracked with debt and no guarantee it would be anything more than that. William’s envy of their former attachment matched the guilt he felt.

  He watched Louisa watch the earl’s barouche as it wove its way through the other carriages holding other lofty members of the ton. Miss Hughes turned around briefly and waved at Louisa, the little cat.

  “I must go,” Louisa whispered when the barouche faded from sight at last. “Please take me home.”

  “Of course,” William said.

  They rode through Mayfair in silence.

  Chapter 7

  “Wake up, Louisa. Up, up!” Mama’s voice roused Louisa from a blessed sleep devoid of dreams—and betrothals.

  Louisa pulled the blankets over her head.

  “The Duchess of Atherton is calling today, and I expect you to join me in entertaining her. You’ve hidden yourself away since Sunday.”

  “It’s only Tuesday.”

  “That’s not the point. Tibbetts, keep her awake and get her dressed for the day, and send for tea and toast.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “One half hour, Louisa, and you had better be downstairs with me.”

  Louisa peeked her head out from beneath the blankets to see Mama marching toward the door. “I’d really prefer not to, if you don’t mind, Mama. I don’t feel well at all.”

  Mama stopped and turned. “Tibbetts, please leave us.”

  “Yes, milady.” Once Tibbetts was gone, Mama sat on the edge of the bed and drew the blankets completely away from Louisa’s face.

  “Are you ill?” She laid a hand across Louisa’s forehead. “No fever, at least,” she said. “Shall I call for the doctor? Oh, I wish Mrs. Shaw were here instead of at Ashworth Park. I’m sure she could produce an herbal remedy to help you feel better.”

  “I’m not ill, really, but . . . Mama, did you always love Papa?” Louisa asked.

  Mama closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Ah, I see. I should have known, shouldn’t I? You seemed so sure of your decision and have handled yourself so admirably, I didn’t allow myself to think that perhaps you were merely putting on a brave face. Perhaps I didn’t want to see anything else.” She stroked Louisa’s hair away from her forehead, and Louisa wished she were a young girl again when Mama did such things frequently, as if brushing away all the childhood cares of the day. She turned her cheek to rest against Mama’s palm and closed her eyes. “Did you love Papa back then?” she asked again in a low voice.

  “I had a certain regard for him,” she replied, “and that grew into an affection and then into love.”

  “Did he love you?”

  “Oh, Louisa, such questions! It was years ago.”

  “I know nothing about him, Mama.” She meant Viscount Farleigh, not Papa, but Mama would know that.

  Mama said nothing, just continued to stroke Louisa’s forehead. “Marriage is a fickle thing, Louisa, especially amongst the noble ranks. A couple can think themselves in love and then grow to despise each other—but the opposite is equally as true. But this is a conversation that needs to occur when we have more time. Visiting with the duchess will do you a world of good. She’s excellent company, as you well know.”

  She patted Louisa’s shoulder. “Besides, the duke doesn’t refer to her as The General for nothing. She’s more skilled than Lady Putnam at sifting through gossip, and she’s infinitely more discreet. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she has discerned a thing or two about your Lord Farleigh.”

  “He’s not my Lord Farleigh,” Louisa grumbled.

  “Nevertheless, we shall welcome the Duchess of Atherton, and we shall see if we come away with any knowledge about your betrothed. For—”

  “For it is what the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth would do.”

  “Precisely. Ah, here is Tibbetts back again, and if my nose does not deceive me, she brought you chocolate rather than the tea I ordered.”

  “Begging your pardon, milady—” Tibbetts began, blushing.

  “She knows I prefer chocolate to tea, Mama.”

  “Enjoy your chocolate, then.” She rose. “I shall be waiting for you downstairs in a half hour’s time. Make sure she eats, Tibbetts. I want her at he
r very best when we entertain the duchess.”

  And so it was that a half hour later, Louisa was dutifully sitting with Mama and the Duchess of Atherton in the dayroom, Mama’s favorite room. It was a cheerful room, decorated in pale pinks and greens, with cozy upholstered sofas and chairs, the sort of chairs one would wish to curl up in with a book on a rainy day—or any day, for that matter.

  “I’m so pleased that dear Louisa is with us today, Eleanor,” the duchess said as Mama rang for tea to be served. “Such news! I can hardly wait for you to share the details.” The Duchess of Atherton had come out with Mama, and they had remained close friends over the years.

