Heart's Desire (Lords of Chance)

by Wendy Lacapra

  “Farring is head-over-heels for Katerina.”

  Philippa’s expression acquiesced. “I suspected as much myself, though His Grace would never allow the match.”

  Clarissa scowled down at the open garden gate. “Markham must be half Mrs. Sartin’s age.”

  “My dear,” Philippa said, “age doesn’t matter. A woman has needs—needs that don’t change through the years.”

  “I can hardly take your word—we’re nearly the same age and you are happily wed.” Clarissa folded her arms. “But if you are right, I’m sure Markham has been only too happy to satisfy her needs.”

  “Careful, Clarissa.” Philippa closed one eye. “I might begin to believe you care about the gentleman.”

  “Absurd.” Clarissa shivered—more to shake off her suspicions than from disgust.

  Care for him she did not, but he did have a persistent way of claiming her thoughts.

  “If you are developing a tendre for Markham, you may rest easy. Mrs. Sartin tells me they’ve made no arrangement.”

  “I have no claim on Markham. Nor do I wish one.” Still, her heart danced a funny little jig. “However, if Markham had been minding his brotherly duty, he would have remained here with Julia, and the whole awful scene with Moultonbury could have been prevented.”

  “True,” Philippa replied. “And if Rayne were here with you—”

  “This is not about Rayne.”

  “I agree.” Philippa sighed. “Nor is it about Markham, which invitations he chooses to accept, and which lady he chooses to please. This is about Moultonbury and the scene you created. As I said before, we must work quickly to undo any damage.”

  “Your intersession is appreciated but unnecessary,” Clarissa said. “I did intentionally cause a scene. I have decided I am not inclined to marry. And because I’m not inclined to marry, I don’t need to worry what Moultonbury—or anyone else for that matter—thinks.”

  Philippa blinked. And then blinked again. “Pardon?”

  “I am finished with the ton.” Clarissa drank deeply. “I will either look into setting up my own household, or, when Rayne returns, I will convince him to take me with him on his next journey.”

  “To New York?” Philippa shuddered.

  “Yes, to New York. Maybe I could even set up a household there. I hear women can actually own property in the United States.”

  “Women can own property here.”

  “Not married women.”

  “You just said you did not wish to be married.”

  “Perhaps I could be persuaded to change my mind—if the laws were different. And we both know the House of Lords will never change any law to favor women.”

  Philippa downed the rest of her drink and went to refill her glass. She rested against the sideboard and then downed that glass as well.

  “I understand you’re upset.” She stared at the glass as if surprised it was empty. “But, surely, there must be someone among the ton with whom you can share your life.”

  Share your life.

  A pretty phrase for the loss of all legal autonomy.

  “I can think of no one,” she replied.

  “Not a single gentleman appeals?” Philippa’s gaze traveled to the window. “Not even Lord Markham?”

  Why did Philippa return to Markham? Had she unintentionally displayed a preference?

  “I told you I feel nothing for him.” Nothing but a heightened awareness of his presence, the ever-present need to smear away his smirk, and the occasional strange desire to tousle his hair. “And plenty of men appeal…at a distance. Not everyone can be as thoughtful as Lord Darlington is with you, nor as devoted as Lord Bromton is to Katherine. Besides, why are you so shocked? Katerina shows no intention of marrying, either.”

  “Katerina is a widow. And, she is foreign. Eccentricity is expected.”

  “Well then,” Clarissa replied. “Then I, too, will make myself foreign. An Englishwoman in New York.”

  Philippa shook her empty glass toward Clarissa. “Don’t make me pour another.”

  “Philippa,” she said soothingly. “I am not against the idea of marriage, per se. I merely object to its haphazard application to me. Can’t you see? I want the chance to…to live.”

  Philippa set down her glass and rubbed her brow. “I understand, I really do.” She sighed. “My eldest sister made the same argument.”

  Clarissa bit her lip—the eldest of Philippa’s sisters had passed away several years prior. She stepped closer to her friend, but Philippa quickly recovered.

