by Dawn Brower
She climbed the stoop to Hythe House and shook her head at the thought of living out her days with this dreary weather as a backdrop and married to any one of the stiff-rumped Englishmen she’d encountered since she’d arrived. A shiver raced down her spine, and not of the good variety, not like the kind she’d often experienced with Henry back home in Bermuda. But she pushed all thoughts of the late ship’s captain from her mind. Mourning his loss was nearly as painful as mourning Papa’s. But, of course, they were linked in her mind and always would be as she’d lost them both the same awful day.
“Miss Beckett.” The ducal butler greeted her with a nod. “Her Grace was just asking about you.”
Her Grace, a long-time friend of Papa’s. Cara was quite fortunate the duchess had been willing to host her in Town, as the connection to a powerful duke and his wife had not been lost on a number of politicians she’d met over the last few days. “Thank you, Poole,” she said. “Where might I find her?”
He gestured to the closest parlor and said, “Right in there, Miss,” before shutting the front door and resuming his post.
Just as Cara was about to enter the room, a collection of titterings drifted out into the corridor, making it quite obvious the duchess had company. But as Her Grace had just asked about her, Cara breezed into the room and nodded in greeting to the duchess. “Poole said you were looking for me.”
The Duchess of Hythe grinned. And her aged blue eyes twinkled just so as her grey ringlets bounced against the edge of her face. “Cara my dear, do come in, come in!” And she patted a place beside her on the settee. And then she very quickly introduced a trio of other ladies gathered around the parlor. The Countesses of Folksworth and Upwell, and Lady Hedleyhope, the latter of which had a pinched expression (even when she smiled) as though she’d just smelled something horrid.
Cara settled in beside Her Grace and greeted the ladies, in her most charming manner. After all, when the matter of the salt raking on the Turks Islands came before House of Lords, the women’s husbands could be rather useful, or rather their favorable votes would be rather welcome. Always best to make a good first impression. “I am charmed to meet you all,” she said.
“Do you remember Cara’s father?” the duchess asked one of the countesses. “My old friend, Bernard Beckett?”
The lady’s countenance brightened as she regarded Cara. “You’re one of the Beckett Salt heiresses.”
So far. If they lost the vote in parliament, Beckett Salt wouldn’t have many days left. Still, she nodded. Being thought of as an heiress was better than being thought of as a poor relation…not that she was really a relation of the duchess’, but that was neither here nor there.
“And isn’t she lovely?” the duchess cooed. “It would be a shame to have her leave us. Why Hythe was just commenting yesterday how much brighter the house is with Cara in residence.”
“Is your father with you in Town?” the countess asked. Lady Upwell, Cara was fairly certain.
Before she could answer, the duchess clapped her hand over Cara’s and said, “Poor Bernard didn’t survive the last storm that hit Bermuda. His entire ship was lost at sea.” Papa, Henry, and the entire crew.
The three ladies gasped in unison and then offered their condolences.
“Yes, yes, awful,” the duchess continued. “And so now poor Cara has had to travel in her father’s stead to London to argue against the Bahamian colony’s claim on the Turks Islands.”
“I know nothing about The Bahamas or the Turks Islands,” Lady Hedleyhope admitted.
“No, no, of course not,” the duchess said airily. “I try to avoid politics myself.” She shot Cara a sly expression. “Though for my dear Cara’s sake I am making an exception. I am even pressing Hythe on her behalf. It’s absolutely imperative the Turks Islands remain in common British use as they always have been. I’m certain I can persuade Hythe to see things as I do.”
“Yes, well, that sounds very interesting,” Lady Hedleyhope said, sounding far from interested.
“I say,” Lady Upwell began, “did you see that awful bit in the Whispers From Lady X this morning?” in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“The fellows who made some sort of wager on their ability to make any woman fall in love?” Cara asked. Everyone along Bond Street had been up in arms over the piece. Though she hadn’t seen it herself, she’d certainly heard about it all morning long.
