The Earl's Wagered Bride: Christmas Belles, Book 1

by Cerise DeLand

  “I am. Of course I am. But he’s irritable. Interfering.”

  Bee widened her large blue eyes. “With what?”

  Marjorie shrugged and sank onto Bee’s little dressing table chair. “My plans.”

  “With Riverdale?” Bee asked pointedly.

  “No. I mean—” Aside from Riverdale, she had her sights set on Bee’s dinner partners of last night, Hallerton and Carlson. “Well, yes.”

  “I like Riverdale,” Del announced with a lift of one shoulder and wickedness in her ice blue eyes. “When you’re finished with him, Marjorie, I will take him.”

  “What of Eliza?” Marjorie frowned at Del, peeved she had to remind her sister of her very good friend. “She might like him. Give him a go.”

  Del snorted. “You mean after you get finished picking his purse?”

  Marjorie had not shared her goals for this house party with her sisters. “I play fairly."

  “Do you?” Bee asked.

  “I am insulted. If anyone loses to me, I can take their money as well as the next woman.”

  Bee narrowed her gaze in warning. “Don’t get greedy, Marjorie.”

  I have to be if I’m to buy this cottage for all of us.

  “And you?” she debated her older sister. “You mustn’t become downhearted and do anything foolish.”

  Marjorie had learned from another friend of hers, Giselle St. Cloud, that Bee had recently signed with a servants’ registry in Brighton. Bee had not told her or Delphine but she knew that Bee would demean herself so that she could send them money. Even Delphine had taken to giving lessons in the Brighton Orphanage, though as yet she earned nothing. Delphine loved children and in lieu of marrying and having any babies of her own, she had volunteered to be close to those who’d been abandoned. Marjorie knew, though Del had confided nothing in this regard, that with such experience and a referral to her name, she too would look for a paying position to help them all regain their dignity.

  None of them liked charity. After two years at Marsden Hall, they were embarrassed living on the good will of their Aunt Gertrude. That lady had been more than generous. But Griff, who was in fact no relation to them, had been magnanimous to take them in after their father died penniless and left them without home or income, dowry or future. A house, a home really, an aunt who loved them, pin money and clothing allowances had been a godsend to them in their penury. But all such supports had to end. Especially when Griff married.

  Marjorie flinched at the prospect. But he would return home from Paris permanently someday soon and settle his future. Managing his estates, the house in London, this one here and his lands in Sussex and in Wales would require time, effort. And a wife to help him.

  Yes, he’ll marry soon.

  Then if I am still here, what will I do?

  Cry my eyes out.

  She had to get away. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

  Del caught her arm. “Don’t be mad at us.”

  Bee stiffened, her complexion gone white with dismay. “I won’t marry a man who’d be shamed by me.”

  Del stepped backward, spots of color on her cheeks denoting her frustration. “I won’t marry a man who tricked me.”

  “Pride offers cold comfort even on a summer night,” Marjorie reminded them.

  Bee took a step forward, sorrow in her gaze. “You do things for pride.”

  She couldn’t argue with Bee on that point.

  Del gave her a sorrowful look. “Marjorie, we wouldn’t leave you.”

  Ah, so there was that little problem. As well as the fact that I will not see either of you want for dignity or a home.

  Marjorie raised both hands in surrender. “I’ll see you outside at eleven.”

  Tapping on his aged hat, Griff stepped onto the stones in the front yard. He buttoned up his cape. Not the latest in menswear but thankfully the huge old black wool still fit and it served to cut out the crisp morning chill. Griff greeted the gaggle of house guests who milled about ready for the greenery gathering. Manor carriages drew up to the front portico for them to pile in for the ride to the far end of the copse. He could see in the distance at the far end of the copse that staff had set up a rough tent where a luncheon was to be served, tea and wine and brandy too.

