The Wagered Widow

by Patricia Veryan

  Rebecca sat motionless, scarcely able to control her emotions. When de Villars had staggered into that ante-room and been so desperately in need of help, he certainly must have known he would only have had to mention Jonathan’s name to have won her aid. But even in that ghastly moment he had taken the entire risk to himself. And later, when he had tried to thank her—to thank her for helping him, what had she said? That she would have done the same for any hunted creature. She felt sick with shame, and thought an aching, “What have I done?” But she knew what she had done—and why. She had been jealous; mad with jealousy and hurt pride because The Monahan had been in his carriage. And so she had sent him off with bitter cruelty to remember her by, never knowing how deeply she was indebted. A fine reward for “a very brave gentleman”!

  Jonathan said wretchedly, “You see how I have upset her? I should not have come!”

  Rebecca pulled herself together. “I am—all right now, dearest. Come, sit by me, and tell me of it all. How did you join the Jacobites?”

  He sat beside her and told her something of this past year. He had been deeply interested in the Jacobite Cause for a long time, and when he had completed the Grand Tour with Durstin McCloud, had gone to France, joined The Pretender under an assumed name, and returned to Scotland to fight with him.

  “And you were badly wounded at Culloden! Oh, dearest boy! To think I never knew—never so much as suspected. Snow, whyever did you not tell me? Did you think I was not to be trusted?”

  Jonathan said gently, “I charged him to say nothing. It was a deadly secret, love. Better you should not know.”

  “Gad, but it was,” Snowden confirmed. “Each time I looked at Hilary Broadbent I yearned to strangle him! You would likely have jabbed him with your hatpin or some such thing, Becky.”

  She laughed shakily. “Perhaps I would. At all events, the important thing is that you are safe, Johnny.” She saw the swift look that passed between the brothers and said in deeper anxiety, “He is safe, isn’t he, Snow? You will be able to get him away?”

  “Yes. Can I but get him to the coast. Forty and— Forty’s at work on that now, just in case I am watched.”

  “My God! Do they suspect you?”

  Jonathan gripped her hand tightly. “Never shake so, little bird.”

  “Do not! Oh, do not call me that!” she flared.

  Snowden burst into a laugh. Jonathan looked from one to the other uncertainly. Snowden explained, “Rebecca’s affianced is a bird watcher. Jolly good chap, for all that.”

  Inspecting the great ruby on his sister’s hand, Jonathan said, “How grateful I am to know you will be well provided for. Now—you are not to worry, I shall be away tonight.”

  “By posing as a footman atop Kadenworthy’s coach again?”

  He smiled. “I thought you had seen me.”

  “And should have known my own flesh and blood was close to me, for I had such a sense of danger threatening—I must have sensed what you were suffering. For days I had been troubled, and—oh! What about Anthony? Does he know you are here?”

  Snowden said, “No. And must not. I wouldn’t put it past that Holt fella to question the boy. I gave Millie strict instructions not to come back until five o’clock.”

  “And Aunt Alby? Oh, she would so love to see him, Snow.”

  “Yes,” said Jonathan. “I would love to see the dear soul. But the fewer who know of my perilous presence, the better.”

  Snowden glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Johnny, man, we must be off. Put your years back on.”

  Rebecca watched as he replaced his disguise. Her eyes dimming, she thought, “Shall I ever see him again?” He looked at her, his own eyes sad. She summoned a smile somehow. “I must not send you off with tears. But … oh, my dearest! Be safe! You will—” She broke off with a gasp of fear as the door burst open.

  A dirty, smelly, disreputable street pedlar entered, cap pulled low over stringy hair, and insolence in every line of him.

  “Arternoon, ma’am,” said my Lord Graham Fortescue, his accent as atrocious as his grin was broad. “All aboard wot’s goin’ aboard, guvnor. Got a lovely bargeload of winkles ready to ’ead north, sir. All aboard!”

  “Going—north?” Rebecca echoed. “But—”

  “Last place they’ll look, love,” said Snowden, assisting her to her feet. “They are on the alert for those trying to head south; not someone going right back to the trouble. Come, Johnny. It’s a smelly road for you, old fellow, but with safety at the end, I’ll warrant. Forty, you’d best go out by the tradesmen’s entrance.”

