The Wagered Widow

by Patricia Veryan

Shaken, de Villars tried again. “I have no doubt you would, ma’am. Still, there is—is a custom in some lands, you know, that—if you save a life, that life belongs henceforth to you.”

  How charming. His life belonged to her. Unless he chanced to have a “prior engagement” with the enchanting Mrs. Monahan! A lump rose in her throat. And it was silly, downright stupid to be so devastated! She had known what he was, for heaven’s sake! Whatever else, however, she must not betray herself. “Indeed?” She crossed to a side table and straightened the fruit that had been set out in a large bowl. “In that event,” she said with superb disdain, “it would behoove one to take care lest all kinds of undesirables might hang upon one’s sleeve.”

  De Villars whitened. “I came here to thank you,” he began grimly.

  “So you said.”

  He stepped forward to grip her wrist with his right hand, and although she averted her head, he grated, “You saved my life.…” The memory of that intrepid action, combined with the sweet scent of her, the nearness of her warm loveliness, conspired to overpower him. With a folly his friends would have found astounding, he burst out, “How can I ever repay you? Marry me!”

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open. This—from an accomplished lover? A renowned rake? This crude excuse for a proposal, lacking all tenderness and polish? This vulgar reward for services rendered? Why, he must feel the most utter contempt for her not even to have tried to pretend affection! Infuriated, she wrenched away. “You are much too generous, sir! So grand a payment is not necessary!”

  “I know! I know!” He ran a hand through his hair in distracted fashion. “God! I did not mean it!”

  How well she knew! The villain! The savage! “One would hope you did not, indeed. I had fancied to have made my future plans sufficiently clear. There was no call for you to come here and insult me, Mr. de Villars!”

  So an offer from him was an insult. Scarcely to be wondered at, after all. He should apologize, but his head was so muddled—he could not even think.… Words failing him, he reached out to her imploringly. Had Rebecca seen that tremblingly outstretched hand, so much might have been changed. But in an attempt to hide the tears that welled over, she stood with her back turned. “Perhaps,” she said icily, “it would be best if you went upon your way, sir.”

  It would have been best had he not come. By heaven, what a frightful mull he had made of it! Well, there was no undoing it now. He said quietly, “Yes. Forgive me. I had no thought to insult you. But I owe you— I must make amends—somehow. And I will—I swear it. If—if you still want—Peter, I—I will help. In any way I can.”

  He would help her into marriage with another man! Oh, but here was a lover par excellence! One who could scarce wait to be rid of her! The tears cold upon her cheeks, she said, “You are too kind. But pray do not trouble yourself. It is neither asked—nor necessary.”

  De Villars walked blindly to the door and closed it gently behind him.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Peaceful?” Snowden Boothe reined back his rambunctious steed so as to stay more or less beside his sister’s polite gelding. “A cemetery is peaceful, yet I’d as soon not dwell there as yet! I wonder all this peace has not sent you riding ventre à terre back to Town!”

  “Oh, no,” said Rebecca, stifling a sigh.

  Slanting an oblique glance at her, he thought that no matter what she said she was not happy. He knew her too well not to suspect that she had thrown her heart over the hedge, and, knowing also for whom she nourished a tendre, reached over to pat her gloved hand. “Cheer up, lass. Your dashing beau will return on Friday. I take it you mean to wait for him?”

  Alight with eagerness, her eyes flew to his face. “Are you sure?”

  “’Tis what he told me when he rid out to take his grandmama back to Cornwall.”

  “Oh.” The glow faded from Rebecca’s eyes. “Well, yes, I shall wait, of course. I—we promised Sir Peter we would stay a month, and that will be up next week.”

  “Just as well. It will— Blast and damn this glue pot! Becky, I cannot talk while he persists in standing on his tail. Can we walk?” And when he had swung from the saddle and handed down his amused sister, they walked on together while he went on more evenly, “It will give me time to get our rebel to London and gone before you come back. He’s much restored already, and well able to travel can we only elude that damned Hilary Broadbent. Lord! Who’d have thought a boy we’ve known since childhood could turn so curst treacherous?”

  “Oh, never say so! Hilary is but doing his duty. Indeed, I have often thought that if Captain Holt had been in the ante-room that night…” She shuddered. “Hilary means us no harm. It is this—this loathsome Rebellion!”

