Wager for a Wife Page 15

  She gasped and fought to regain her composure. “You honor me, sir, but I cannot,” she said.

  “Hush,” he said. He took her hand in his. “There is no need to answer me tonight. I only ask that you consider what I am saying and understand that there is another path you may take, another offer of marriage that is open to you. I admit I was angry when you broke our betrothal—”

  “Oh—”

  “But,” he interjected, “I have had the past week or so to think about what happened, and I am no longer angry—and even commend you for your courage and your willingness to do what you believe to be honorable. I forgive you. Tonight, the opportunity arose for me to have this private moment with you and to urge you toward caution and let you know that you have another choice. Cease this foolishness, Lady Louisa. The ton will soon forget you had this lapse in judgment.”

  “What of Miss Hughes?” Louisa managed to ask.

  He smiled. “Were you jealous, then? Miss Hughes is a delightful young lady, and I have enjoyed getting to know her. But regardless of her fine qualities, she is hardly suitable to be the wife of a future duke.” He turned serious again. “Very few young ladies are, you know. You are the rare exception.”

  There was a noise outside the door, and he quickly arose, just before Lord and Lady Melton entered the box. “Good evening, Lady Melton, Lord Melton,” Lord Kerridge greeted them. He looked once again at Louisa. “Think on what I said.” He bowed to them and left.

  Oh, Lord Kerridge should not have come into the box to speak to her. He should not. But she had given him permission. She had felt an obligation to listen to him and hear him out. He’d had time to think about things, he’d said. Louisa knew what it was like to be confronted with unexpected news—news that changed the course of one’s life. She knew it took time to sort through thoughts and feelings and come to some sort of conclusion. She had owed it to him.

  She had not expected to hear what he’d said, however. And he had not allowed her to reply; he had left the offer open, unresolved. And he had forgiven her, he’d said, for her “lapse in judgment.”

  She drew in a few breaths to steady herself. The normal Louisa would be pacing the corridors of the theater and wringing her hands and undoubtedly chattering unceasingly and nonsensically to whoever was nearby. But tonight, she was a guest of the Meltons, and she wouldn’t, for the world, do or say anything to distress them—or to divulge what Lord Kerridge had said.

  She heard and saw nothing during the second half of the performance, so focused she was at keeping her emotions hidden from the others. Much like William always did.

  What an illuminating thought.

  Chapter 9

  William spent the morning visiting the tenant farms, accompanied by Matthew, whom he subsequently saw in a different light—with the eyes of a nobleman who had responsibilities and not as a boy looking for a father figure.

  Matthew must have been but a young man when he began working at Farleigh Manor, for he appeared to be only of middle years now, not at all like Grimshaw, who looked as old as Methuselah and always had. Matthew was strong and capable, and William had always known him to be trustworthy. Today, he discovered that Matthew had been essentially acting as steward, as there had been no one else to take on the task once the prior steward had absconded. Unbeknownst to William, Matthew had received a fairly decent education as a youth—he could read and write and add columns of numbers with impressive competence, and he also had a keen eye and creative mind when it came to the estate and what was needed to make it prosperous once again. He also knew all the tenants well—those who had remained—and had a good working relationship with them.

  William had no difficulty offering the job to him. “Sadly, Matthew, I cannot dismiss you from your responsibilities as groundskeeper just yet,” he said when they completed their tour. “I am asking you to do both for the time being, and for the same pay you currently receive, which I presume has been next to nothing for the past while. But I believe that between the two of us—with help from Samuel and the others—we can, over time, return Farleigh Manor to a state of respectability, at the very least.”

  Matthew shook William’s hand and agreed with enthusiasm to the pathetic offer he’d been given. It was a great relief. Then William said goodbye to everyone and left Farleigh Manor for London, knowing there was someone in charge of the estate while he was gone, someone he trusted to see to its best interests and those of the people there.

  It had been a busy and instructive morning, and William had arisen early to make sure he had time to assess everything. He should be tired, especially as he had a long ride back to London, but the glimpses of hope he’d had at Farleigh Manor had given him a sense of optimism and a renewed sense of energy.

  Were it not for the mortgages on the property, Farleigh Manor could be thriving, albeit modestly, within four or five years.

  Were it not for the mortgages, he could—and would—release Louisa from the vowel. He was not mercenary by nature. He had no driving need to be vastly wealthy, well connected, or highly esteemed by his peers beyond being recognized as a decent and honorable man—the opposite of what his father had been. He’d been happy enough in Edinburgh, where he had been able to sit at the feet of some of the greatest minds in both Scotland and England and hear and even discuss their ideas on engineering, economy, medicine, law, and the like. But life could not be as it had been. There was no going back.

  William liked to think that even as a penniless, unknown viscount, he could have endured the Season and the London marriage mart and found a bride, perhaps even in short order. It would have been possible, even probable. Under normal circumstances, he would never have considered forcing a young lady into marriage against her will.

  But any other young lady would not have been Louisa.