  “Really, Clarissa…to choose to be a spinster…this is not a decision you should make lightly.”

  “I assure you,” Clarissa replied. “I am not.”

  So then why was it, when she looked out on that shiny black gate, regret left a lingering pang like an oath she’d unintentionally uttered and dearly wished she could take back?

  …

  Markham entered his library, and Farring looked up from his novel. Farring was the picture of a gentleman at ease, with brown curls tucked into a respectable wave, tortoiseshell glasses resting on his nose, a banyan tied over a waistcoat. To top things off, he held a smoking pipe in his hand.

  Farring had come to stay with Markham for seemingly altruistic reasons. When Julia had been at her most despondent about Rayne, Farring had brilliantly suggested Julia move in with the Duke of Shepthorpe’s family and share a come-out with his sister Lady Horatia Maxwell-Hughes.

  Farring had insisted Julia would be helping Horatia—and his ruse was the first thing that had eased Julia out of brooding over Rayne.

  However, having an unmarried, unrelated young lady in the house meant Farring had to stay elsewhere—a move Markham was certain Farring did not regret.

  Markham threw himself into a chair and sank down into the pillowy softness.

  “How was the club?” Farring asked.

  “Terrible.”

  Farring set aside his book. “That bad?”

  “I have placed myself in an untenable position—I’m caught in a dilemma with the potential to become a catastrophe.”

  “In other words,” Farring chuckled, “just another evening at Sharpe’s?”

  Markham sent him a warning glance.

  “Confess,” Farring continued jovially. “And please tell me it does not involve having gambled away another sibling. Julia isn’t nearly as forgiving as Katherine. And I’ve no wish to clean up the subsequent tar and feathers.”

  Pleasant image. “I don’t gamble anymore.”

  But he had gambled, hadn’t he?

  He’d recognized the invigorating thrill that had leaped up his spine the moment he’d challenged Moultonbury.

  He may not have wagered, but he’d taken a gamble, and his life—and Clarissa’s—hung in the balance.

  Farring adjusted his glasses. “What happened, then?”

  “I engaged myself to a lady.”

  Farring opened and then closed his mouth. “You are going to have to explain how that impossibility came to pass.”

  Markham grimaced. “Impossibility?”

  “Well, yes.” Farring folded his arms behind his head and crossed his ankles. “The whole purpose of the club is to avoid the ubiquity of the fairer sex. Even if club rules have changed since yesterday, there are your rules to consider.”

  By his smirk, Farring was enjoying this far too much.

  “I’ve never mentioned any rules to you.”

  “Ah, but your rules are discernable by observation.” Farring waved a finger. “One, restrict conversation with unmarried ladies outside the family circle to under five sentences.” He held up a second. “Two, always retain the protection of a crowd.” He raised a third. “And lastly, never dance with an eligible lady unless a patroness requests. I daresay you wouldn’t be invited anywhere if it weren’t for your fame among the wid—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Farring lifted his brows. “Hearts…do I deserve your anger?”

  Markham supposed not.
He deserved a bit of ribbing, but what Farring didn’t—and couldn’t—know was the genesis of those rules.

  A little boy at the foot of a bed, completely at a loss of how to staunch his mother’s tears. A mother who suffered endless sadness despite his father’s lavish attention.

  And if that hadn’t been enough for him to place strict restrictions on sentiment, there was the fact his father had succumbed to drink following his mother’s death, that his elder sister had been left shattered by her first love, and that his younger sister had fearlessly matched wits with a rake without realizing he’d crush her spirit.

  As for himself, well, he’d been so distraught at his inability to help Katherine find peace, he’d literally gambled with her future.

  An excess of sentiment ran in his blood. He was prone to act with indiscretion when a lady’s honor was at stake.

  He needed his rules.

  His rules kept him scrupulously contained.

  “My rules do not count as one of my problems,” he muttered.

  “What is the problem, then, pup?”

