Wager for a Wife Page 4

  The earl’s kiss had awakened a different sort of awareness in her—one she wasn’t completely capable of putting into words. Perhaps he would kiss her again today so she could understand it better.

  She was reasonably certain she would enjoy it if he did.

  “Louisa?”

  She blinked. The earl was waiting for an answer to something with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sorry. I must have been woolgathering.”

  “So I surmised.” He smiled. He had a handsome smile—a perfect smile, like the heir to a duke should have. “May I join you on the sofa?” he asked.

  “Oh, assuredly you may.” What a ninny she was being! She scooted over a bit, making more room for him on the sofa, and he sat by her, more closely than she’d expected, ratcheting up her heartbeat again. “Would you care for another biscuit?” she asked, unsure what else to say. “Or more tea? I can ring to have a fresh pot—”

  “No, thank you.” He paused, and Louisa held her breath. “Louisa,” he said at last. “My dear, you must have noticed my particular attention to you over the past few weeks. I think I am not being presumptuous when I claim that you have received this attention favorably.”

  “Yes,” was all she managed to say. She swallowed.

  His eyebrows wrinkled. “Yes, I am being presumptuous?”

  “No—I mean, yes, I have received your attentions favorably. And no, you are not being presumptuous.” If she wasn’t careful, she could end up being the first young lady in British history to botch a proposal.

  His face smoothed with relief—and probably humor. Louisa chose not to analyze it too closely. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “If that is truly so, then . . .” He slipped off the sofa gracefully onto one knee, and Louisa stopped breathing altogether. “I would consider it the greatest honor if you would agree to be my countess and my future duchess.” He reached for her hand and turned it slowly, dropping the lightest of kisses on her wrist, of all places, completely catching her off-guard and making her tremble.

  There. There it was. He’d proposed marriage. He was looking up at her, still on bended knee, his eyes dark with intensity, waiting . . .

  “I will,” she said.

  He smiled. “You have made me the happiest of men, my dear,” he answered. He rose and resumed his place next to her on the sofa. “I shall speak to your father, then. We will begin negotiations on the marriage settlement straightaway, if that pleases you.”

  “Shouldn’t it?” she asked.

  “I certainly hope it should. After I speak with your father this afternoon, I shall inform my solicitors and Aylesham’s to meet with the Ashworth solicitor. I don’t believe it will take too long to hammer out the arrangements. We should be able to announce the betrothal within a week or two.” He studied her face; Louisa had no idea what he saw there. “You’re disappointed.”

  “Not at all. I’m very happy.”

  “Good. I am too. Perhaps I may steal a kiss before we are intruded upon by your parents.”

  “I should like that,” she said.

  He leaned toward her and pressed his lips to hers, lingering, feathering his fingers along the line of her jaw before ending the kiss and moving back.

  “I can hear your parents coming,” he murmured.

  “What?” She blinked and sat up straight, quickly placing her hands—which had strayed to his shoulders—in her lap. There was a soft knock at the door before it opened, and her father stepped inside, followed by her mother, who was biting her upper lip as though she might cry.

  “I believe I was summoned,” her father said, looking every inch the marquess that he was.

  Lord Kerridge rose to his feet and bowed. “Yes, your lordship. I was hoping I might beg a few minutes of your time.”

  “Certainly. If you ladies will excuse us, it appears the Earl of Kerridge and I have business to discuss.”

  And just like that, Louisa found herself betrothed.

  * * *

  Louisa did not see Lord Kerridge at all the day following their betrothal. He sent her a note, accompanied by another large bouquet of roses, informing her that, regretfully, he would be spending the day with the Duke of Aylesham and their solicitors, hammering out the tedious details of the marriage agreement, which her father’s solicitor would then need to review and approve.

  Tedious, indeed.

