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

by Kate Archer

  If Lord Blanding was to be turned round about Lord Lockwood, somebody was going to have to agree with him that the match was impossible. That somebody would need to be a somebody Lord Blanding was already ranged against. Lord Blanding would be outraged to have an enemy agree with him, and he’d change his opinion as a matter of principle on account of it. It was a rum way of going about things, but Charlie was convinced it was the only way.

  He reached Betty’s door and laid his ear against it. He heard soft snores from within and gently turned the handle. He opened the door slowly, hoping there was not a creak or a whine.

  Creeping to Betty’s side, he gently shook her. “Betty,” he whispered.

  Across the room, a body sat up in a bed. “What are you doing in here?” Smith said, her voice filled with outrage.

  Charlie sighed. Smith was awake. Very awake by the sound of it. He’d better just leap in and tell her what part of the scheme she was to play. He was certain she must do it first thing on the morrow, and so now he must just convince her to do it.

  *

  Sybil had slipped into her parents’ bedchamber as soon as she’d heard Smith bring in the breakfast trays. Lady Blanding always breakfasted in her room and Lord Blanding was to do so as part of his recovery, so there was no danger they would escape her before she had time to break her news.

  She had been slowly working up to it for the past hour. As a beginning, she pressed them to concede that Lord Lockwood could no longer be their enemy in light of recent events. Her mother had readily agreed. Her father had twisted this way and that, searching for a way out, but had finally acquiesced.

  Then, she had talked of Lord Lockwood’s bravery in the face of the raging fire and how he’d been almost Hayworth-like in his resolute determination. Lord Blanding mentioned that, had roles been reversed, he would have naturally been the hero of the moment, but it seemed luck ran against him on all sides.

  Then, Sybil gently brought up the subject of cheating and putting a hole in Lord Lockwood’s boat, and how fortunate they were that it seemed that cloud would pass without comment. Certainly, Lord Lockwood would not speak of it.

  Lord Blanding was inclined to think the lord a fool for it, until Lady Blanding sketched out the various consequences if the truth were known.

  Now, Sybil had come to the real point of the interview. She sat on the side of her father’s bed and held his hand. “Papa,” she said softly, “prepare yourself for a shock. Lord Lockwood has asked for my hand and I have accepted.”

  Lord Blanding’s cheeks, which generally tended toward red, paled to an alarming shade of wet dough. “You jest, certainly.”

  “I do not jest,” Sybil said solemnly.

  “But why should you say such a thing, Sybil?” Lady Blanding asked. “Goodness, we may owe the lord thanks, but nothing more than that.”

  “I love him,” Sybil said. “I always have. I said nothing of it out of respect for papa’s wishes, but now he is no longer our enemy and I may own it.”

  Lady Blanding sat heavily down in a chair. “But to marry…”

  Lord Blanding threw his toast down. “I’ll not sanction it! I’ll not give my only daughter to Gravesley’s spawn!”

  Before Lord Blanding could go on with his various refusals, there was a quick knock on the door and Smith came in to collect the trays.

  Sybil and her mother stayed silent as the maid put them in order, her father only saying quietly, “He is the son of my sworn enemy, I’d rather die than confer any benefit upon Gravesley. Oh, he’d be all too happy to see it, but I will not allow it.”

  Though Lady Blanding had given her lord a look of warning to remind him that there were servant’s ears in the room, Lord Blanding was too incensed to care.

  “I can just imagine what a laugh it would be to them, Lockwood securing my daughter and Gravesley thinking he’s won something from me. Never!”

  Smith then cleared her throat and set down the tray. “I know it is not my place to speak, or to even acknowledge I have heard anything, but you do know my loyalty to this family and I feel I must tell you of something I understand of the matter.”

  Sybil froze. What on earth could Smith know? Please God, do not let it be some new impediment. Or worse, that the lord had changed his mind.

  Smith waited to see if she would be invited to speak. Lady Blanding slowly nodded and the maid said, “It seems that Lord Lockwood broached the idea of marriage to Lady Sybil to his father before he even arrived to this house.”

  “I bet he did,” Lord Blanding said.

