The Marquess' Daring Wager (The Duke's Pact Book 2)

by Kate Archer

  “The reinforcements were deplorably slow,” Richard said. “My grandmother could have got there sooner.”

  “In any case,” Lord Ashworth said, straightening his cuffs, “the season comes to an end and you will not see Lady Sybil for some months.”

  “Why should I not?” Richard said. “I happen to have a third cousin with an estate in Cornwall. I feel rather remiss in not having visited recently. Or having ever visited.”

  Lord Ashworth laughed and said, “Then it is lucky the lady will not be in Cornwall. I have heard from my mother that she will be at Lord and Lady Hugh’s annual house party in Yorkshire for the regatta—I do not suppose you have a third cousin there.”

  “I do not,” Richard admitted.

  Richard also admitted, privately to himself, that piece of information should put an end to it. That it was not likely to put an end to it was beside the point. He was not acquainted with Lord Hugh, but that did not mean he might not become acquainted with him in the very near future.

  *

  “Blast and damn,” Lord Hugh said, marching into the drawing room to find his wife.

  “What is it, my dear?” Lady Hugh asked, all too used to her lord’s penchant for looking as if he’d come in to announce the end of the world. “Have the pigs got loose again?”

  “Worse,” he said, waving a letter. “Lord Lockwood, the Duke of Gravesley’s spawn, writes that he has just discovered that we are fourth cousins removed. Well, I cannot really explain it, as it is an entire paragraph of obscure connections. What do you think? He wishes to come to us the last two weeks of June, just in time for our house party.”

  “If by spawn, you mean eldest son?”

  “Of course that’s what I mean by it. What does he mean by it?”

  “I am sure I cannot guess,” Lady Hugh said, “but if the eldest son of a duke wishes to claim a connection, I suppose we cannot refuse.”

  “It’s to do with that pact, I am certain of it. Those good-for-nothing scoundrels have had their funds halved and now he looks for somebody else to provide his beef and brandy.”

  “And so we shall, my darling,” Lady Hugh said. Thinking to soothe her lord, she said, “I imagine he does not know the first thing about boating. You shall roundly defeat him at the regatta if he dares enter himself.”

  “That is true,” the lord said, mollified by the idea of harassing Lord Lockwood on the lake. “I’m certain I could goad him into it, young men are as dumb as rocks.”

  “Goodness,” Lady Hugh said, “I had quite forgotten, Lord Blanding has a particular dislike for the duke. I wonder if that dislike extends to the son as well?”

  Lord Hugh rubbed his hands together. “If it does, Blanding and I will give Lockwood a run for it. He’ll wish he never set out to impose upon me.”

  Lady Hugh quietly sighed. Between her own lord and Lord Blanding, poor Lord Lockwood would no doubt have a time of it.

  “In any case, my love, do write back and say we will be pleased to see him,” Lady Hugh said.

  “Oh, I’ll write him back, all right.”

  Lady Hugh was silent for some moments, thinking of how to avoid the inevitable breach. Finally, she said, “My darling, would you do me the courtesy of showing me the letter before it is sent off? I only ask because there are moments when your admirably noble feelings get away from you.”

  “You mean you want to satisfy yourself that I do not insult the boy before he has even been through the doors?”

  “Precisely, dear.”

  *

  Sybil had been much cheered to see that the post had brought a letter from her friend Cassandra Knightsbridge, just recently become Lady Hampton. As cheered as she had been, though, she did not like her father to note it. It would inevitably lead to thoughts of the Dukes’ Pact, and then Lord Lockwood, and worse, Lord Lockwood’s father. Lord Blanding had finished his toast and coffee, which always put him in a cheerful temperament, and Sybil had no wish to dampen his spirits.

  She had slipped the letter into a pocket and now she curled up on the coziest chair in her bedchamber and opened the letter.

  My dearest Sybil—

  It seems a lifetime ago that we both peered out my aunt’s drawing room window to view my dear Hampton sitting on Lord Dalton’s steps across the road like any street urchin. You encouraged me to give him quarter and I was blessed enough to heed you. (And of course, May played her own part in it.)