  She stayed home, feeling unsettled. How was one to go on calls or take a stroll through Hyde Park or visit with friends and acquaintances when one was betrothed and yet not officially betrothed? People had seen her in company with Lord Kerridge and would undoubtedly ask her about him. Their betrothal wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t to be made public yet either. Until the Duke of Aylesham’s solicitors had met with her father’s solicitors and ironed out all the particulars on both sides, it would be imprudent to say anything to anyone.

  It wasn’t that she felt she couldn’t converse with people and tactfully avoid the subjects of betrothal and Lord Kerridge and such. It was just that the entire business seemed exactly that. Business.

  Which was silly because marriage was business. Critical business for anyone but especially for the nobility, who held lands and estates and fortunes that must be protected for posterity. Louisa understood all that. It had been ingrained in her since childhood.

  And yet, today, her betrothal felt rather anticlimactic.

  Never one to sit still, however, she found things to do to keep busy throughout the day. She read. She practiced the pianoforte. She sat with her mother and did needlework until she thought her eyes would cross. She read some more.

  Later that afternoon, she received another note from Lord Kerridge, apologizing once again for his absence and inviting her and her parents to join him at the theater the following evening.

  The negotiations are progressing, his letter said, but not at the speed with which I had hoped. We must be patient awhile longer, dear Louisa, before we may share our joyful news with others.

  Since the marriage contracts involved three of the most highly ranked noblemen in England, she supposed this must be the usual way of things, and as such, she must be patient.

  She decided to take her supper in her room and then retired to bed early.

  It seemed she had barely fallen asleep when she awoke with a start the next morning as her mother opened her curtains and the midday sun struck her full in the face. “It is past time you got up,” Mama said. “Regardless of the negotiations the solicitors must undertake, you and I still have a wedding to plan. Up you go, now.”

  Louisa moaned and rolled to her side, an arm thrown over her face to protect her eyes from the glaring sun.

  “Are you ill?” Mama asked. “Is that why you excused yourself last evening?” She sat on the side of the bed. “Truly, Louisa, are you unwell?”

  “No, Mama, I’m fine. I just need a moment. What time is it?”

  “It’s past noon.”

  Louisa sat up abruptly. Gracious, she’d slept for an age! “Tibbetts,” she called to her maid, who immediately bustled into the room. “Quickly, draw my bath. And can you please—”

  “Toast and chocolate are on their way, milady, as I took the liberty when I saw her ladyship enter your room.”

  “That’s a relief, for I’ve certainly overslept breakfast. I can’t believe how late it is. I must wash my hair, and we must discuss how to style it for this evening, and I need to choose a gown—something that doesn’t look like it should rain at any minute, and—”

  “I don’t understand why you’re in such a state of anxiety, darling. One would almost think you were more nervous about attending the theater with Lord Kerridge tonight than you were for the Wilmington ball. Your gown for that was exquisite, and you should not take your brothers’ teasing to heart that way.”

  Louisa was not in the mood to tell her mother that Lady Wilmington and even Lord Kerridge had made similar cloud comments about her gown.

  “At any rate, Louisa,” Mama continued, “I do suggest you hurry wit
h your morning routine. It would be a good idea to have a few wedding details in place that you can discuss with Lord Kerridge this evening. The gentlemen may argue all they wish about marriage this and marriage that, but it is the womenfolk who see to the actual event. I shall meet you in my sitting room in an hour’s time.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  One hour later, Louisa dutifully arrived at her mother’s favorite sitting room, where the two of them discussed her nuptials to Lord Kerridge. “We must be assured of Lord Kerridge’s approval in all of this, of course, not to mention that of the Duke and Duchess of Aylesham, who will undoubtedly wish it to be a grand affair.”

  Their efforts during the afternoon raised a flurry of questions in Louisa’s mind. Would the marriage take place in London? At Lord Kerridge’s estate in Devon? Or at one of the duke’s vast holdings? What was to be eaten at the banquet to follow, and who was to attend? And then there were flowers and travel arrangements and guest accommodations and on and on and on. Louisa felt completely overwhelmed.