  Rebecca threw herself into Jonathan’s arms and kissed him lovingly. My lord, watching in mild amusement, gave a gasp of fright as Rebecca turned to him. Dirt, smell, and all, he was embraced and kissed just as soundly. Red to the roots of his hair, he gabbled something wholly incoherent, and fled.

  They were gone then, and she was alone. Before she had time to gather her thoughts, Mrs. Boothe hurried in. “Whoever was that poor old gentleman, love? The most awful street hawker came with a message for him.”

  Rebecca’s heavy heart lifted a little. If Albinia had not recognized Jonathan, there was hope indeed. “What did he say?” she asked.

  “Some nonsense about the carriage being in the way of his barrow. The impertinence! I vow, Becky, the commoners are becoming—” She wrinkled her dainty nose. “Lud, but it smells downright fishy n here!”

  The door creaked a little wider. Whisky waddled in and began to sniff interestedly about.

  Rebecca laughed. “Your opinion is shared, dear Aunt!”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Mrs. Albinia Boothe drew the lacy shawl closer about her dainty shoulders and, affecting an altogether spurious air of bewilderment, echoed, “Boudreaux House? But whyever should you go there, love? I understood Sir Peter to say he was coming today to take you to meet an aunt of his.”

  “Yes, but he finds he must postpone the call.” Rebecca rose from her dressing table, easing the long kid glove over her wrist. “So I shall beard the lion in his den.”

  She looked, thought Mrs. Boothe with satisfaction, utterly delectable in the pale orange robe battante with its richly embroidered train and the neckline that plunged into a froth of lace. Her hair was piled in high, powdered curls, and a small black patch in the shape of a half moon set high on her right cheekbone drew attention to her big dark eyes. “So you mean to intercede for Snowden and Letitia,” said Albinia. “How brave you are! Poor lion—he is doomed to go down to defeat.”

  Those words bolstered Rebecca’s courage all the way to Boudreaux House. It would be so wonderful to have good news to carry back to dear Snow. There had been no word of him for three days now, but she was sure she would have heard if her brothers had been taken. The hardest part was to carry her terrible secret alone. There was no one to confide in, no one to help her through the long, anxious hours that were made even more trying by her personal misery. She had tried to keep very busy and had accomplished several long-neglected tasks. And one, more recent, but of such import that she had still not been able to bring the details to her aunt. How odd that, expecting that particular task to be so distressing, it had turned out to be not only easy, but resulting in such a tremendous sense of relief.…

  The carriage reached Grosvenor Square, and the home of Lord Boudreaux loomed so large and menacing behind its noble trees that her knees began to weaken. But she must not weaken. Her own mistakes were irrevocable, and she had no one to blame but herself. Heaven knew what the future might hold for Jonathan. But Snow, bless his warm brave heart, must have his chance at happiness.

  The butler received her graciously and showed her into a charming saloon. She had no sooner sat down and removed her gloves than Letitia Boudreaux slipped into the room and ran to kiss her. “Becky, dearest! I saw your carriage, but no word was brought me. Is Snowden all right? I have heard nothing for days and days!”

  Rebecca touched the wan cheek tenderly. “No more have I. But
if aught had gone amiss we would have heard, I feel sure. I am here to see your great-uncle.”

  “Because of—us?” Letitia’s clasp was very tight. “Bless you! I am so grateful! I thought perhaps you had come because you heard about Treve, but—”

  A low-pitched, singularly attractive male voice could be heard from the hall.

  Letitia gave a gasp. “Uncle Geoffrey! I must go!”

  “Wait!” begged Rebecca. “What did you mean about Treve? Is he—”

  But with a flash of petticoats and a swirl of faintly perfumed air, Letitia had run to a door leading to the garden and was gone.

  “Mrs.… Parrish…?”

  Rebecca turned, her anxiety so plainly written in her eyes that the slight gentleman who had entered the room halted, surveying her in some surprise. “Good gracious!” he exclaimed, as she rose from her curtsey. “How distressed you are. Dear lady, how may I—” He had come swiftly to take her hand, but now stood motionless, gazing into her face.

  His fine-boned, delicate features were not at all what Rebecca had expected. He seemed more the frail scholar than the inflexible tyrant. And just now the clear eyes—so reminiscent of another pair of eyes—reflected stark astonishment. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Her brow wrinkled. Where on earth had she met this man before?