  He had told her he would escort her to Vauxhall this evening, and he intended to keep his word. He was finding himself drawn to her more and more, to her openness of speech and expression. It beguiled him, and yet he was also uneasy about it. Sharing so much of one’s self was a prelude to disappointment and betrayal and hurt, in his experience. And yet it seemed he couldn’t resist the pull of it, or her either. He reminded himself again that he had not forced Louisa into this betrothal. He had given her a choice.

  If only he could believe what he was telling himself.

  He arrived back in London with the barest amount of time to wash and dress before taking a hackney to Ashworth House. The Marquess of Ashworth had offered his carriage since he and the marchioness were to accompany them as chaperones. William took a deep breath as he approached the front door and then stopped on the threshold to straighten his clothing and smooth his demeanor before rapping the knocker on the door. The butler greeted him formally and showed him to the sitting room, where the others were already awaiting his arrival.

  “Ah, you’re here,” the marquess said, rising to his feet and shaking William’s hand. “When Louisa told us of your quick trip to Buckinghamshire, I wasn’t sure you’d arrive back in time.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” William replied. He turned to the ladies. “A pleasure to see you again, Lady Ashworth, Louisa.”

  Both ladies returned his greeting, but he immediately sensed that something was off in Louisa’s demeanor, that she seemed subdued despite smiling when she’d greeted him. What could have caused it? He’d been gone only a day, and they had parted on excellent terms, if her response to his kiss had been any indication. Her request that he be more forthcoming with her had been agreeably made, and he had promised he would be—as much as he dared, he’d silently added to himself. Had she regretted the kiss, then? He hoped not; he wanted to kiss her again.

  Within a few minutes, they were all in the carriage and on their way to Vauxhall. Conversation was polite and dealt mostly with the weather, which had been unusually fine and was this evening as well. Lord Ashworth asked him about Buckinghamshire in general terms. They eventually arrived at their destination, yet i
t seemed to William that the carriage ride must have surely taken longer than his ride into London this afternoon, so impatient was he to spend time alone with Louisa.

  She had said nothing during the entire journey.

  “Have you been to Vauxhall Gardens before?” he asked her while he assisted her from the carriage.

  “No, and I am excited to be here. I’ve heard such fascinating stories,” she said distractedly. She seemed anything but excited, from William’s point of view—at least not in the way he typically expected her to be.

  It was full dark by the time they arrived, and the hundreds of lamps that hung in the trees and elsewhere—and that Vauxhall was famous for—spilled their light, creating a fantasy world of illumination and shadow. William took in the surroundings. The faintest of orchestral melodies occasionally broke through the murmur of the guests. The trees and flowers gave up their earthy scents and mingled with the perfumes of London’s elite.

  “Oh my,” Louisa exclaimed as she looked about her. “It is even better than I could have imagined.”

  Perhaps the atmosphere of the gardens would restore her to her usual self, William thought hopefully. Perhaps he’d only been imagining things. One did not have to be effusive every minute of the day and night, after all, and certainly Louisa was no exception.

  They walked onward, down the tree-lined avenue toward the orchestra building. The marquess and marchioness had gone on ahead of them, greeting friends and peers, and were soon lost in the crowds of people who had come to take in the amusements the garden had to offer. They had arranged to meet in an hour’s time at the supper box the marquess had reserved.

  William recognized very few people, only those he’d met since returning after his father’s death. Louisa walked beside him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, and introduced him to her acquaintances as they passed. He doubted he would remember any of their names, but then, he doubted Louisa would be able to call any of them to mind if he asked her, so detached she seemed from the conversations taking place around her.

  She was most certainly not herself. There was no use pretending. He needed to discover what had upset her.

  They continued on down the grand avenue and into the heart of Vauxhall Gardens.

  * * *

  Louisa relied upon years of training to smile and converse and introduce William to her acquaintances as they strolled toward the orchestra building. She could barely put names to faces or even recall what anyone—including herself—had said.

  She’d hardly slept a wink last night after Lord Kerridge had spoken to her at the theater. She had gone through the conversation so many times during the night that she knew it by heart and could recall every expression on Lord Kerridge’s face. She was exhausted—and not merely from lack of sleep. Her entire being felt at war with itself, a myriad questions demanding answers until her head throbbed.

  “He is an utter unknown—except for the reputation of his pater, who was a walking scandal, as you well know. End this sham of a betrothal, which is based solely upon other men’s follies. Marry me.”

  He’d told her Society would forget her “lapse in judgment” and that he’d forgiven her. Forgiven her. Forgiven her.

  Why was it that men could bring their mistresses to the theater and duel and feel obligated to fulfill their debts of honor, and yet, when she had chosen the honorable thing, she’d apparently had a “lapse in judgment”? When she’d felt compelled by honor to fulfill the terms of the vowel, she was the one who needed forgiveness?

  Her entire body fairly vibrated from the pressure building inside her.

  “Louisa!”

  She and William both turned in unison to see who had called her name. It was Alex, which was a total surprise, as he’d not indicated he would be at Vauxhall this evening—and he was not alone. Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Marwood, was on his arm.

  “Look who has been released from the schoolroom to enjoy an evening in company for a change, Weezy,” Alex drawled.

