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

by Kate Archer

  “I don’t care for baths, my lord, as they’re too wet,” Charlie said. “I might as well apprise you of that proclivity all upfront-like.”

  Richard stared hard at the boy and said, “Let me be all upfront-like. You’ll have a bath and scrub your skin until it’s near falling off. Then, you’ll assist Kingston until further notice. That means doing what he says and not causing trouble. Otherwise, I’ll pack you off this instant.”

  Charlie considered this directive, rubbing his chin in deep thought. Having appeared to come to a conclusion, he said, “And what would be the wages, my lord?”

  “Wages!” Kingston cried. “Wages! You see how cheeky he is.”

  “I do see,” Richard said laughing. “For now, your wages will be food and a bed. Kingston will find you some decent clothes. That is the sum total of your wages.”

  Charlie, no doubt perceiving he’d got as far as he was going to get, nodded and said, “I find I can live with that.”

  *

  Lady Blanding did not descend for breakfast, she taking the prerogative of a married lady and having a tray sent to her room. Lady Hugh, however, did come down. Sybil knew the lady was in the habit of taking a tray, just as her mama did, but likely did not dare on this particular morning. Lady Montague was gone from the house and so one likely firework dispensed with, but Lord Blanding must still contend with Lord Lockwood. Everybody who knew Lord Blanding understood his temperament to be less than genial before he’d had a good dose of coffee and toast. Lord Hugh would back his friend against all comers. Poor Lady Hugh was to attempt to broker some sort of peace at the breakfast table.

  Lord Blanding buttered his toast in the most determined manner, all the while staring at Lord Lockwood across the table. He cleared his throat and said, “One o’clock, mind. Lawn bowling at one o’clock sharp. We play twenty-one ends, the wager is a hundred pounds.”

  Lord Lockwood barely paused his attack on a plate of eggs, sausage and bacon. He nodded and said, “One o’clock.” He turned to Poppy. “As the great lawn bowling tournament is not to take place until this afternoon, Miss Mapleton, might you and Sir John show me the glorious Caesar?”

  Poppy smiled and said, “I should be happy to. Sir John, you will lead us there?”

  Sir John expressed his enthusiasm for the notion, which did not surprise Sybil for a moment. It seemed to her that Sir John would leap off a cliff if Poppy thought that a proper mode of going on.

  “Lady Sybil?” Lord Lockwood said. “Will you join us on the excursion to the stables?”

  “Oh, do, Sybil,” Poppy said. “You really have never seen such a lovely beast as Caesar.”

  Sir John blushed up to his ears, and Sybil supposed she did too. Could Poppy not see that Lord Lockwood only invited her out of common courtesy? Could she not see that it was Miss Mapleton’s company that was sought after? Sybil was beginning to think that Poppy was near blind to a gentleman’s intentions.

  “You really must come,” Lord Lockwood said to her.

  “Must I?” Sybil asked.

  “Must she?” Lord Blanding echoed.

  Lady Hugh, sensing things were about to go over a fence, said hurriedly, “I know what shall be done. All the young people shall go, and I will direct the groom to take Caesar into the training paddock so that everybody can view how he moves.”

  Sybil did not see how she was to counter her hostess. Her father only said, “Harumpf.”

  Chapter Seven

  Though Sybil had only agreed reluctantly to join the party going down to the stables, she could not deny it was a perfect morning to be out of doors. The sun shone down on their heads and a gentle breeze pushed and pulled at her bonnet.

  It had been determined by Lady Hugh that a lady’s maid should come along for propriety’s sake. The footmen were run off their feet just now and the maids had far less to do. Her own maid, Betty, was soon settled upon as being the most likely. The other lady’s maids were older and more experienced and would balk at a sudden addition to their duties. Those ladies would have already settled themselves comfortably round the servant’s table for tea and talk.

  Betty was not at all sorry to go, as she had already informed Sybil that the other lady’s maids had taken to bossing her about due to her younger years. Apparently, there was no end of advice and admonishments that might be delivered from several senior maids to one junior maid.