  “If he means us no harm, why does he continually lurk about with that revolting sycophant of his?”

  “You know why! And you should not even attempt to—” She bit the words back. He must attempt it, of course. In his shoes she would do the same, if she had as much courage. And so she finished lamely, “Snow—do pray be careful!”

  “I shall, never doubt it.” He glanced at her fondly. She was a good chit. Not once had she suggested he let the fugitive take his chances, yet how many women would have flown into the deuce of a pucker over this nasty business? He thought, “And how many women would have had the courage to conceal a hunted man beneath their skirts?”

  “Perhaps,” Rebecca worried, “I should come back with you. It might look less—”

  “Devil it would! No, madam! If aught should go wrong—which it won’t—I’ll have a better chance to get clear am I not hampered by the need to get you clear as well.”

  Startled by a new thought, she said, “Dear heaven! You never have him in your flat? Or at John Street?”

  They were alone out here, and yet he instinctively glanced around and lowered his voice. “Never you mind where I have him, my girl. Least said, soonest mended!” She looked frightened, and he went on in a more breezy fashion, “At all events, he will be gone by the middle of next week at the very latest. After that, I’ve—ah, certain plans of my own to bring to fruition.” He added rather wryly, “Do I summon up the gall.”

  “A lady? Snow, you villain! Is it The Monahan you pursue?” Guilelessly, Rebecca murmured, “I saw how you ogled her.”

  “Ogle indeed! What a widgeon you are, Becky! Rosemary Monahan is a true Fair, but scarce the type for whom I would form a lasting attachment.”

  Rebecca clapped her hands, her face more animated than he had seen it for days. “Have you done so? Oh, how exciting! Is it someone I know well? Is it—I do hope it is a certain very lovely girl who is just a little taller than I, perhaps.”

  “She ain’t so very tall since she’s taken to wearing slippers with lower heels,” he said defensively. “Just about perfect, in fact.”

  “Yes, she is indeed the very dearest girl.”

  “Well, I am, er, very glad you—ah.” Boothe flushed. He seldom flushed and, feeling his face grow heated, averted it, coughed, then stammered, “If—er that is, should Letty—er, Miss Boudreaux … would—er, might you—oh, dashitall, Becky! You know what I mean.”

  She leaned to hug him impulsively. “I do. And she is the very girl for you. I have so prayed you would choose her, for she has been in love with you this age!”

  He scanned her face with betraying eagerness. “Do you really think so? I scarce can tell whether I’m on my head or my heels. When first we met, I thought her a nice chit, y’know. But the more I saw of her, the more I saw what a truly delightful lady she is. So kind, Becky, and gracious. And gentle. And you must admit she’s beautiful.”

  “And brave,” Rebecca contributed. “Only think how she stood by me at the ball. Snow, you will never know how frightened I was, thinking that at any minute someone would give de Villars away, and we both would be dragged off to the Tower! When Letitia came up so staunchly, I could have kissed her!”

  “Yes.” He frowned darkly. “I cannot like her to have run such a risk.�
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  “Oh, can you not? And what of the risks you are running, sir?”

  “Fustian! I’m a man.”

  She laughed. “Are you, so? I have always fancied you a great, silly boy!”

  “Wretch,” he said with a grin, tugging the nearest ringlet. “Poor Letty, to have such a madcap for a sister.”

  “Have you offered already, then? Good gracious! You waste no time.”

  “I’ve wasted too damned much already!” But he added rather shyly, “I ain’t offered formally, of course. Cannot, you know, until I’ve approached the old gentleman. Ecod! He’s like to judge me a very poor prospect, eh?”

  She looked at the fair young face, the clear eyes, the proud tilt to the head, the broad shoulders and athletic build of this loved brother, and said a fond, “He could only be delighted.”

  “Silly cabbage!” But he took up her hand and dropped a rare kiss on it. “Never mind about my manly beauty. What about my reputation?”

  “What fustian! You’ve never been much in the petticoat line, nor—”

  “Deuce take it, girl! You must not use such vulgarities! Whatever would Ward say? Or—my Lady Ward?”