“The Earl of Darling and Lord Daniel Westham,” Lady Folksworth said with a frown. “They’re the ones who placed that wager in the book at Whites.”
“Darling and my nephew?” Lady Upwell asked, aghast. “How can you possibly know for certain it was Daniel?”
“Darling is obvious. The column didn’t hide his identity well at all,” Lady Folksworth said rather knowingly. “But as for the wager itself, Folksworth was there last night and overheard the whole thing between them. Darling said he could make any proper girl fall in love with him in less than a fortnight. Lord Daniel has given him ten days to do so.” Then she shook her head in annoyance. “Arrogant…men.”
“Heavens, Agnes,” the duchess laughed. “Do you know men of any other variety?”
“That’s beside the point,” Lady Folksworth continued. “To be so callous. To think that any woman would drop at Darling’s feet simply because he willed it…His conceit knows no bounds and he needs to be brought down a few pegs. Or more than a few.”
“I’ve always liked Darling,” the duchess said with a generous smile. “And I, for one, even think he’ll win his wager with Lord Daniel.”
“How can you possibly think he’ll win this wager?” Lady Hedleyhope asked, her pinched expression appeared even more so. “Every decent girl in Town is on to his nonsense. No self-respecting lady would put herself in a position to be made a laughingstock.”
Lady Upwell agreed with a nod. “Absolutely. There is no possible way he’ll win.”
“I’d wager no girl will even look in his general direction over the next ten days,” Lady Folksworth added.
“Oh? What are you willing to wager?” the duchess asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Folksworth sputtered slightly.
“I wager that not only will at least one girl look at Darling, but that he will, in fact, win his wager with Lord Daniel. I predict that within ten days, he’ll have wooed some girl with his charm and handsomeness, and she will be madly in love with him.”
“You’re mad,” Lady Folksworth scoffed.
“Shall we make it interesting, Agnes?”
Lady Folksworth frowned slightly. “What do you have in mind, Margaret?”
The duchess shrugged and then glanced briefly at Cara. “If I win, each of you must convince your husbands to vote against the Bahamian claim on the Turks Islands.”
Lady Upwell snorted. “How exactly do you think we’re supposed to do that?”
The duchess laughed. “Honestly, Harriet, I’m certain you have powers of persuasion over your husband. I know I have them over mine.”
“And what if we win?” Lady Hedleyhope asked.
The regal Duchess of Hythe shrugged. “I won’t bring up politics again during tea.”
“Deal,” Lady Fordam said without a moment’s hesitation.
“All right,” the Duchess of Hythe began, eagerly grasping Cara’s hands just as soon as her guests had said their farewells. “What are we going to do to win our wager?”
“I beg your pardon?” Cara blinked at the older woman. “Our wager?” After all, Her Grace hadn’t needed any help making that wager. Cara hadn’t had a thing to do with it.
“Well, of course!” The duchess squeezed Cara’s hands. “If I win, you win the votes of three stalwart lords. Upwell, in particular, will be quite the coup. We are in this together, Cara my dear.”
Well, she supposed that was true after a rather odd turn of events. “You don’t think they could have been convinced to help me some other way?”
“Possibly,” Her Grace conceded with a
shrug, “but this situation presented itself. So I improvised.” Then she grinned from ear-to-ear. “You’ve never met Darling, have you?”
Cara didn’t think so. She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“Oh, you would know it. Handsome. Dry sense of humor. Quite plump in the pockets.”
“Is Darling a peer or a courtesy title?”
The duchess smiled approvingly. “Heir to the Eastbourne marquessate.”
So not a peer and without a vote in parliament. That was unfortunate. Cara sighed. “This wager of his, do you think he has a particular lady in mind?”
“I would be surprised if he did.” Her Grace shook her head. “No, no, Darling is quite decisive in all things. If he’d ever decided on a particular lady, she’d already be his countess.”