  “And he was told by his father that it was out of the question,” Smith said hurriedly. “The duke refuses to acknowledge any connection whatsoever to Lord Blanding. He told Lord Lockwood that if he proceeded with the plan, the duke would break with him forever. I have heard all of this from the lord’s servant just last night.”

  Sybil suppressed a gasp. Was that true?

  Lord Blanding’s expression moved so quickly that Sybil could hardly keep up with his racing emotions. In an instant, he settled on victorious. “Hah! So they cannot marry. We are both against it.”

  The next instant, victory appeared to fade. “Wait a moment, who is Gravesley to say my daughter is not good enough? Who is Gravesley to say that he will not acknowledge a connection to me? It is just like him—highhanded as ever. Oh, he always thinks to get his way. Not in this matter he will not! I’ll force him to acknowledge me!”

  Smith hurried from the room, entirely forgetting to take the trays with her.

  “What are you saying, my dear?” Lady Blanding asked.

  “Yes, Papa,” Sybil said, finding herself rather gleeful that the duke appeared as hardheaded as her father, “what are you saying?”

  “Well, I, dammit, I am between a rock and a hard place! No matter which way I go I do not win.”

  “You do win,” Sybil said softly, “if you think your daughter’s happiness worth winning.”

  Lord Blanding heaved a very heavy sigh. “But Lockwood?”

  “Yes, Lockwood,” Sybil said.

  “Hrumpf. I cannot like it, but I suppose it will stick in Gravesley’s craw. Let him chew on that, why don’t he! We will be connected, whether he likes it or not!”

  And so her father was finally overcome, with the unlikely help from Smith who’d heard timely gossip from Lord Lockwood’s servant.

  That gossiping servant was presumed to be Kingston, but was, of course, Charlie.

  *

  Richard finally did get his interview with Lord Blanding and gain the old fellow’s approval. That it was as ungracefully given as possible and there were hints that the marriage would somehow exact revenge against the duke mattered not one jot. The man had given his consent and that was all that signified.

  On the last day of the house party at Dartsfell Hall, the engagement was announced at tea. Lord Blanding had descended to the drawing room for it, and though he confirmed its truth, he was as testy as an old stallion separated from the herd. Lady Blanding was rather more sanguine, as she had thrown over her dislike of Lord Lockwood on the night of the fire. Poppy and Sir John were delighted, and Poppy speculated there was something in the air at Dartsfell Hall to cause so many engagements. Lord and Lady Hugh appeared rather torn—at once considering it a brilliant match and then being all sympathy for their unhappy friend Lord Blanding. Richard and Sybil noted all the various attitudes, but did not much care what they were.

  Before leaving for a carriage ride with her intended, Sybil dashed off a note to her friend Cassandra Knightsbridge.

  I will write the details later, but for now, know that the course of love did not run smooth, and I very much doubt you will be surprised by it. It took bets of every sort, sabotage on the water, and fire raining down on our heads to accomplish it. I am engaged to Lord Lockwood, as you no doubt knew I would be.

  Now, Sybil and Richard strolled along a country lane before they must return and change for supper. They had taken a carriage out, with Charlie and Kings
ton acting as footmen and Betty in the carriage for propriety’s sake, but had got out to walk as soon as they were out of view of the house.

  As her tiny hand disappeared into his, Sybil said, “I must inform you that I know your father is against us. We heard it from my mother’s lady’s maid.”

  “My father?” Richard said in some surprise. “That is nonsense, he will be delighted.”

  “Oh,” Sybil said in some confusion, “but I thought—”

  Charlie, hanging on the side of the carriage that followed behind them, said, “I might’a indicated that bit of false information to hurry the thing along.”

  Richard stopped in his tracks and turned. “What?”

  “Now, don’t get sore over it,” Charlie said. He tipped his hat to Sybil and said, “No offense to your pa, but he weren’t never gonna agree unless it would set him up to confound the duke. If the duke were against it, then Lord Blanding must be for it, as is his nature.”

  Betty poked her head out the carriage window. “I must own my hand in it, my lady. Charlie was so compelling on the notion that Smith and I were convinced of it being the right course. Though, I do not like to meddle.”

  Sybil could barely contain her laughter. Richard said to Charlie, “As it happens, that was a well thought out strategy. Though I’ll thank you to do no more interfering.”