  We are, this week, happily drifting around Venice by boat. There is sunshine everywhere, the nights are warm and I never thought to find such happiness. Before you think I have written only to tell you of my good fortune, fear not, my friend. There is another thing I wished you to know.

  Hampton and I have had some thorough discussions of all that occurred. When I left for my wedding trip, you still had not forgiven Lord Lockwood. I must tell you, he had little to do with any of it. It was my dear husband who repeated my words and it was Lord Dalton who sent a man to Surrey. I tell you this because Lord Lockwood has always paid you marked attention and I should not like to think of you refusing to speak with him on my account. In any case, I have forgiven them all, even Lord Dalton, as it has, in the end, led to my happiness.

  Be happy too, my dear Sybil, whatever that means to you.

  Your friend,

  Cassandra

  Sybil laid the letter down. It was as it had always been: Cassandra did not understand her friend’s obligations. Of course it would be more comfortable to forgive them all, particularly to forgive Lord Lockwood. However, Cassandra could not give her permission to do that. Her father would not countenance it, and so she could not countenance it either.

  How wonderful it must be to simply decide that one might let go of an insult. The Hayworths had never done such a thing. This particular insult had not even happened to her, and yet she was duty-bound to uphold her condemnation over it.

  It was, her logical mind knew, a completely nonsensical situation. She carried on a feud, though the injured party did not wish it and had, in fact, married the perpetrator.

  And then to add to the dilemma, Cassandra would point out that Lord Lockwood had little to do with the scheme. Still, he had been a part of it. In any case, the other gentlemen of the pact had not bothered to apologize to her at all. They had done, profusely, to Cassandra, though nobody but Lord Lockwood had seemed to feel that Cassandra’s friend merited any comment.

  Lord Cabot had taken a dance with Sybil soon after Cassandra had engaged herself to Lord Hampton and she had taken that opportunity to rail against him and his friends. Since then, they had all steered well clear of Lady Sybil Hayworth. Except Lord Lockwood.

  And now, even he.

  She would not write to Cassandra just yet. Sybil had no wish to mar her friend’s wedding trip with any news less than genial. When she did write, though, she must tell her friend that things were not so easy for her.

  Cassandra was Surrey and Sybil was Cornwall, and what a difference that did make.

  Chapter Three

  Destin’s was all but empty as it was still before noon. The Lords Lockwood and Ashworth sat with cups of Destin’s remarkably strong coffee—it was said to be roasted with butter and called for twice the amount of beans the regular coffee houses were apt to use. Richard did not know what exactly Marty Destin did to his coffee, but one sip of it was like mercury running through his veins. He had learned from experience that two cups made one wish to jump out of one’s skin.

  “What do you mean, you’re going to Yorkshire?” Ashworth asked.

  Richard whipped out a letter. “I’ve been invited to the Hughs’ house party. Look here, he says he is delighted to learn of the connection, et cetera, and I ought to come as I suggested.”

  “What connection?” Ashworth asked.

  Richard waved his hands. “Everybody in England is connected somehow. Open up Debrett’s and do a little digging and you’ll find yourself related to absolutely anybody, if only a fourth cousin removed. Or if not, you could
certainly create a trail with so many twists, turns and byways that nobody could work it out.”

  “Let me understand this,” Lord Ashworth said gravely. “You have trumped up some alleged connection to Lord Hugh and invited yourself there, on account of Lady Sybil refusing to dance with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve gone insane, man. If it were not strange enough that you would chase the lady to Yorkshire, her father is against you. He will not be enthused to see you.”

  That was the one aspect that had given Richard a moment of pause. Still, he was not in the habit of being stonewalled by a pause and so had dismissed it.

  “Her father’s lack of enthusiasm is bound to be short-lived,” Richard said. “I’ve a particular method for bringing people round that I shall put to good use. In any case, I’m to be a guest of Lord Hugh and everybody else must just put up with it in good humor.”

