by Lucy Adams
“If I would be permitted to dance with you, Miss Wells, then I would not consider my evening to be entirely lost,” Lord Weston replied, taking a step closer as though to reach for her dance card – but Merry placed her arms behind her back before he could do so. He was not about to have the same effect on her as he did with so many others, she reminded herself, looking into his hazel eyes and finding that instead of warmth, they remained fairly cold. Was he insulted because she did not seek to be in his arms, as so many young ladies would have done?
“I can see that you are nothing more than a mouse, Miss Wells.”
Lord Weston’s tone had changed entirely. Instead of the joviality that had been there at first, there now was a hardness there. A hardness that lingered the more she looked into his face.
“You remain in the shadows, do you not?” he continued, sweeping an arm through the air in front of her. “You choose to linger where you will not be seen, knowing that you will not be noticed should you choose to step out into the light. Your sister has more vivacity and character than you shall ever be able to claim, and I deeply regret that she will no longer be able to give me her smiles in the same way as she once did.”
Merry drew herself up, refusing to allow Lord Weston’s harsh words to hurt her. “You know nothing of me, Lord Weston,” she replied firmly. “I am not a mouse, for a mouse hides away and runs from everything, for it finds all manner of creatures fearful.” She took a small step closer, finding him to be one of the rudest, most ill-mannered gentlemen she had ever had the opportunity to meet. “You will find, Lord Weston, that I am not a mouse simply because I do not wish to dance with you. Rather, you will soon realize that it takes determination and courage to refuse such a gentleman as you.” A wry smile tilted her lips as she saw his brows lower, his forehead furrowing. “Now if you will excuse me, I think it is time I sought out my mother.” And, so saying, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, leaving Lord Weston staring after her with both shock and irritation.
Chapter Three
“I hardly think that it is wise for you to continue to behave in such a fashion, not after what you have just endured.”
Thomas, Earl of Weston and son to the Marquess of Vanderbilt, shook his head as he picked up his glass of whisky and brought it to his lips. Taking a long sip, he let the heat of the whisky spread through his chest before deciding to reply. Whites was fairly quiet, especially given that it was only late afternoon, but Thomas found the peace to be quite calming.
“I do not think that ‘endured’ would be the correct word to use,” he replied mildly. “My sister has been nothing more than a trial since the day of her birth, I am quite certain.”
Thomas’s friend, Lord Henderson, sighed heavily and ran one hand through his hair. “Regardless, she has been restored to health now, has she not?”
Thomas nodded, not betraying how afraid he had been for his sister’s life. The girl had gone out riding in the rain apparently and had then failed to come home. She had become lost, it seemed, lost in the darkness that had quickly descended as it often did with a summer storm. Thomas had been summoned back to his father’s estate by a quickly worded note, telling him that Sophia was gravely ill. Even though he and his father were not at all on the best of terms, Thomas did not hesitate but returned at once, staying by his sister’s bedside until she had fully recovered.
“I am very glad to hear it,” Lord Henderson said with a good deal of feeling. “I have been worried for you both.”
A little intrigued, Thomas tipped his head to the left and regarded his friend. “She will be making her debut next Season,” he told him, seeing a slow flush creep up Lord Henderson’s face. “You shall have to wait to court her until then.”
Lord Henderson stammered and stuttered, but Thomas only grinned. His friend had known the family since he was a boy, and Thomas had always silently hoped that his sister and Lord Henderson might make a match. They were very well suited, since they were both fairly quiet in their character and less inclined towards residing in London with the rest of the ton. Each time Sophia had visited, she had spoken of her longing to return home to the country—and Lord Henderson often repeated the same desire.
“You shall have my blessing, if you seek it,” Thomas said quietly, seeing Lord Henderson flush all the more. “I know that Sophia thinks very highly of you.”
“I am much too old for her.”