Something else that was unfortunate, then. “Your Grace, I was on Bond Street this afternoon and that wager is all anyone is talking about. Lady Folksworth was right about their outrage. None of them will walk within ten feet of Lord Darling.”
At that, the duchess shrugged. “That’s of no consequence, Cara. All of the faint-hearted ladies can pin their hopes and set their caps for someone else for all I care.”
Which made no sense at all. “But then, who…?”
Her Grace squeezed Cara’s hand and said, “Well, you, my dear girl, of course. Who did you think I meant?”
“Me?” Cara’s belly twisted into a knot, which she didn’t care for in the least.
“Well, of course. We’ll beat him at his own game.”
Beat him at his own game? Cara couldn’t quite believe that the duchess was even remotely serious. The last thing she’d come to London to do was engage in antics such as this. “You want me to fall in love with him?”
“Well, I have no opinion about your falling in love with him one way or the other, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think you have.”
Now she felt like she was going to be sick. “I don’t think so, Your Grace. That seems so disingenuous.” Especially since she knew what it felt like to be in love, and it wasn’t something she thought could be faked.
“More so than the gentleman boasting that he could make any woman fall in love with him if he willed it?” The duchess sat a little straighter. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I say. We can win our wager and teach him a valuable lesson at the same time.”
Cara blinked at the older woman. “I thought you liked him.”
“Oh, I do,” Her Grace agreed with a nod. “He’s a delightful man, and I have a feeling that his ridiculous wager began with him trying to be kind to my grandson, but that doesn’t mean that his arrogance can’t be taken down a peg or two, Agnes was right about that.”
“I’m not sure.”
“My darling Cara.” A patronizing smile spread across the duchess’ face. “He is attempting to play some girl, any girl, for a fool. So we’ll turn the tables on him and garner you three important votes in the meantime. Now where is Bernard Beckett’s cutthroat daughter who would do anything to save her livelihood and that of her sisters?”
Well, when put that way Cara didn’t have much of a choice. Still, she couldn’t believe she was agreeing to this. She shook her head as she asked, “How do I meet him?”
The duchess flashed her a winning grin. “I have it under great authority that he will be at the Loxton ball this evening.”
“Great authority?”
Her Grace nodded quickly. “Lucien mentioned as much to me this morning when he came by for a visit.”
Ah, so Darling was Lucien’s friend. It stood to reason the duchess liked him then, she and the duke had a certain preference for that particular grandson, though Cara had never understood why. Not that she didn’t like Captain Gates, she just had never noticed anything spectacular about him over the years. But none of that was neither here nor there, not as far as her purposes went.
“I’m not familiar with the Loxtons,” she said. “Has his lordship taken up his seat in the Lords?”
“You are so singularly focused, Cara.” The duchess shook her head. “I’m certain you’ll have a great chance to meet any number of fellows this evening whose votes you can try to sway.”
Chapter 2
THAT EVENING
Loxton House
Upper Brook Street, Mayfair
There was no way on Earth that Reese was going to win his damned wager, not that he’d even wanted to make it in the first place, but now…Now with every single girl in Town giving him the cold shoulder and their mothers giving him the cut direct…Well, he was more than annoyed that he’d ever opened his blasted mouth the night before.
“Oh, there’s my grandmother,” Lucien muttered under his breath. “And…her.”
What the devil was that supposed to mean? Reese glanced across Loxton’s chandelier-lit ballroom to find the formidable Duchess of Hythe with…well, a very pretty girl with light red hair, actually. “Who is she?”
Lucien glanced at Reese out of the corner of his eye. “Miss Beckett.” Then he snorted softly. “Actually, she’s come to England from Bermuda, no family to speak of, other than her sisters who did not make the journey with her. She might be one of the few girls who hasn’t heard about your wager if you want to meet her.”
That was a thought. Miss Beckett, whoever she was, could potentially be one of the few who might engage him in conversation. His wager might not be for naught if he could charm her, he supposed. But that still didn’t answer the concern Reese had about the redhead. “Why did you have a tone a minute ago?”