  He hailed a stable boy who had the reins of one of the landaus that he favored. New, shiny royal blue lacquer with the gold and white Marsden coat of arms, the carriage was sleek and the squabs of blue velvet were sumptuous. He had to find Marjorie, take her around in this splendid carriage and…and seduce her!

  Ah. No. Influence her! That was it!

  Where was she?

  Hmmm. He spied Riverdale emerging from the house. Right behind him was Marjorie who took his hand to allow him to assist her down the steps. For hours collecting greenery in the cold weather, she’d donned a redingote of eye-popping purple wool, trimmed with snowy ermine at collar and cuffs. His mother had told him she spared no cost to give all her nieces a spectacular new wardrobe for the house party. She had succeeded. His mouth went dry. His knees watery.

  He bet Riverdale’s did too. Curse him.

  “Wait here for me, John,” he instructed his driver.

  “Forgive me, Riverdale,” he said when he faced the two of them. “I must talk with Miss Craymore. The party, urgent, you understand. Do me the honor, would you, please, my dear?”

  “Excuse me, my lord,” Marjorie told Riverdale. “I shall be quick and find you in the tent. We’ll talk over hot chocolate.”

  Griff took her hand. “Pretend you’re doing your duty.”

  She shot him her squinty eye, the one she’d leveled on him since they were children whenever she was unhappy. But he had her at a disadvantage. She couldn’t appear a shrew nor could she ignore his appeal to her responsibilities for hostessing this party.

  “What do you want?” she said with a smile so bright his knees went weaker. Why couldn’t she always smile at him like that? He’d give anything to have her...

  Ridiculous. What was wrong with him? He liked women. Polite, refined, quiet females. Even French women who had a mind to befriend English soldiers of title and rank. Why would he care for this rascally creature whose visage bedeviled him?

  But I do.

  “There’s Alastair,” she said with such relief Griff could’ve screamed his frustration.

  Waving, she strode to their friend and looped her arm in his. “Join us, please, Alastair!”

  Griff spied Bee talking with Carlson, and noted Alastair’s disapproving frown. Very well, he’d take Alastair’s other arm and lead him to the landau.

  "Or must I say, Your Grace?" she asked Alastair with a chuckle. Their friend’s newest elevation to such a high title was a shock to all of them, but one that they celebrated with him.

  "You should," Griff proclaimed.

  "Tomorrow is as good a time as any," replied Alastair. "I might be used to it by then."

  "I'll sit between you," Marjorie said as Griff took her hand to lead her up and help her settle into the squabs. "Here, stay warm. Put this blanket over your lap."

  “Shouldn’t we take another of the ladies?” Alastair said.

  "On the way home we will," said Griff, giving notice to John to walk on with the horses.

  Marjorie leaned toward Alastair. “I’m glad to have this chance to talk to you."

  Griff was not surprised at that. Marjorie was as much a friend to Alastair as he or Del. Griff supposed Marjorie had not had an opportunity to talk at any length with him before this.

  "Oh?” Alastair asked. “What about?"

  Marjorie took a deep breath. "You won't like this."

  "I gather." He crossed his arms.

  "I know what Bee's been doing these past months."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "She discovered a smuggler. I'm right, aren't I?"

  "She discovered him, yes." He wrinkled a brow. "She had information for Customs and they were able to stop a few of his landings."

  "Bu
t they never caught him," she said.

  "Always the goal is to catch the gang members. But it’s tough to do. How do you know this?"

  She met him eye-to-eye. "I'm in the Lanes often."

  "She means she takes card games with ruffians," Griff said with derision.

  She sniffed. "I have friends there who tell me about events in the town."

  Griff snorted. "That means she mixes with those whom she shouldn't."

  "Stop!" She elbowed him.

  Griff caught her hand and held, his eyes hot blue anger. "I told you two years ago, I wanted you to end this foolishness with cards and dice, but you didn't stop."

  "If I had, I wouldn't know this about Bee, would I?"

  Griff simply wanted to stop her mixing in questionable company.