“Tosh!” Thomas exclaimed with a laugh. “You are a year younger than I, who is only five and twenty, and she will be seventeen when the time comes for her debut. She was to make it this year, of course, but as things now stand…”
Lord Henderson cleared his throat, trying to claw back some of his dignity. “I quite understand,” he replied with a small smile, before reaching to pour them both another whisky. “And I will not pretend that I do not think very fondly of Sophia, Weston. Although I believe you must have surmised as much!”
Thomas chuckled. “Indeed, I have,” he replied, accepting the refilled glass from his friend. “And I am glad for you, although I am glad to say that I have no concerns of my own in that regard.”
Lord Henderson sat back in his chair and regarded Thomas carefully. “You say such a thing, but I can hardly expect you to continue acting as you are after your conversation with your father.”
Thomas sighed inwardly and tried to smile. “My father insists that I court and wed an appropriate young lady, yes,” he replied, recalling how the marquess had not pleaded nor cajoled, as he had done before, but had now demanded that Thomas obey. “But he is not present in London, is he?” A wry smile touched his lips. “He is to remain at home with Sophia. Therefore, I can continue to do as I please.”
Lord Henderson frowned. “But will he not hear of it?”
“What will he hear?” Thomas replied with a small shrug. “He will hear from my own lips that I sought to find a lady of distinction, but that I could not secure such a creature from amongst the horde that follow me.” He grinned, but Lord Henderson did not so much as raise a smile. “I shall tell my father that I do not wish to marry a lady simply because she comes from a good family, nor possesses a decent dowry. No, I shall state that I wish to marry a creature who has captured my affections and that I found such a thing more than impossible, given that all of those in my acquaintance seemed singularly interested in my title and wealth.”
“And instead of doing as you have stated, you will simply continue on as you are, enjoying the company of many young ladies – and the wealthy widows that seek you out – without giving anyone in particular more than a brief flirtation.”
“Precisely,” Thomas replied with a broad smile. “What could be more pleasing than that?” Taking another long sip of his whisky, he let out a satisfied sigh and raised a glass. “To living as we please.”
Lord Henderson muttered something and lifted his glass half-heartedly, although he did not drink. Thomas permitted himself an inner sigh of frustration at his friend’s demeanor, knowing that, in character and in outlook, they were vastly different, and yet their friendship was unbreakable. Lord Henderson would never even consider acting in a rakish fashion, for he was singularly determined in whatever he chose to put his mind to. In this case, it seemed that Lord Henderson was determined to capture Sophia’s heart, and Thomas fully expected them to be wed by this time next year. Not so for him however! Marriage was the last thing he wanted to consider, for his father was still very much alive and looked to be so for some time yet. There was, then, no urgency for Thomas to wed, despite his father’s demand that he do just that.
“Then I suppose I should ask you how last evening went,” Lord Henderson muttered, not looking at all pleased at the idea. “Did your return to polite society gain you as much interest as you hoped?”
Thomas chuckled. “More than enough,” he replied, feeling quite satisfied with how the young ladies of the ton had flooded around him. “I danced every dance, and each with a different young lady of my acquaintance.”
“Very good,” Lord Henderson replied, stifling a yawn. “And none refused you, I am quite certain.”
Thomas hesitated, the smile slowly beginning to fade from his face. “That is not quite as you think it to be,” he admitted, recalling how the plain-faced Miss Wells had rejected his request to dance with her. It had not mattered, he had told himself, for he had been able to find another young lady in a matter of moments but, all the same, her disinterest in him had stung a little.
“Ho!” Lord Henderson exclaimed, his face suddenly alive with interest as he leaned forward in his chair, fixing Thomas with his gaze. “You mean to say that a young lady refused to accept your company, Weston?”
Thomas immediately regretted saying anything to Lord Henderson, looking back at his friend with a good degree of exasperation. “It was of no importance,” he stated firmly. “Miss Wells did not wish for my company, and so I withdrew.”