“I didn’t have a tone.” Lucien shook his head.
Reese snorted. “You did. You said, ‘Oh, there’s my grandmother and…her,’ with a distinctive tone.”
“I did not have a tone,” his friend repeated. “It’s just that Grandmother is enthralled with her.”
“Indeed?”
“Well, all the Beckett sisters really,” Lucien continued. “I have the feeling she wishes I’d set my heart on one of them.”
One of them might be better than the fickle Miss Caldwell had been, though Reese didn’t say as much. “Oh? Then why haven’t you?”
“It doesn’t work that way, and I’ve always loved Anna.”
Oh, for God’s sake. Somehow Reese managed not to roll his eyes. “So no other aversion to the sisters Beckett, then?”
“Salt heiresses,” Lucien said. “The three of them.”
“I beg your pardon?” Had his friend said salt heiresses?
“Bernard Beckett amassed a large salt empire in the Caribbean, though he raised his daughters in Bermuda,” Lucien explained. “They’re far from nobility, though with their fortunes, they could probably land some impoverished title if they were of a mind. What would any of them want with a crippled third son of a second son of a duke?”
“You are selling yourself short again,” Reese grumbled.
Lucien scoffed. “Returned war hero with lofty connections?”
“Sounds a bit better,” Reese replied, though his attention was still across the way on the very lovely redhead who was now smiling up at Ellisfield. Speaking of impoverished titles. Reese doubted the viscount’s interest in the girl was any more noble than his own. “You can arrange an introduction for me to Miss Beckett?” Reese asked.
“Of course. Known her all her life, on and off.”
“Perfect,” Reese replied as Miss Beckett accepted the penniless viscount’s arm for a stroll about the room. “Poor girl. I’m certain he’s already boring her to tears.”
“He does tend to drone on about his spaniels,” Lucien agreed. “But she’ll listen to anything if it means a vote at the end of the day.”
“I beg your pardon?” Reese could not have heard him correctly. “A vote at the end of the day? What is that supposed to mean?”
“On second thought,” his friend continued. “Unless you can secure your father’s vote, she may not give you a second glance.”
His father’s vote? His father was bac
k home at Eastbourne Chase, tending to Reese’s sick step-mother. He wasn’t voting on anything these days, but that was neither here nor there. “What the devil are you talking about?” He glanced once again at the pretty redhead on Ellisfield’s arm. What involvement in politics could a girl like her possibly have?
Lucien shrugged. “Salt rights to the Turks Islands. Grandfather says she can flash her pretty smile at every peer in England, but someday soon the Bermudians are destined to lose this battle.”
“I know less than nothing about salt rights to the Turks Islands.” It wasn’t anything he’d ever even given a second thought to, and wouldn’t now if the information might not be useful in wooing the pretty Miss Beckett.
“A fight’s been brewing between Bermuda and The Bahamas for decades, but ever since the Turks were annexed by the Bahamians, Bermuda’s interests in the islands have been in peril.”
“Indeed?”
“Bernard Beckett was fairly savvy, politically speaking, however; and he managed to keep Beckett Salt flourishing despite the conflict.”
“You know quite a bit about this.” Which was more than surprising as Lucien had never seemed to have much of an interest in international politics in the least, aside from his years fighting Napoleon’s army, of course; but the Peninsular Wars were a different sort of political animal. There had been no escaping that particular conflict for anyone whether they had an interest in international politics or otherwise.
Lucien glanced back toward his grandmother. “As I said, Her Grace is enthralled with the Becketts. So the Bermudians’ plight is not easily ignored if one spends much time at Hythe House.”
Which, apparently, Reese did not do, as he had never realized any sort of plight existed. Or if he had, he’d never particularly cared before now and such knowledge had been discarded almost instantly if it had ever been acquired. “I think we should save her from Ellisfield. What do you think?”
“I think you’re as ruthless with your wager as she is in getting her votes.”
Well, that stung a bit. “I hardly think I’m ruthless.”