  Sybil walked at a brisk pace at the head of the group. Far be it for her to interrupt Lord Lockwood in his pursuit of Poppy Mapleton and far be it for her to wish to hear how he went about it.

  Confoundingly, Lord Lockwood fell into step with her, while Sir John walked alongside Poppy.

  “For a small person, you are decidedly quick in your steps,” Lord Lockwood said, laughing.

  Sybil did not respond. Why should she, to such an insult? In London, the gentleman had not once referred to her lack of stature. He had pretended he did not even notice it. Further, he was not exactly the tallest gentleman in England. There were some gentleman she had danced with during the season in which she’d barely topped their elbows, they were that tall. Sir John was exceedingly tall. Naturally, it had been more comfortable to dance with a person not quite that tall. Still, the lord should not go about commenting on a lady’s height when he was not the tallest person on the scene.

  “I suppose there will be some sort of dancing? Even a ball?” Lord Lockwood asked. “It is the usual thing at these country parties.”

  Sybil knew very well there would be a ball, Lady Hugh had informed them of it before they’d even set off and Sybil had chosen two of her best gowns to make the journey. She only said, “I imagine so.”

  “Excellent,” Lord Lockwood said. “Of course, I know your father has found himself temporarily against my dancing with you, but I do not think that will hold.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “I expect he will soften a deal further than he has already,” Lord Lockwood said cheerfully.

  Sybil stared straight ahead, walking as fast as ever.

  She said, “Temporary? Soften? Lord Lockwood, the Hayworths do nothing temporarily and they certainly do not soften. If you understood anything at all, you would know it.”

  “Oh, I think he’ll come round in the end,” Lord Lockwood said.

  Sybil had often admired Lord Lockwood’s reputed daring in the war. In this circumstance, though, the man’s confidence was maddening. “My father,” Sybil said in a low and controlled fury, “does not ‘come round,’ as you term it. My father makes a judgment and sticks to it. We do not go in for London flipping and flopping like landed fish, as convenient as it seems to be for others.”

  “Yes, I am certain you don’t go in for flipping and flopping,” Lord Lockwood said. “But then, I have a knack for wearing a man down, rather like water on stone. One drop does nothing, but continuous drops always etch out the path they are determined to take.”

  Sybil pressed her poor short legs to move ever faster until she was nearly at a run. Water on stone, indeed.

  The stables of Dartsfell Hall were vast and well appointed. The floors were local stone, carefully cut and fitted to form a smooth surface. The wood of the stalls was stained dark and polished until it shone, and Sybil guessed it was no small feat to keep the hay dust off. The stalls were commodious, and each had a shiny brass plate on its gate, showing the name of the horse. To Sybil, that was just as it should be. There was little a horse liked less than being switched to different stalls all the time. They grew comfortable in one place, with the same neighbors every day.

  The design of the stable was of a behemoth T – the top of the T taken up by a hayloft, tack room, carriage house and servants’ quarters, while the rest of the T was a long passageway with stalls on either side. Horses of every type and size peered out at the party just coming in, it being the nature of horses to keep themselves apprised of all activity in their sphere of influence.

  The stablemaster, Jacks, came to greet them. He was a compact man
of indeterminate age, with the crinkles around his eyes that one might expect from a lifetime of working out of doors. He bowed and said, “Caesar is tacked up, though I kept him in the stable so he did not get too hot before you arrived.”

  Sir John nodded approvingly, as if this was just what he would do, had he been a stablemaster.

  “Melvin,” Jacks said to a groom standing at the ready nearby, “take him out round the back. Ladies, gentlemen, let me show you the way.”

  Jacks led them past the stalls and Sybil found her mood soften, as it always did when she was surrounded by animals. In particular, there was a lively pony named Pansy who nudged her arm as she went by, no doubt hoping for an apple, and Lady Hugh’s elegant white mare of Arabian blood, Juno, who stared down at them as if she were a queen inspecting her subjects.