  “Problems, actually. But the most pressing is the lady I betrothed myself to is unaware of our betrothal.”

  Farring sat straight. Then, he roared with laughter.

  Markham slouched farther into his seat. “Happy to provide tonight’s entertainment.”

  “I am sorry.” Farring wiped his eyes. “Dashed rude of me, I know. But I always thought my gaggle of sisters was a cursed handful. But your family…”

  “Farring—” he said warningly.

  “What?” Farring snorted. “Things weren’t half as interesting when it was just myself, Bromton, and Rayne.”

  “Rayne happens to be one of my aforementioned problems.”

  Rayne was not going to take kindly to a betrothal—real or not—between his sister and the man who had practically run him out of Britain for simply kissing Julia.

  Farring kicked the base of Markham’s boot. “Oh, settle down. It’s not as if Rayne no longer exists. You two will sort things out when he returns.”

  “You don’t know the half.”

  “So enigmatic. You had better get on with telling me the whole. Just how did you manage to become betrothed to a lady without her consent?”

  “Moultonbury.”

  Farring pruned his lips. “Distasteful name. I’m afraid, however, the name does little to clarify the situation.”

  Markham sighed. “Tonight, apparently, Moultonbury requested a lady smile and—according to him—his request was roundly refused. Moultonbury and his cohort then went to Sharpe’s to discuss ways to make the lady regret her failure to embrace,”—he used Moultonbury’s exaggerated intonation—“essential womanly virtues.”

  Farring scowled. “If only he would pay me some insult. But men like him never take on those who can truly harm them. He knows the ducal tentacles run deep. But how on earth did you get involved?”

  Markham swallowed. “I claimed the lady was reticent to smile because we’ve been secretly courting.”

  “Hearts the Gallant struck again, did he?”

  Markham nodded.

  “Who is the lucky lady?”

  “Clarissa.”

  Farring’s lips formed an O. He whistled. “You, dear pup, are in a devil of a pickle.”

  “I know.”

  “Rayne will have your head. Among some other choice parts.”

  “I know.”

  “Just tell me you didn’t do it as revenge against Rayne.”

  “Of course not!” Markham exclaimed. “They were plotting Clarissa’s downfall!”

  But would he have acted so impulsively if another lady’s name had been mentioned?

  Now that he considered, he could have called on other club members to put a stop to the madness. Or he could have allowed the bet to proceed and simply warned Clarissa.

  “So, you claimed a connection.” Farring pushed his glasses up his nose. “Did you actually use the word betrothed?”

  “I don’t think so. I think I said she was secretly promised to me. And then I pointed out that no respectable courtship could begin until her brother returned.”

  Farring thought for another moment and then nodded. “That much, at least, was clever. We may be able to devise a plan. So long as Lady Clarissa is amenable, we might just be able to avert disaster.”

  Yes, but would Clarissa be amenable?

  He imagined Clarissa’s scowl.

  Most certainly not.

  Chapter Four

  Clarissa sat with Farring in Philippa’s morning room. She hadn’t much to say; he’d carried the conversation. She liked Farring well enough. He was good to his sisters, of which he had plenty—his twin Philippa, Margaretta and Florentina, a mere eleven months apart, Horatia, and little Uriana, still in leading strings.

  Ah, little Ana—Clarissa’s heart went soft—with her pudgy cheeks and her quick, bright smile.

  The only defect in Clarissa’s plan not to marry was that she could never have a child. But, then again, every dream came at a cost, did it not?

  Every path chosen was a path denied. There would be children aplenty in her future—Katherine’s coming child, for instance—just none of her own.

  Uh-oh.

  Farring had stopped speaking. She turned her attention back with an over-bright smile. He chuckled.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

  Her smile turned sheepish. “I apologize. I find myself distracted today.”

  She stood—he did as well, of course.

  She wandered to the window and looked down. To her surprise, all three Stanley siblings were present in the garden next door—Katherine, Julia, and Markham—and they appeared to be having an argument.