  “And what happens if, say, you are able to dance with Lady Sybil? Is that the end of it or the beginning of it?” Lord Ashworth asked, his tone full of suspicion.

  “That’s the end of it,” Richard said. “You know how I am, once I get an idea into my head, I have to accomplish it. That is all.”

  Lord Ashworth drained his coffee. “I highly doubt that is all.”

  *

  Sybil’s house was in an uproar for two days together. This surprised nobody involved, as it was always the way when the family were poised for a journey. Clothes must be selected and carefully packed into trunks, arrangements made for which servants would stay and which would go and what the servants who stayed behind were to do with their spare time, trunks were sent ahead of them to go straight to Dartsfell Hall, other trunks must be selected to travel with the family, baskets of edibles must be prepared to take in the carriage, and a hundred other small tasks that nobody could keep straight in their head.

  Through all of it, there was much doing and changing minds and undoing and then doing again. One moment, the servants that stayed behind were to polish all the silver, the next, they were to beat all the rugs. In the morning, the family were to have a roasted joint of beef packed in their basket, by the afternoon it was a ham. Merrydon, a butler who always maintained a rather somber expression on a regular day, looked as if he attended a badly run funeral. Sybil thought it was well that her family did not set out to conquer new lands, as those lands would be well-settled by other people by the time the Hayworths arrived.

  They had finally set off, with much second-guessing and sending footmen back into the house to check on this or that. As they clattered out of the city, Sybil felt a pang that was deep and unnamed.

  It felt as if she grew further and further away from something she ought to stay close to. It almost felt as if she might never return to London again, and she thought it must have been what Cassandra felt when she’d fled the town at dawn.

  Sybil scolded herself for her melancholy. She was not Cassandra Knightsbridge, fleeing in disgrace at daybreak. She was situated very comfortably in her parents’ carriage, with all the luxury that could be had in the outfitting of a vehicle.

  The seats were so well-padded that one hardly felt the bumps in the road. The dark blue velvet coverings were quilted and rose up the walls as well, giving the whole interior a snug feeling. Two ingenious ceramic pinwheels were attached to the outside of the forward windows, fanning the carriage’s occupants when the horses began to move and they caught the wind. The basket at Sybil’s feet was so filled with every good thing from the kitchens that they might have made it all the way to America before any replenishment was necessary.

  Both of her parents were in high spirits, as this was a journey they took every year to see friends they liked very much.

  Sybil knew she should be grateful to find herself in such a genial circumstance. It was certainly a more genial circumstance than was to be had by the two maids and the valet who had raced off ahead of them in a far less comfortable carriage for hire.

  She should not miss London at all. As for any news, Penny Darlington would write to her at Dartsfell Hall. Her father, Lord Mendbridge, was keen on horseflesh and there was to be a meeting of some new club or other in early July and so they would stay on at least until then. It was to be a group of gentlemen lending each other their best studs.

  Sybil had commiserated with her friend on staying in town so long, but Penny had not seemed at all put out about it. She was just as interested in horse breeding as her father was.

  “Of course, we could do the whole thing in three days,” Lady Blanding said, interrupting Sybil’s wandering thoughts.

  “But a dashed uncomfortable three days it would be,” Lord Blanding said. “We learned our lesson on that score ages ago.”

  “We’ve gone to this same house party for so many years that we’ve worked out how it might be the most pleasantly done,” Lady Blanding said.

  “And all the right stops to make,” Lord Blanding said. “A comfortable inn cannot be overrated.”

  “Five days at a modest pace and charming inns along the way,” Lady Blanding said. “They are all so well used to our habits by now and know precisely what we like.”

  “No caviar on my plate, I’ll wager,” Lord Blanding said, laughing.

  “My dear,” Lady Blanding said to Sybil, “you do seem out of sorts this morning. Are you well?”

  “Oh, quite well,” Sybil said, alarmed that whatever discomfort she might feel had showed itself to her father and mother.

  “Did you not wish to go to Yorkshire?”

  “Of course I wish to,” Sybil said hurriedly. “Goodness, I have read so many letters about Dartsfell Hall that I am looking forward to it.”