  “Don’t worry,” Mama told her reassuringly. “It sounds a bit much at present, and it’s true that most weddings needn’t concern themselves with the preferences of a duke and duchess in addition to everything else, but it will all work out well and happily. You’ll see.”

  Louisa hoped so.

  Eventually, Mama put the list aside and sat back, satisfied that they’d at least made a decent start, which was a good thing, for it was past time they concluded in order for her to prepare for the theater.

  Louisa chose a demure gown of dark-blue silk with silver embroidery on the bodice, rather than one of the lighter-colored gowns young girls usually wore during their come-out season. She sat at her dressing table and studied her reflection in the mirror, finally deciding she looked acceptable, even if the color was still high in her cheeks. She realized she was looking forward to seeing Lord Kerridge again. She wondered how the marriage contract negotiations were progressing and if he would approve of the plans she and Mama had drawn up thus far.

  She wondered if he would kiss her again and how she would feel when he did.

  She took up her gloves and fan and made her way downstairs to join her family for supper.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Louisa was in the music room practicing the pianoforte in case she was called upon to perform sometime, which was often the case for young ladies during the Season—even betrothed young ladies. More precisely, she supposed, she was attempting to practice because, truthfully, she couldn’t stop daydreaming about her time at the theater the previous night.

  She hardly remembered what she’d observed onstage—what with Lord Kerridge seated beside her, sensing his nearness and the natural warmth that had emanated from his body, the scent of leather and cologne that had filled her nostrils. It had all seemed so masculine and intriguing—which was odd, considering she’d lived her entire life with a father and two older brothers. She’d certainly smelled leather and knew men were warm-blooded individuals, just as she and Mama were. Perhaps her awareness of it last evening was because she knew Lord Kerridge was to be her husband, so she had begun to notice elements of his maleness she’d not really considered before.

  At the intermission, he’d asked Mama’s permission to take Louisa for a stroll, and, naturally, Mama had agreed. They’d exited the box and walked down the hallway, Louisa’s hand tucked in the crook of Lord Kerridge’s arm, greeting others who were taking the opportunity to stretch their legs as well. They received several knowing smiles, and Louisa understood that he was making a public point of his intentions toward her, even if nothing at all official could be said yet.

  He clearly had been intending to send a message to her other suitors. Louisa had noticed more than one gentleman approaching her only to change course when they saw her on Lord Kerridge’s arm. The Baron Moseby, who’d been with an elegant older woman who wore too many cosmetics, had looked positively chagrined.

  And then, before the intermission ended, Lord Kerridge—George, as he’d finally asked her to call him—had led her to a secluded corner and kissed her again. More than once, in fact, allowing for the brief amount of time they’d had remaining before the next act was to begin.

  It had seemed delicious and rather clandestine to be pressed into a corner in such a manner and kissed by a handsome gentleman. Her betrothed. She knew he had been highly sought after by the young misses and their eager mamas. He was an earl who would be a duke one day. He’d been one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton for the past few years, from all Louisa had heard.

  And he’d chosen her out of all the prospective young ladies.

  She was puzzling out the fingering for a particularly tricky musical passage when there was a knock at the door that made her jump in surprise. Good heavens, where was her mind today?

  “Sorry to disturb you, milady,” the footman who opened the door said in a low voice. “But I have been sent to summon you to your father’s study. As soon as is convenient.”

  “Thank you.” She set her music aside and hurried to the study. A formal summons by her father was an unusual occurrence. It was possible that a settlement had been reached, although she doubted it, based on what Lord Kerridge—George—had told her last evening.

  “Lady Louisa,” her father’s solicitor, Mr. Swindlehurst, said, crossing the room to greet her when she arrived. “You are as lovely as ever.” He took her offered hand in his and bowed over it.

  Louisa’s attention, however, was diverted to her father, who was standing by the window, looking out, his hands clasped behind his back. And then she noticed her mother sitting in a chair, twisting a handkerchief in her lap, her face strained and pale. Something was terribly wrong. Had one of her brothers been injured, or worse? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

  There were two other people in the room, she belatedly realized—a man who looked to be about the same age as her father and a younger man not much older than her brothers. They both rose from their chairs and turned toward her.