  Katherine threw up her arms. Julia covered her mouth. Markham turned up both palms as if pleading.

  Don’t listen to him, Katherine.

  Markham crouched, hands on knees, and looked into Katherine’s downward-cast eyes. He smiled—vexingly darling and dimpled. Katherine rolled her eyes and then shook her head. Emphatically, she poked his chest.

  In response, he stood straight, covered his heart, and held up his hand.

  Katherine sighed and then nodded.

  He chucked Katherine beneath her chin.

  Clarissa scowled.

  Markham really did believe he could get away with anything, didn’t he?

  Including carrying on with a widow on the terrace outside a rout.

  Hearts, indeed.

  And everyone thought her behavior scandalous.

  Why was Markham so easily forgiven his faults when her simple refusal to smile had spread outrage through Moultonbury’s set?

  She scrutinized Markham more closely. She couldn’t see anything particularly special about him.

  Though his hair was a darker auburn to Katherine’s rich red, he shared her fair complexion. He was tall. Nicely proportioned, too—as she’d noticed when she’d tumbled into his arms. Some ladies might call him attractive. But his defining feature had to be those insufferable dimples…the dimples he used to weasel his way out of trouble, just as he was doing now.

  He held out his arms, and both sisters came into his embrace.

  Utterly characteristic. The cur.

  Markham released his sisters and turned back toward his house. Julia grabbed Katherine’s arm. Katherine shook her head no and stifled a laugh.

  “Well,” Farring said, “something out there has managed to snag your attention.”

  Clarissa turned away from the window. “The Stanley siblings were having a row, but Katherine, once again, allowed her brother off the hook.”

  Farring scrunched up his face. “Do you truly find Markham intolerable?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “He and Katherine look a great deal alike, but they couldn’t be more different.”

  “Much like you and Rayne?”

  “Yes. I’m nothing like Rayne.” She cared for her brother—whether he deserved her
care or not—but she refused to even attempt to justify his choices. “I, for instance, would never abandon—”

  Good gracious. Why was her voice wobbling?

  “I’m nothing like Rayne,” she repeated instead. “Or Markham.”

  “He’s not a bad sort.”

  “Rayne?”

  “Markham.”

  She cocked a brow. “Happily, whether Markham is or is not a bad sort is no concern of mine.”

  The knocker clanged, and then the low murmur of male voices filled the hall.

  Farring strode to Clarissa’s side and grasped her hands.

  “We don’t have much time. I know you don’t like Markham, but, well, I’ve known you for a long time now, and, for what it’s worth, I do believe you’d find a kindred spirit in him if you gave him a chance.”

  She searched Farring’s gaze. “You alarm me, Farring.”

  “I intended just the opposite.” The door opened. Farring dropped her hands. “Ah, Lord Markham. You’ve arrived.” He bowed, curt. “Thank you, Lady Clarissa, for a lovely conversation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—er—I must find my sister.”

  Farring shut the door behind him.

  Clarissa narrowed her eyes at a grim-faced Markham. What were the two of them up to?

  “Lady Clarissa, I—” His coloring deepened. “I—”

  Oh, please don’t let him bring up our mortifying encounter.

  “If you have entered the wrong room,” she interrupted, “please feel free to turn around and walk right back out. You will not disappoint me in the least.”

  “Pardon?”

  Heavens, what was the matter with her?

  First Moultonbury, now Markham.

  She may have decided not to marry, but she needn’t attack every eligible gentleman in the ton.

  She softened her voice. “You appear pained. If you’ll pardon my honesty, I am equally uncomfortable. So, in light of our mutual discord—”

  “Our mutual discord?” he interrupted.

  “Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” he repeated under his breath.

  “If you are going to repeat everything I say, this is going to become an even more tedious conversation.”

  His mouth dropped open. Which would have been rather satisfying, if she weren’t so embarrassed.

  “Well,” she said, “it’s not as if you’ve ever expressly sought my company.”