  “My angel!” he breathed. “After all these months, I have found you!”

  “Good God!” thought Rebecca. “He is indeed like his grandnephew!”

  The silver head was bowed over her hand with exquisite grace. Straightening, he saw consternation in her eyes, and his own began to twinkle. “Sink me, but you must take me for a clod! And probably imagine— No, I pray you, do not imagine. Recollect, rather.” He led her back to a chair and, when she was seated, occupied the sofa beside it. “A year ago, almost … on Bond Street. I was—”

  “Oh, la! Yes, yes!” She clapped her hands, quite forgetting to be regal and distinguished, the unaffected gesture brightening the glow in Boudreaux’s eyes. “You are my poor man who was taken ill and those stupid people would not help!”

  “And you are my avenging angel who swooped down to rescue me before I was trampled to death! I had been struck with the pneumonia, but recovered, as you see. My dear child! How ever may I express my gratitude? If it is within my power…” He gestured expansively.

  The delight in Rebecca’s eyes faded. “You—ah, you do know who I am?” she asked cautiously.

  “Your card proclaimed you to be Mrs. Parrish, I believe.”

  She sighed. “Ah. I see you do not know who I am, sir. My maiden name was Boothe. And my brother is—”

  “Oh, dear,” said his lordship. “Well now, we have rather a pretty predicament, do we not?”

  A faint flush of embarrassment lit his fine features.

  Ever impulsive, Rebecca reached out to place a consoling hand on his wrist. “No. I shall not take advantage of your gratitude. If I am to win you over, it must be because of my dear brother’s sterling qualities. Not because you quite mistakenly consider yourself beholden to me.”

  The corners of the well-shaped mouth twitched. He leant back, his elbow on the arm of the sofa, his chin against the palm of his hand, while regarding her with faintly amused anticipation. “May I ask, dear ma’am, why you feel my indebtedness to be ‘mistaken’?”

  She hesitated, searching his face, but if there was a smile in his eyes, it was a friendly smile, and not the kind that would lead to mockery. “Because, my lord,” she said earnestly, “you gave me a very rare chance to make amends. Only think of how many times one sees a poor soul who is crippled perhaps, or maimed, or blind. Or one meets a bright young person so full of brilliant promise, yet doomed from some dread affliction, and one’s heart is wrung. If only, you think, you could give them a magic potion, or tell them some cure, or know of a physician who could help. But there is nothing you can do! How lucky was I! You were there—needing help, and I was able to help you! Do you see?”

  His eyes, initially puzzled, had become very soft. He said gently, “Yes. But you said, ‘make amends.’ For what, child?”

  “Oh.” She flushed and looked down. “So many things. Kind words I have left unsaid; gossip I have repeated; my dreadful daydreaming which quite drives my poor aunt into the boughs; my improvidences! My”—she smiled at him, awakening a roguish dimple in her cheek—“my hoydenish behaviour and often dreadful temper!” She sighed. “Perhaps, when we are able to be of help to someone, it may be noted down on our—our celestial records, do you not think, sir?”

  He chuckled. “And be a golden mark to wipe out some black ones? A lovely notion, my dear, though it would seem to me that your sins are small indeed—compared to most.”

  “Perhaps,” she said dubiously. “But they are an exceeding heavy burden at times.”

  “Then you must be faint under such a weight.” He stood and crossed to tug at an embroidered bell-pull. “Allow us to refresh you—a dish of Bohea, a glass of ratafia, and some cakes perhaps. And then you shall tell me why you think your brother would make my very beloved grandniece a good husband.”

  His eyes twinkled merrily at her. How gracefully he moved, and with what sweet courtesy he spoke. “A true gentleman,” thought Rebecca, and blessed the lucky chance that had enabled her to be of service to him. She felt as though she had known him for years. Surely, it would be easy to convince him of Snow’s worth.…

  Half an hour later, she was far less confident of success. She had spoken of her brother’s warm-heartedness and loyalty, of his unfailing care and kindness to her and Anthony after her husband’s untimely death. Of his excellence at all things athletic, and of his high courage, but although Lord Boudreaux’s questions had been few and gentle, they had also been dismayingly shrewd, and had proven difficult to answer in such a way as to refute the obvious impression that, having no fortune of any size, Snowden had done little to better himself, and did, in fact, continue to dress and conduct his life as though he were a very wealthy young man, existing as did so many others on the expectation of a lucky win at the track or at play, and managing somehow to stay always one jump ahead of the constable. Biting her lip after one such daunting admission, she looked up to find a grave and level gaze fixed upon her.