  “Allow me to present Viscount Farleigh and Mr. Heslop, his solicitor,” Mr. Swindlehurst said. “Gentlemen, Lady Louisa Hargreaves. Please, Lady Louisa, won’t you be seated?” He gestured toward the vacant chair next to her mother’s, and the two gentlemen resumed their seats. Her father did not move, however, but continued to stare out the window while the young gentleman’s solicitor, Mr. Heslop, began ruffling through a small stack of documents in his possession.

  The young gentleman, Viscount Farleigh, on the other hand, was studying Louisa closely—enough so to unsettle her. His dark eyes were scrutinizing her from head to foot, seeming to take in every detail of her appearance. It felt to Louisa as if he were assessing her rather like he would review bloodstock at Tattersall’s.

  Feeling self-conscious and uneasy, Louisa sat at the edge of the chair and clasped her hands to keep from fidgeting. Why did her father continue to stand woodenly at the window? Why was this young viscount watching her so closely? She was betrothed—as good as betrothed—to an earl who would be a duke one day. She was the daughter of a marquess. A mere viscount should not feel so intimidating, as though he, somehow, was the person in control of things here in her father’s study. She lifted her chin ever so slightly and stared back at him.

  One corner of his mouth tipped slightly upward for the briefest of moments.

  “What is going on, Mama?” she asked quietly, her eyes still on the viscount.

  “I am so sorry, darling,” her mother whispered in a broken voice.

  Mr. Swindlehurst cleared his throat. “Lady Louisa, a situation has been brought to our attention by these two gentlemen that has a direct effect on you, it would seem.”

  Louisa glanced at her father, who still hadn’t moved, and then at the viscount and his solicitor. “I cannot imagine how. I have never met either of these gentlemen before. Have you, Papa?”

  “No,” he said flatly, still staring out the window.

  Mr. Heslop lifted a
faded document from atop the stack he’d been leafing through earlier. “Viscount Farleigh is in possession of a vowel, a guarantee of payment of debt, from the Marquess of Ashworth.”

  “I don’t see how that concerns me. My father is a wealthy man, Mr. Heslop, and I’m sure he will fulfill the terms of the vowel. Won’t you, Papa?” Louisa said.

  Her father continued to stare out the window. “The terms of the vowel don’t involve money, Louisa. I cannot believe the old fool did this.”

  She was more confused than ever. What old fool? “I don’t understand—”

  “Allow me to explain it to you, Lady Louisa,” Mr. Heslop said. “I hope you will pardon my choice of words, but it is best to present this as frankly as possible. The terms of the vowel are this: that the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth be united in marriage to Viscount Farleigh. You are the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth, and as has been pointed out to you already, this gentleman is Viscount Farleigh.”

  Louisa’s head snapped in the direction of the young man, who was still watching her intently. “This cannot be,” she declared, fear curling through her like acrid smoke. “I am already betrothed to Lord Kerridge.”

  “Not officially betrothed, from what we understand,” Mr. Heslop said. “And very soon, not even that. At least, not to the Earl of Kerridge.”

  Louisa struggled to breathe. Mr. Swindlehurst placed a glass in her hand. “Drink this,” he said.

  She obeyed him and swallowed, choking on whatever it was. Brandy, perhaps; she didn’t know. She handed the glass back to him, her throat and eyes burning.

  “You see, Lady Louisa,” Mr. Swindlehurst said, waiting until she had caught her breath before attempting to explain Mr. Heslop’s jarring words. “Based on the evidence they have presented, it appears that your grandfather, when he was the marquess, made a wager with one Viscount Farleigh—this gentleman’s father.” He gestured toward the young man. “Rather than a traditional bet of money or property, however, the wager was unique in that it enabled the viscount to marry the daughter of the marquess.”