Lord Henderson laughed aloud, slapping his knee with delight. “I can hardly believe this to be true!” he exclaimed, drawing the attention of one or two other gentlemen. “You, Lord Weston, have had your pride broken by the curt refusal of a young lady! What was it you asked her? Did you seek to call upon her? To go out walking with her?”
“Neither,” Thomas replied stiffly, seeing two other gentlemen drawing closer to them as though they wanted to hear their conversation. “I merely asked her to dance, and she refused me.”
Lord Henderson’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, his eyes sparkling with evident mirth. “She refused to dance with you?” he repeated, as if he could not believe such a thing to have occurred. “Tell me, Lord Weston, has that ever happened to you before this day?”
Thomas closed his eyes and let out a long breath, his jaw clenching. “If you would lower your voice, Lord Henderson, I would be grateful.”
But it was much too late. Lord Henderson’s exuberance had brought two other gentlemen to their part of the room, who now looked down at Thomas with interest.
“Good afternoon, Lord Henderson, Lord Weston,” said the first, whom Thomas recognized to be Viscount March. “I could not help but overhear – are you stating that a lady of the ton has refused you, Lord Weston?”
Fire lit his cheeks, but Thomas held Lord March’s gaze. “I do not think it is any of your business, Lord March,” he said steadily, although Lord Henderson’s guffaw detracted from his attempt at severity. “Although I would like to state that this was only a request for a dance that was refused, in case you think that a proposal, or some such thing, was the reason I now appear somewhat embarrassed.”
The second gentleman, Lord Wiltshire, shook his head and laughed, a grin spreading across his face. “I hardly think that you should fear that we would make some sort of error in that regard, Lord Weston,” he stated, making Lord March snort with mirth. “Everyone knows very well that you have no intention of marriage at this present time. That is all the more reason for our interest in what has occurred!”
“It was nothing!” Thomas slammed his fist down hard on the arm of the chair, his frustration bubbling over to anger. “A lady refused to accept my offer of a dance and would not even permit me to see her dance card. That is all.”
Silence ran around the group for a moment, and Thomas noticed how the three gentlemen all exchanged glances.
“I hardly think that such a thing is to be considered unimportant,” Lord Henderson said eventually. “It may have occurred with each of us at some point, but for you…” He trailed off, allowing the words to remain unspoken although Thomas could feel the weight of Lord Henderson’s implication.
“I will admit that it is not something that has happened before,” he replied, trying to calm his inner frustration and appear quite composed. “But, as I have said, it did not mean anything in particular.”
Lord Wiltshire chuckled loudly. “So you believe that she will come to you eventually, do you?”
Thomas frowned, looking up at the gentleman who now stood by Lord Henderson’s chair, leaning on it lazily.
“I do not understand what you mean,” he said coldly, hoping this would be enough for the gentleman to leave him alone. “Now, if you will excuse me –”
“I mean,” Lord Wiltshire began firmly, “that you must surely believe yourself to be capable of capturing this young lady’s attentions in your own way.”
Lord March began to nod fervently, whilst Thomas forced himself to answer. “Indeed,” he replied, hating to admit that his pride had been somewhat injured over the young lady’s refusal of him. “I could easily convince her to dance with me, converse with me, and even take a walk with me, I am quite certain. However,” he sniffed disdainfully, “I have much better things to do with my time.” He could still recall how Miss Wells had looked at him, her dislike of him appearing in her expression. Of course, given that they had not been introduced before, Thomas had little idea of what it was that he had done to induce such dislike. As much as he disliked the lady, the reason for her refusal to dance with him had been nagging at his mind, for she had been the first lady of his acquaintance to have ever done such a thing.
“I have an idea,” Lord Wiltshire said suddenly, reaching down to grasp Lord Henderson’s shoulder. “A wager.”
“A wager?” Thomas repeated with a sinking feeling from deep within his heart, although he gave no outward appearance of it. “What can you mean, Lord Wiltshire?”