  Betty also served to lighten Sybil’s temper, as her maid walked close behind her and in the very middle of the passageway, frightened of the beasts. In Betty’s opinion, a horse should be connected to a carriage and she did not see the sense in getting atop one of those creatures to go bouncing about on the back of it.

  The gloom of the stables gave way to bright sunshine as they went through a wide door. A fenced-in paddock was just ahead of them, and a groom walked round the building leading Caesar.

  The horse, a proper Cleveland Bay, was a massive specimen of horseflesh.

  “You see, Lord Lockwood,” Sir John said, “this is no ‘New Cleveland Bay,’ as they are calling it now and what seems to be the fashion.”

  Sybil suppressed a smile. When Sir John was on the subject of horses, his confidence soared.

  “You will notice,” Sir John continued, “his height, short back, and sturdy legs—his line has not been crossed with Arabian blood.”

  Caesar yanked at his lead, as if to note his disdain for the notion of anything other than an original Cleveland Bay.

  “He would have been surefooted in the war,” Lord Lockwood said.

  “Exceedingly,” Sir John said, “but those wide hooves are only one attribute. He is fearless, loyal and intelligent. At Vitoria, I was knocked unconscious. Some other horses might have run off in fright without a master on their back to reassure them in the midst of the noise, smoke and smell of blood. You’ll know of what I speak, Lockwood—that acrid smell I can still conjure when I think of it. It can drive a horse mad. Caesar stayed by me so I would not be trampled upon and nudged me until I awoke.”

  Sybil pressed her lips together. When Sir John became too animated, he was likely to begin mentioning things he ought not to. She was certain that discussing the smell of blood was not an approved topic for ladies. At least, she hoped not.

  The groom mounted Caesar as the party gathered round the rails. Sybil noticed with no great surprise that Lord Lockwood stood to one side of Poppy and Sir John to the other. If only Poppy were over-proud of her looks, Sybil might be able to condemn her for it. As it was, nobody could dislike Poppy, even though every other lady paled beside her.

  As the groom set the horse to walking round the paddock, and then moved to a trot and then a canter, Sybil could not help but reflect on her very aggravating conversation with Lord Lockwood. He had been at once cheerful and taunting. The notion that her father, Lord Blanding, could be worked on! It was as if the Hayworth’s iron resolve was nothing more than a joke.

  Sybil gripped the railing hard, her fingernails digging into the wood. The truth of what was really happening came down upon her like a bucket of cold water. It was all a joke. At least, to Lord Lockwood it was a joke. She had become convinced that Lord Lockwood’s errand to the house had been the result of some stupid wager over Miss Mapleton between the gentlemen of the pact. That was likely so, but now she perceived that there was another wager afoot. A far worse wager. The only thing to account for the lord’s very determined overtures to her father was a bet. It had seemed the most nonsensical thing in the world the evening before, that he should follow her father from place to place. And then to suggest to her that he would win over her father!

  Put in the light of a wager, it all began to make sense.

  Of course, Lord Lockwood would have told his friends that she had declined to dance with him at the Hathaway’s ball, that her father did not sanction it. They would have laughed heartily over it. Then, one of them would have suggested the wager—a bet to see if Lord Lockwood could overcome her father’s objections. She could practically hear Lord Dalton issuing the challenge.

  That was Lord Lockwood’s real purpose for coming here. That was why it was no other gentleman of the pact who’d arrived. It must be him, and only him, who could attempt to overcome her father’s objections.

  They had learned nothing from their meddling with Cassandra! But then, why should they? Everybody, even Cassandra, had forgiven them. It was only the Hayworths who’d stood firm against them. Yes, they must find the idea of winning over Lord Blanding a vastly amusing diversion.

  Sybil’s face heated like it had been burned by a thousand suns. For the first time in her life, it occurred to her that her family was not deeply respected everywhere. In her neighborhood in Cornwall, the idea that anybody would laugh at them was inconceivable.

  Not so, apparently, for a group of young gentlemen to be dukes someday. They were all carelessness and conceit, doing what they pleased for their own amusement and caring nothing for the damage they inflicted everywhere they went. Their station in society would ensure that they would always be forgiven.