  Disheartened, she said, “Oh, I know what you must think, sir. But, truly he is not a wastrel. He showed a marked bent for engineering and cartography at university. As a young boy he was most desperately eager to be a naval ensign, only Mama made him promise he would not go, and Snow never breaks his word, you see.”

  “He certainly has a most eloquent defender,” said his lordship with his kindly smile. He put aside his teacup and asked mildly, “Tell me but one thing. You are a mother; had you borne a daughter instead of a son, would you wish her, when the time comes, to marry such a one as Snowden Boothe?”

  It was a home question. Hesitating, Rebecca stammered, “W-well, I—yes! Snow may not have a comfortable independence, but—but we do have a small income from the funds that we share each Quarter Day.” (She did not add that it was invariably spent before they got it!) “And he is loving and kind. The lady who weds him will know what it means to be cherished.”

  He smoothed a wrinkle from his peerless sleeve and said gently, “And—do you think that will weigh with her when she cannot close her desk drawer for the bills that clutter it? When her daughters cannot have pretty clothes, or her sons be enabled to attend Eton or Harrow, or go to university? When she has to weep in secret, each time the reckoning arrives from the milliner or the mantua maker, or the grocery shop?”

  Rebecca whitened and stood suddenly, so that he at once followed suit.

  “Ah, sir!” she said accusingly. “You do know of me, then. And use my own weaknesses against me!” She reached for her reticule, but he was before her, to sweep it up and hold it behind his back.

  “I did not know you when you first arrived. When I learnt who was your brother, I knew also that you were the lady of whom my grandnephew has
spoken so often.”

  “And—and so,” she said unsteadily, “you teased me and made mock of my pleas. That was cruel, sir. I will go now, if you please.”

  “I do not please. And there are many kinds of cruelty, my dear.… In truth, I had not meant to hurt you. Even though…”

  “Even though—what, sir?”

  “I have no right to speak for another. Yet—” He frowned. “You have accused me of judging your brother harshly. I wonder if you, too, perhaps, have judged—not being aware of all the facts of the matter.”

  Rebecca caught her breath.

  His lordship sighed, and held out her reticule. “But—I have no right. I will think on what you—”

  “What—what facts, sir?” she interposed tremulously, taking her reticule but sitting down again with it clasped very tightly to her bosom.

  Lord Boudreaux bowed his head to hide a sudden smile, and seated himself also.

  “You meant Tre—I mean, Mr. de Villars,” she said in a rush of anxious words. “You cannot know how grateful I am for all he has done. I should never have answered him in such haste and—and anger. If you but knew how I have reproached myself! No wonder you hold us in contempt, for if he told you what I said…! Unforgivable!”

  He leant forward to remove the reticule from her nervously twisting fingers. “My nephew has told me very little. I know only that when he recovered, he—”

  “Recovered?” Her eyes huge and dark with fright, she faltered, “But—he was almost well when he left Ward Marching.”

  “No, ma’am. He had come to such a state when he arrived here that he was, for a week, very ill indeed. But surely you must know that a musket ball seldom inflicts a trivial wound?”

  “He said he was perfectly fit! And—he seemed well!” She realized she was babbling, and bit her lip to steady herself. “I—I had no notion— Oh, my lord, tell me, I beg you. Is he very ill now? Is he here?”

  Boudreaux regarded her thoughtfully. “He is much better, praise God. And out at the moment, which would enrage our estimable physician. The ball nicked the bone, you see, and aside from the fact it was excessive painful, we were afraid—well, the fever was extreme high, and Treve apparently with no will to fight it, so— Good God!” Aghast, he stood, looking down at the lovely face that was suddenly drenched with tears. It was most improper, but my lord’s heart was as warm as that of the lady he hosted and, unable to resist that crumpled little face, he sat beside her, put an arm about her shoulders, and drew her into a fatherly embrace. “There, there,” he said, in time-honoured fashion. “My poor girl, how very unhappy you are.”