  “I know.” But peeping at him mischievously, she said, “I have to overcome the habits picked up from my wicked brothers! Oh, how thrilled Johnny will be by your news! I shall write— No, you must, of course. He will come home, and we shall have the most beautiful wedding, and I shall help Letitia choose her bride clothes, and—”

  “And—heigh-ho, off we go!” he intervened, shaking his head at her. “Becky, Becky! Do you never mean to stop romancing and start growing up?”

  He helped her back into the saddle, swung astride his own mount, and led the way down into the lane.

  Rebecca protested his remark indignantly. “And this from a man who only last April walked backwards to Clapham and then lost his wager because he fell into a horse trough!”

  He chuckled. “No, but you see I am in love now, and everything in the world so changed! But—you know the feeling, eh?”

  Rebecca’s smiling gaze fell away. She said rather unevenly, “What did you mean about your reputation? A few escapades, merely, unless— Snow! You were not deeply involved with the Uprising?”

  “No. I meant only that I’m known to be pockets to let. Trust his lordship to know that. The old boy’s keen as a cross-eyed walrus, and I ain’t at all sure I’ll blame him does he deal me a leveller.”

  She frowned. It was very true that they were far from comfortably circumstanced. And Letitia was a considerable heiress. If her great-uncle judged Snow a fortune hunter … Uneasily, she said, “Lord Boudreaux is likely happy as a minnow. He must be does he love Letitia, for I am very sure she is aux anges, dear girl.”

  “I pray you have the right of it.” They rode on in silence for a short while. Then Snowden said, “One thing, when the old boy learns how you saved de Villars’ life, that may turn the trick!”

  Rebecca was properly reassuring, but she could not place much dependence upon that fact. After all, my Lord Boudreaux had disinherited his notorious grandnephew.

  * * *

  “Why so dismal, my dearest?” Tripping across the back garden to where Rebecca sat alone under the apple tree, Mrs. Boothe held up the paniers of her charming gown of primrose muslin, all decked about with tiny bows of yellow satin, and was herself as light-hearted and bright-eyed as a girl, from dainty beruffled cap to tiny slippers. “I have been looking for you this age,” said the little lady blithely. “Anthony and Patience went blackberrying, and he teased her, so she pushed him into a bush and is now overset with remorse. Can you not feature it? That tiny mite of a child!”

  Amused, Rebecca said, “I do not blame her a bit. Anthony treats her as though she were a loved but rather wooden-headed pet dog. Is he badly damaged?”

  “Physically, no. But mentally—” Albinia threw up her hands and sat beside her niece. “He writhes, poor boy. As all males do when a girl outwits ’em. Speaking of which, has Snow heard aught of poor de Villars? He was much too ill to go riding off like that, and I am convinced did so purely to remove his dangerous presence from— Good gracious, dearest! Are you feeling feverish? Your cheeks are so flushed and your eyes look—”

  Attack, thought Rebecca desperately, was ever the best means of defence, or so Papa used to hold. And so she intervened, “Never mind about my cheeks, you sly creature! Only look at your own! I vow you look no older than cousin Evaline, and twice as lovely. Whence cometh these pretty blushes and the stars in your eyes? Eh? What have you been up to that you keep from me?”

  Albinia lowered her lashes at once, but could not extinguish the betraying glow from her cheeks. “It must be this pure country air. Now why must you stare so, horrid child? I declare one cannot put on a new gown without—”

  “He has offered! Why, you shameless little jade! Mr. Melton offered and you said naught of it!”

  Blushful and fluttering and quite beside herself with agitation, Mrs. Boothe responded, “Why, Becky, I would not— I mean, I did not— I had no thought to say anything until you yourself were— Oh, wretched girl! Yes! Is it not superb? Your silly aunt is to be wed again! Oh, I feel—”

  But her feelings were smothered as she was swept into a hug, kissed, exclaimed over, and congratulated, and all with such a depth of love and joy that her eyes became bright with more than happiness and she had to grope blindly for the scrap of cambric and lace she designated a handkerchief.

  “Naughtiest of aunts,” Rebecca chided, her own cheeks aglow with excitement. “I demand to know the how and why and where of it! Did he go down upon his knees? Was he too bashful to make a proper offer? Where shall you live? Can he support you in the fashion to which you are accustomed? Is he richer than Croesus? Come—speak up now!”