  “Never mind, my dear,” Lord Blanding said to his wife. “Do not press the girl. She’s just gone through her first season and no doubt has some romantic notions that discompose her, as every young lady is wont to fall prey to. It shall all be dismissed when we get there.”

  Lady Blanding peered at her daughter, as if trying to see into what those romantic notions might be.

  “Papa,” Sybil said. “Romantic notions? Surely not.”

  *

  The meeting at Dalton’s house was as usual, the gentlemen of the pact having gathered over brandy to discuss their plight. Usual, except for a missing member. Lord Lockwood was notably absent.

  Lord Ashworth said, “No, we have no need to wait for him. I did not invite Lockwood, as this meeting is about Lockwood.”

  “What’s he done now?” Lord Dalton asked. “Challenged somebody to a duel?”

  “Worse,” Lord Ashworth said. “He’s got himself invited to the Hughs’ house party in Yorkshire.”

  Cabot laughed. “Good Lord, what goes on at this house party, that we must fear for our friend?”

  “Lady Sybil is to be there, that’s what goes on,” Ashworth said. “Further, it is not just happenstance. He has never laid eyes on Lord Hugh. He wrote the gentleman claiming some distant connection and invited himself.”

  “What does he mean by it?” Lord Grayson asked.

  “He says what he means by it is to convince Lady Sybil to dance with him, despite her father’s objections. He says that’s the end of it, though I do not believe it.”

  “Nor I,” Dalton said darkly. “We all know him—act first, think later. He may not have thought through why he has engaged himself on this ridiculous quest, but I think we can all see the end of it even if he cannot.”

  “He’ll be lucky if Lord Blanding does not run him through,” Cabot said.

  “We’ll be lucky if he does not end up married,” Grayson said.

  “That’s the point,” Lord Ashworth said. “It is bad enough that Hampton has fallen victim to the damnable state. If we lose Lockwood, our fathers will be far too encouraged to ever give up the scheme.”

  Lord Dalton threw back his glass of brandy. “We must prevent our friend from making a terrible mistake. Not only for himself, but for us too.”

  “How does one prevent Lockwood from
doing anything?” Lord Cabot asked. “Once he’s got an idea in his head, he barrels forward like a bull toward a matador.”

  “Kidnapping, I’m afraid,” Lord Dalton said. “Just until he comes to his senses.”

  Lord Ashworth snorted. “Even if we could wrangle him somewhere, where would we put him?”

  “Here,” Dalton said. “I have a secure room I once used to ransom a fellow who owed me a gambling debt but was remarkably slow to pay. His father saw the sense of my request eventually, but the scoundrel spent a week as my guest.”

  None of the other gentlemen chose to inquire into that particular occurrence. Down to a man, they all felt that it was sometimes better not to peer too closely into Lord Dalton’s activities.

  *

  Lord Blanding had been right about the charm of the journey to Yorkshire. Though nobody could claim to love long days in a carriage, Sybil found it for the most part enjoyable. The scenery out the window was new to her, the days were not overlong, the inns were comfortable, and the innkeepers were all delighted to see generous Lord Blanding again.

  Sybil had done her very best to shake off her discontent, or at least hide it well enough from her mother and father. As if her cheerful façade had taken hold, she did begin to feel more like her old self again. She became convinced that she had been too influenced by London and the people in it, until she’d hardly recognized herself.

  Now, the Sybil she had always known herself to be began to reemerge. She took pleasure in the rolling green hills, patchworked by hedges, and meandering streams and the stone bridges that crossed over them. The landscape had a calmness to it that her patch of Cornwall could not claim with its rock formations, steep cliffs, and crashing sea that could be heard for miles. The countryside passing by her window felt softer and rounder, and peace settled over her like a warm and welcome blanket.

  This day, the last on their journey, would be an easy four hours. The morning had begun cool, but the mist had burned off and the temperature grew warm. The family had ridden on in companionable silence through the lush countryside, the whir of the pinwheel fans their only music.