  Sybil felt her heart harden in her chest. Her father would hear of this. He would be informed that he was the butt of a joke. Together with her mother, they would set out a plan to defeat Lord Lockwood. And humiliate him if the opportunity arose. Let him take that tale back to his friends if he dared.

  Betty crept up behind her and held an umbrella over her head. “My lady, you do look red in the face just now. If I allow you to burn, your mama will have my notice.”

  Sybil stared at the cantering Caesar and said softly, “I believe I have been scorched already, though it may not show on my skin.”

  *

  Richard returned to his room after the excursion to the stables, well pleased with his conversation with Lady Sybil. She was now apprised of his plan to win over Lord Blanding and would no doubt lend assistance to that aim.

  Naturally, she’d been a little prickly about it. But then, it was one of the lady’s charms. She was a Cornwall lass through and through—chin up and resolute. In any case, he could not fault the lady for her fierce defense of Miss Knightsbridge, as misguided as it might be to carry on with it for so long.

  What fire in her eyes when she’d told him off! She had been magnificent. And her little person walking so determinedly, as if she marched into battle. She really was an adorable little soldier.

  If he’d ever had a wish to marry, which of course he did not just now, would not she be the perfect little duchess? She’d rule with her tiny iron fist over all of her house.

  Kingston interrupted his pleasant reverie, coming into the room and appearing rather haggard.

  “You look done in already, Kingston, and it is not even noon,” Richard said.

  “That scoundrel fought me like a wet cat,” Kingston said.

  “I assume you refer to our young friend,” Richard said, laughing. “I pray you were not defeated by him.”

  “I certainly was not,” Kingston said, the huff in his tone all too evident. “I threw him into the tub and scrubbed him myself. The butler scrounged some clothes from somewhere, not particularly elegant or well-fitting, but clean at least.”

  “Hire a tailor and get him some clothes that do fit,” Richard said. “If the boy is to be attached to me, I cannot have him looking as if he just escaped the workhouse.”

  “Which he no doubt did,” Kingston muttered.

  The door flew open and Charlie strode in, wearing the aforementioned clothes. That they were clean must be the only thing to recommend them—the sleeves were too long and the trousers were too sh
ort.

  “Hey-ho,” he said. “I’m a right prince these days, what with my splendid new attire.”

  Kingston knocked him on the side of the head, and Richard did not suppose it was the first knock delivered.

  “Do not stroll in here with your hey-ho’s,” Kingston said. “If you are to come in here at all, and I do not see why you should, you will respectfully knock and wait for an invitation to proceed.”

  Charlie folded his arms and said to Richard, “Your man has got a list of rules that could take up a month of Sundays. Don’t take food off the kitchen counters, don’t joke with the kitchen maid even though she’s the gate into all the food, don’t be cheeky with the footmen, don’t splash water everywhere when in the bath. How is a lad supposed to remember it all?”

  “You’d best remember it all,” Richard said. “If you try my valet’s patience too far, you’ll have to go.”

  This appeared to be news to Charlie, though he was not unprepared to act upon it. He sidled up to Kingston and laid a hand on his arm. “There now, my good fellow, I was only joking. You’re a right good chap.”

  “I am not your chap,” Kingston said. To his master he said, “You see what he does. Now I’m to be a chap. He has no respect!”

  “You’ll teach it to him,” Richard said. “I have full faith in the idea. Now, I’ve got a lawn bowling wager with Lord Blanding, along with the other thousand wagers he’s issued. How will I win it? It’s not particularly my game, it seems a silly bit of nonsense. Still, I would not like to lose a hundred pounds over it.”

  Kingston, while knowing everything about the cut and fit of clothes and being rather expert at tying a neckcloth, did not seem to know much about lawn bowling.

  Charlie leaned casually against the bedstead and said, “Don’t always aim to get close to the jack. When he’s got a bowl near enough to it, hit the jack away and make it look like you never meant to do it.”