  Between laughter and tears, Mrs. Boothe cried, “Mercy! What a plethora of questions! He proposed last evening whilst we walked back to the cottage. And it was on this very bench, bless the dear object! As for how—we were speaking of somebody else, as a matter of fact, and I said that I was sure this particular gentleman was head over ears in love with a certain lady, only it was hard to guess whether or not he might propose. And George—Mr. Melton, I mean—said he had always believed ladies knew long before gentlemen when they had won hearts, and then he—he sort of rushed with great speed into saying, ‘For instance, dear Mrs. Albinia, you must know the depth of my esteem for you.’ And—” She clasped one hand to her rapidly rising and falling bosom, and said happily, “Oh, Becky! I was so astonished, and before I could utter a word he had indeed fallen to his knee—well, you may look incredulous, though to be sure it was not very far to fall, since we were sitting down at the time—and begged I grant him my hand in marriage.”

  “How splendid!” Rebecca’s hug was so boisterous that her aunt wailed she must be quite jellied did she not desist. “And when shall you be wed? The gentleman has a home in the country, I believe?”

  “Near Richmond. He is to take me down there tomorrow, if you would not object to stay here alone, dearest. His mama is quite lonely there, so George thinks she must be pleased to know we shall live in the house for much of the year.” She clung to Rebecca’s hand and went on earnestly, “I shall expect you to come to us very soon, my pet. You cannot stay in Town alone, though if Sir Peter should make an offer, things would be quite different, of course. And I do believe he will, for he can scarce tear his eyes from you when—”

  “When he is not gazing at Mrs. Monahan,” Rebecca put in dryly.

  “Oh, but every gentleman looks at The Monahan. Even George. And one can scarce blame them—she’s a striking woman. Besides,” continued Mrs. Boothe carelessly, “everyone knows she was de Villars’ fancy piece, and even he did not offer for her.”

  Her eyes flashing, Rebecca flared, “Why do you say ‘even he’? Trevelyan de Villars is as well-born as any man!”

  Her aunt blinked, but persisted, “I do not dispute that. But—his reputation…! Horrors!”

>   “Reputations are all too often created by unconscionable gabble-mongers.”

  “Very true. But not in this case. All London knows he ruined a lady when he was no more than a boy, and—”

  “And has been paying a cruel price ever since for that piece of folly!” Her brows drawn into a fierce scowl, Rebecca said hotly, “And if it comes to that, Aunt Alby, I would give a deal to know how this sadly disgraced lady contrived to make an excellent match not a year later. It appears to me there is more to that tale than has ever been revealed!”

  “Why, there always is, my love. And do not mistake, I think de Villars charming. Despite the fact he so recklessly endangered us all—and you in—”

  “Endangered us! He risked his life for a poor wounded fugitive! I would not call that reckless. Gallant, unselfish, courageous, rather!”

  It became necessary that Mrs. Boothe purse her lips so as to hide a smile. “Hmmnnn,” she mused. “Nonetheless, I cannot believe Sir Peter to be seriously enamoured of The Monahan. So soon as he returns he will make you an offer, dear one. I know it!”

  Rebecca sighed. “I hope so,” she said, forlornly.

  Mr. Melton called for his betrothed at a very early hour the next morning, and they drove off in his light carriage, bound for Surrey and his country estate, with Albinia’s handkerchief fluttering from the open window, and her promise to be back next day before sunset echoing in Rebecca’s ears.

  They had been gone scarcely two hours when a sleek black travelling coach bowled up the drivepath and Lord Kadenworthy and Viscount Glendenning alighted. Rebecca had walked out onto the porch to greet them and, chancing to glance at the handsome vehicle, was struck by the absurd notion that one of the footmen was Lord Graham Fortescue. The coach was in motion before she noted the resemblance, and Kadenworthy was planting an ardent salute upon her hand.

  “My lord,” she said urgently, “I know it is foolish in me, but I am sure that footman was—”

  “Well, well, more company,” drawled Horatio Glendenning, and sure enough another carriage made its way along the drive, this time bearing Martha and Walter Street. Delighted, Rebecca welcomed her callers, sent Millie scurrying to warn Evans they would sit down five to luncheon, and forgot all about the footman. He did not, in fact, come back into her thoughts until she and her guests went inside after a merry game of croquet and found the dining table readied for lunch and my Lord Fortescue dozing in an elbow chair in the parlour.