  “Indeed. Ah, John, there you are. Tea, please.”

  The footman bowed and left.

  “What a surprise for us all to hear the announcement of your betrothal at the Meltons’ assembly last week, Louisa,” the duchess said, not being one to beat around the bush.

  Louisa glanced at Mama, unsure how to proceed.

  Mama simply returned Louisa’s look with a raised eyebrow and a nod, which, translated, meant, “This is for you to explain, not me.”

  Louisa opened her mouth to speak, although what she intended to say, she wasn’t entirely sure—

  “Here you are, my dear!” Papa poked his head through the door. “I’ve been looking for you—what ho! We have a guest, I see! Always a pleasure to see you, Your Grace.” He strode across the room and bowed over the duchess’s hand and then gave Mama a kiss on the cheek.

  Louisa blinked at the sight. A kiss, even on the cheek, was a highly intimate thing for him to do in front of company, even an old friend such as the duchess. And yet it also warmed Louisa’s heart to see them share their love for each other so openly.

  “The combined beauty in this room quite eclipses the sun,” Papa said.

  “You’re laying it on thick, Ashworth,” Mama said with twinkling eyes.

  He laughed. “Not in the least, my dear, I assure you.”

  “I am here to learn all about Louisa’s betrothal to Viscount Farleigh.” Once again, the duchess cut through the small talk to get to the point.

  “Ah, yes,” Papa murmured, becoming a bit more serious.

  “We had expected an announcement of some sort to be forthcoming, you know, but I daresay we were all caught by surprise.”

  “Life does tend to offer its share of surprises, does it not?” Papa glanced over his shoulder as the footman brought in the tea service. “Here is your tea, ladies. I shall, therefore, excuse myself, as this conversation cannot be enhanced by the presence of a lowly male.” He bowed and left.

  It appeared to Louisa as if he couldn’t escape quickly enough when he realized what the topic of conversation was to be.

  “Milk or lemon, Martha?” Mama asked.

  “Milk, please.”

  While Mama set about pouring tea, Louisa reflected on what she’d observed about the Duke and Duchess of Atherton over the years.

  The duke and duchess’s affection for each other was no pretense, just as her parents’ love for each other was also obvious to her. It should make her feel better to know there were married couples within the highest levels of Society who actually loved each other. Such emotions were often frowned upon and were rarely even considered when brokering marriages—and yet Louisa had always yearned for such a match.

  It was utterly discouraging, she thought as she sipped her tea, to think of spending her entire life with an indifferent partner.

  “Viscount Farleigh has been on everyone’s tongues the past several days,” the duchess said. She took a small bite of biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. “I vaguely remember his father, the former viscount. I saw him on a few occasions over the years, but we were never introduced.” Her tone implied that the former Viscount Farleigh’s reputation would have prevented him from having any personal connection to the duke and duchess. “Handsome man, when he was younger—” Meaning, he hadn’t aged well. Louisa had spent enough time with Mama in the duchess’s company to infer the real meaning behind what she was saying.

  “I was rather hoping, Martha, if I may be so bold . . .” Mama’s words trailed off.

  “Yes?” the duchess said before taking a sip of tea.

  “Well, Louisa is my only daughter, as you know, and . . .”

  The duchess took another bite of biscuit, obviously waiting for Mama to dig herself out of the hole she was making for herself.

  “I am not nearly as adept at . . . um . . .” Mama threw her hands in the air and gave up speaking altogether.

  “Leave off, Eleanor. I take your meaning and am not insulted in the least. It takes a certain skill and a bit of luck to be privy to idle chatter without actually being called a gossip. It also helps that I’m a duchess, and people seem to think providing me with juicy information is a coup of some sort.”

  She dabbed at her chin with her napkin before continuing. “The Earl of Kerridge, whom we all expected Louisa to marry, is the catch of the Season,” the duchess continued. “As rich as Croesus, incredibly handsome, and Aylesham’s heir, to boot. A future duke who isn’t round about the middle and still has all his hair is a rare commodity—and he was Louisa’s for the plucking, from what I saw and heard.” She looked directly at Louisa with gimlet eyes.