“Well,” the gentleman said with great gusto. “This is a situation that has never occurred before, and I think that it would bring us all a good deal of delight to see how it plays out! Therefore, Lord Weston, if you are so very confident that this young lady – what did you say her name was again?”
“Miss Wells,” Lord Henderson interrupted before Thomas could speak. “Daughter to Lady Whitehaven.”
Lord March’s eyes rounded whilst Lord Wiltshire’s grin only grew steadily.
“Then,” Lord Wiltshire continued, as Lord Henderson reached for his whisky glass. “Then I propose a wager. A wager that you, Lord Weston, will not only be able to step out onto the floor with Miss Wells and dance two dances with her, but that you will also have her willingness to come out walking with you.”
“No, more than that!” Lord March interrupted loudly. “You must offer to court her, and she must be inclined to accept.”
Thomas frowned, his brows furrowing together. “That is hardly fair on the poor creature,” he replied, trying to think up any excuse as to why he should not have to be bound by this wager. “She is plain enough already and certainly not the object of interest in any other gentleman’s eyes.”
Lord Henderson, whom Thomas had hoped would not be amenable to this idea, sat forward and frowned. “I must admit,” he began, giving Thomas a flush of hope. “I must admit that it would be most unfair to Miss Wells, given that Lord Weston would soon remove his court from her.”
“If he succeeds,” Lord March replied with a wiggle of his brows. “And it would be very good for Miss Wells, would it not? She would have the attention of the ton, if you were to make to court her, Lord Weston. Once your courtship is brought to a sudden and swift end, there will be those who seek to comfort her, and she will be of much greater interest to the beau monde than she is at this present moment.”
“But she will be tainted by the quick end to our supposed courtship,” Thomas protested. “Her reputation–”
“No, no, no,” Lord Wiltshire interrupted, waving his hand in Thomas’s direction. “Everyone knows you are a rogue. They will place the blame on your shoulders, and you will shrug off the rumors that come thereafter.” He clapped his hands together, as though the matter were settled. “Now, how much shall we wager?”
Thomas began to stammer, feeling a trifle uncomfortable with the idea. He did not want to have to return to Miss Wells and find a way to get into her good graces. He had never had to do such a thing before and to consider that he would need to do so now was more than a little frustrating. Since he was an earl, with the title of
marquess to follow upon the death of his father, Thomas had never lacked attention from others. It had come to him naturally, and he had grasped at it eagerly. Lord Wiltshire was correct to state that he was known as a rogue—which was something Thomas’s father disliked intensely.
But have you not only just said to Lord Henderson that you are not going to be restrained by your father’s demands that you behave in the manner he deems appropriate? Thomas thought, seeing Lord Henderson looking at him expectantly. And there is no need for you to consider Miss Wells in such a concerned manner. She was incredibly rude to you, was she not? And she will find herself more involved with society should you take on this wager, and that will, of course, be a good thing for her.
“Very well,” he found himself saying, much to the delight of Lord Wiltshire. “I shall accept your wager.” He named a sum that had Lord Wiltshire blanch for a moment, smiling inwardly as he saw the man consider for a moment whether this truly was the best way forward.
But then, Lord Wiltshire collected himself and agreed, whilst Lord March suddenly became deadly silent. It was clear he did not want to risk such a large amount of money!
“You shall have a month then,” Lord Wiltshire said, as they began to make their way across the room to where Whites’ infamous betting book lay. “That is certain to be long enough for you, surely?”
Thomas knew, deep down, that it was his pride and arrogance that made him accept such a ridiculous wager and that, in doing this, he would be making something of a fool of himself, but he could no longer bring himself to refuse. His chin lifted as he looked back at Lord Wiltshire, hating the grin on his face and wanting to prove to not only him but to the other gentlemen who were, by now, listening eagerly to this conversation and looking to see what bet would be made, that he was able to gain the adoration and affection of any young lady that he chose. “More than enough,” he stated firmly. “A month it shall be.”