  “I’ll take him in hand, my lord,” Betty said.

  “Good luck,” Kingston muttered from the other side of the carriage.

  “While we’re on the subject,” Charlie said, “there was one other little matter I thought I ought to trounce like a bug into the dust.”

  “Out with it,” Richard said sternly.

  Charlie swung casually from the side of the carriage with only one foot on the step. “I discovered the footman what was giving Lady Montague information. I won’t trouble you with who the scoundrel was, as he’s just now on an errand on your behalf. He’s gone to the lady’s house to tell her of the engagement and that everybody’s delirious happy over it.”

  “Delirious?” Richard said.

  “Delirious,” Charlie confirmed.

  Richard held Sybil’s hand ever tighter. “I must do something with this young rascal.”

  “Good luck,” Kingston muttered.

  “Indeed,” Sybil said, laughing. “You ought to dismiss him on the spot, but as he has so delightfully interfered and we are so delirious, you must give it up.”

  “I was thinking of finding a school that would take him,” Richard said.

  “Good luck,” Kingston muttered.

  “Hear that Kingston, you old soldier?” Charlie said, “I’m to get myself smartened up.”

  Betty had crossed to the other side of the carriage and peeped out at Charlie. “I shall write you very stern letters directing you to behave and respect your teachers,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said dutifully.

  “Come now, my delirious little darling,” Richard said to Sybil, waving his servants away. “Let us dance under the willow just there—I have waited long enough to claim my right. There, as you execute your delicate little steps, you will tell me all you will change about my person and my house and my ways of life.”

  Sybil allowed herself to be led. She said, “I am sure I will change nothing.”

  “So you think, but I have not yet even described the wallpaper at Kendall Hall. There is an inordinate amount of stags roaming through forests.”

  “Oh, of course that must change, but nothing else.”

  “We shall see,” Richard said.

  *

  As it happened, Richard had been all too correct in assuming Lady Sybil Hayworth, now the Marchioness of Lockwood, would send Kendall Hall to sixes and sevens. It seemed not even the carpets were to get through unscathed.

  He did not mind it any more than he’d thought he would and was rather entertained by her bustling little person, hands on hips and pursing her lips at everything in sight. She was the queen of the hall and the rest of its occupants must only follow her commands.

  As for Sybil, herself, she ascended her throne with all good grace and even let her lord keep the stags and forests wallpaper in his library—a man like Lockwood must have a masculine retreat of his own.

  The marquess was not often to be found in that stag-filled library, however. He was much more likely to be in the airy and bright drawing room, most usually with his hands around his wife’s tiny waist when the servants weren’t looking.

  The End

  About the Author

  By the time I was eleven, my Irish Nana and I had formed a book club of sorts. On a timetable only known to herself, Nana would grab her blackthorn walking stick and steam down to the local Woolworth’s. There, she would buy the latest Barbara Cartland romance, hurry home to read it accompanied by viciously strong wine, (Wild Irish Rose, if you’re wondering) and then pass the book on to me. Though I was not particularly interested in real boys yet, I was very interested in the gentlemen in those stories—daring, bold, and often enraging and unaccountable. After my Barbara Cartland phase, I went on to Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen and so many other gifted authors blessed with the ability to bring the Georgian and Regency eras to life.

  I would like nothing more than to time travel back to the Regency (and time travel back to my twenties as long as we’re going somewhere) to take my chances at a ball. Who would take the first? Who would escort me into supper? What sort of meaningful looks would be exchanged? I would hope, having made the trip, to encounter a gentleman who would give me a very hard time. He ought to be vexatious in the extreme, and worth every vexation, to make the journey worthwhile.

  I most likely won’t be able to work out the time travel gambit, so I will content myself with writing stories of adventure and romance in my beloved time period. There are lives to be created, marvelous gowns to wear, jewels to don, instant attractions that inevitably come with a difficulty, and hearts to break before putting them back together again. In traditional Regency fashion, my stories are clean—the action happens in a drawing room, rather than a bedroom.

  As I muse over what will happen next to my H and h, and wish I were there with them, I will occasionally remind myself that it’s also nice to have a microwave, Netflix, cheese popcorn, and steaming hot showers.

  Come see me on Facebook! @KateArcherAuthor