  “Elizabeth!” Louisa exclaimed as they embraced. Elizabeth was but fifteen years of age, but Louisa had met her on several occasions.

  “I could not believe it,” Elizabeth said excitedly, “when Papa himself said I was invited to join Lord Halford and your parents this evening! He knew you were all to be here and said it would be a good opportunity for me to further my acquaintance with Lord Halford. Under strict chaperonage, of course.” She turned her head, and Louisa’s gaze followed hers to the girl’s parents not far away, watching them closely.

  “The strictest of chaperones, I daresay,” Alex said with a complaisant shrug of his shoulders, obviously not worried at all. “Lizzie, allow me to present Louisa’s betrothed, Viscount Farleigh. Farleigh, this is Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Marwood—who has not yet made her come-out.” Elizabeth looked up at him with sparkling eyes.

  “An honor, Lady Elizabeth,” William said, extending a gracious bow to her.

  Alex’s eyes flickered in the direction of his parents. “And it seems we are being summoned, Lizzie; duty calls. A supper of thinly sliced ham awaits.” He sighed dramatically. “It is a good thing I ate a hearty supper before coming here. I hope you all did the same.” They strolled off to join the duke and duchess.

  “I take it theirs is an arranged marriage,” William murmured.

  “Yes,” Louisa said. “The Duke of Marwood has been promoting the match since they were born.” Seeing Lady Elizabeth reminded Louisa of their similar and yet very different circumstances. At least she and Alex had been given time to accustom themselves to the idea, and an affection of sorts had grown between them, unlike her own present situation.

  “Thinly sliced ham?” William asked her, looking comically as if he’d just received a death sentence.

  “Apparently so. I suspect Alex will be returning Lady Elizabeth home early, which would be why they’re eating now. May we walk and take in more of the sights?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” he replied. “I must build up my appetite for the thinly sliced ham.”

  She puffed out a breath at his little joke. She really wasn’t in the mood for light humor.

  William led her away to stroll down a less crowded path near a wooded area of Vauxhall. Louisa had heard these wooded areas were designed for couples seeking privacy—and from what she could now see, they could do it quite successfully. She suspected many gentlemen had traipsed these wooded areas with ladies over the years.

  She wouldn’t think about it.

  She didn’t want to think about any of it.

  “What’s troubling you, Louisa?” William asked her. “All seemed well enough between us when I left you yesterday. I thought we had reached an understanding.”

  Louisa looked about. They were out of earshot of anyone, but probably for the first time in her life, she was unwilling to open her mouth. She was afraid that if she spoke, a Pandora’s box of hurt and resentment and angry questions would be released and would never be contained again. “Nothing is troubling me,” she lied. “I don’t know where you got such an absurd notion.”

  * * *

  Something had definitely upset Louisa since he’d left her yesterday. She was behaving wholly out of character.

  On impulse, he grabbed her hand and pulled her none too gently toward a path that led into one of the denser wooded areas.

  “People are watching,” she said, trying to pull her hand from his grasp.

  “Then don’t struggle. You’ll only draw more attention to us.”

  “I’m not struggling!”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She stopped trying to yank her hand free, and he led her into the trees with as much decorum as he could. The narrow path twisted and turned, and soon they were well away from anyone—and possibly lost. William did not care.

  He turned her to face him. “Talk,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to say,” she replied.

  “With yo
u, there is always something to say.”

  That was all the prompting she needed. “How dare you!” she hissed, slapping him hard across the face. “This is nothing to you, is it? You have your bride and her dowry. You have everything you bargained for, with no consideration for my feelings at all. And then you have the temerity to insult me as well, at the worst possible moment. I hate you! I hate you both! I hate you all!”

  This was better, he thought as he rubbed his stinging cheek. Punishment for his crime. He clasped her upper arms and held her firmly, thwarting her attempts to wriggle free. “Keep talking,” he said, though her words would be painful to hear.

  She glared at him with those magnificent blue eyes of hers. He needn’t have urged her to speak, because now that she’d begun, the words tumbled from her unbidden. “You want me to keep talking? Very well. You have your wish, my lord, and I despise you for it. You came into my life waving an old piece of paper claiming a debt is owed because two loathsome gentlemen”—she spat the word—“had the stupidity or the conceit not to realize that whatever they placed in writing might possibly have a bearing on someone other than their wretched selves. If my grandfather were alive, I would spit in his face.

  “But let us leave the dead out of this for the moment. They have gone to their Maker, and He will hold them accountable for their actions since I cannot. And now there are two other gentlemen whose sole purpose in pursuing me is for their own selfish interests. Not for love. Not because they have any consideration for me as a person. There is not much difference between them and the first two, is there?”

  William felt her accusations like deep cuts from a blade, his throat tight with emotion. Never had the word gentlemen held so much condemnation. He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe her.

  She shook herself free of his touch. “I am also trying to understand who you are in an attempt to understand my future, but you tell me nothing!” she cried. “You wear a mask so fixed I cannot tell if you are happy or angry or bored or amused. I could list what I know about you on the fingers of one hand.”