  How was she to respond? She couldn’t simply blurt out that she’d been won in a wager. No one could know of those circumstances beyond the few who already did, and heaven forbid those few share their knowledge with anyone else. Louisa bit her lip, holding back the words and looking at Mama in panic, passing the responsibility back to her.

  Mama cleared her throat. “Sadly, Martha, they ultimately did not suit,” she said rather unconvincingly. Her eyes flickered back toward Louisa as though she knew she’d failed; it would never be enough to satisfy The General.

  “‘Did not suit,’ you say? I’m sorry, Eleanor, but you must do better than that.” The duchess set her cup and saucer down with a clatter. “There is no conceivable reason why the two of them wouldn’t suit; in fact, I heard the marriage contracts were very nearly complete. Try again.” She folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  Mama actually began wringing her hands. “I don’t know quite what to say. There was a prior . . .” Mama stopped speaking and stood to pace about the room.

  Louisa, by contrast, sat frozen in place, a terrifying bubble forming in her chest.

  “There was a prior . . . what? A prior understanding with Farleigh? I was given to believe the viscount was nearly a complete stranger before he arrived in Town so recently. But if there was an understanding, why would marriage contracts have been drawn up, and why would you be here hoping I know anything—” Her brows furrowed with confusion. “I’m at a total loss.”

  The bubble inside Louisa was pressing against her heart and lungs now until she could barely breathe. And it grew bigger and bigger still until it continued up her throat to her lips—and then it burst. “Lord Farleigh won me in a wager,” Louisa blurted out, then threw her hands over her mouth as if to force the words back inside.

  “What?” The duchess’s eyes doubled in size, and she whirled to look at Mama.

  Mama collapsed into the nearest sofa as if Louisa’s words had taken her breath away too. She nodded weakly, laying a hand over her eyes.

  “Good heavens!” the duchess exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Mama replied.

  There was nothing for it now that Louisa had spoken the words aloud. “Lord Farleigh won the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth in a wager. That is to say, the former Lord Farleigh made a wager with my grandfather in which he bet a future daughter of the marquess. The wording was all rather . . . conveniently vague and . . . surprisingly legitimate . . . and suddenly, there I was, not betrothed and then betrothed again, and, and . . .” And Louisa could tell that, once again, she was beginning to babble.

  “Oh, my poor girl!” The duchess rose and moved to the chair closest to Louisa, wrapping her in a hug and patting her back over and over again. “It
goes without saying, Eleanor, that Louisa’s words won’t leave this room. Oh dear, oh dear.”

  “So you see, Martha, why any knowledge you can provide would be a great help. My only daughter is to marry a total stranger, a stranger who descends from an entirely despicable character. And yet, Louisa feels honor bound to do it.”

  “Well, I am quite without words for the moment.”

  “You would have done the same, I daresay,” Louisa replied. “There is a reason you are called The General. I daresay women are no less honorable than men.”

  “Louisa!” Mama exclaimed, aghast.

  The duchess waved off Louisa’s comment. “I know very well what I am called. Eleanor, and I’m quite proud of it, actually, considering what other options there may have been. I hope you are right, Louisa, that if I were in a position to make such a difficult choice, I would choose honor over my personal feelings. We’ll never know though, will we?” she said. “Hypotheticals provide little of value, in my opinion. Very well. I daresay I’ve heard nothing as of yet about the son, but the father, well, that’s a different matter altogether . . . I shall tell you what I know about the man and what little I have heard—”

  There was a discreet knock on the door, interrupting the duchess, and then John entered once again, this time bearing a salver with a calling card on it. “Lady Putnam and Miss Harriet Putnam to see you, Lady Ashworth,” he said.

  The duchess shook her head. “It needed only this. Well, I daresay you’ll hear everything and then some about Lord Farleigh now,” she said.

  “Send them in, John,” Mama said with a sigh. “Send them in.”

  * * *

  Now that the first of the banns had been read, William needed to travel to Farleigh Manor so preparations could be made for the arrival of its future mistress, albeit he’d been reluctant to leave London as of yet.

  It was not an exaggeration to say Louisa had been deeply upset by their chance and unfortunate encounter with Lord Kerridge on Sunday. William doubted the Earl of Kerridge would consider Belinda Hughes, a mere “miss,” an appropriate wife for the heir of the Duke of Aylesham; it had been obvious that Louisa had been too upset to come to the same conclusion during their encounter.