  Alastair stared at Marjorie. "You know about Hawker. What else?"

  "Hawker. That's what you call him?"

  "Blue Hawker." Alastair wrinkled his nose. "She gave him that name. For his big nose. His bad looks."

  Marjorie chuckled, then stopped. "She still searches for him."

  He quietly cursed. “She promised me she wouldn't. How does she search? When?"

  "I followed her myself a few times these past weeks. She volunteers to do the marketing. Insists on it. Even if Cook sends her kitchen maid."

  "And so she returns to the fish market?” Alastair looked horrified.

  "Yes. At the foot of the Steyne, she dallies while she's buying fish, which she is, of course, but she takes her sweet time. And Hawker's fancy gentleman hasn't come either."

  Alastair clenched his fists.

  "Alastair?" Griff appealed to him. "Are you well?"

  "Well as can be."

  Alastair had confided in Griff about his bouts of fury. How he tried to control his ire and often failed. Scowling, shaking his head, he forced a benevolent smile on Marjorie. "I need to know it all. Please."

  "Last week, I told her what I suspected. She confided in me that if she can't find him or if she cannot identify his fancy man—“

  "The man who arranges for toffs to purchase Hawker's contraband?"

  She nodded.

  Alastair winced. “I told her he was dangerous. He has friends, powerful friends who buy his stolen goods. She mustn't look for him. Or even appear to search for him."

  "Well, she has, Alastair. I’ve seen her at it.”

  "Not surprising." Griff said, fighting his own anger. "Stubbornness is a Craymore family trait."

  Marjorie gazed up at him with a sigh of resignation. “I cannot stop her, Griff.”

  Griff snorted. ”Can anyone stop a Craymore girl?”

  She fumed and crossed her arms.

  Alastair looked from one to the other. "Today she's occupied with this greenery business. So she can't go to market. But before I leave here...I will stop her.”

  Marjorie faced him. “I hope so.”

  Alastair frowned. “I’ve proposed."

  “And?” Marjorie asked, her violet eyes alight with joy.

  “She claims she’s not good enough for me,” he said, but he didn't sound convincing.

  “You must convince her.”

  "I will find a way.”

  Marjorie wrung her hands. “Do it quickly.”

  "Why?"

  "If she cannot find Hawker or this other man by the New Year, she'll take a position as a governess and leave Aunt Gertrude, Del and me."

  "She'd take employment?"

  "She would."

  Griff stared at her, alarmed. For a young woman with education, the role of governess was noble employment. For a young lady of breeding, it was a step down in station. Risky, it was fraught with challenges of disreputable employers who did not pay or who expected other intimate services for the recompense of salary.

  "She wants to hold her head up, Alastair,” Marjorie told him. “She craves a good reputation and hates the charity."

  "I know. She's told me. But I never thought she'd go so far to reestablish herself."

  "We'll do many things to gain back our good name, Alastair."

  Griff grumbled to himself. "You mean a good name or a full purse, don't you, Marjorie?"

  She scowled at Griff and tossed her head high. "I can walk home, you know."

  "The devil you will," Griff declared.

  Alastair sat back, his gaze drifting to the carriage in front of them where Bee sat laughing with Lord Carlson. “Might I have one of your horses, Griff, to ride into Brighton this afternoon?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ll cut greenery for a bit, then excuse myself,” he told them. “I hope you don’t mind I leave, Marjorie.”

  “Do as you wish,” she said. “This is a party.”

  Griff said, “Right you are.”

  Alastair left the carriage as it pulled up to the refreshment tent.

  Griff climbed down and offered her his hand to alight. “Before you go to Riverdale, answer a question for me.”

  She brushed at her skirts, the deep purple of her coat in perfect harmony to the glory of her eyes. “I’ll try.”

  “You don’t want Bee to become a governess. I understand that. I don’t favor it myself. She wants to catch a smuggler. Why?”

  “To earn the bounty.”

  Customs paid bounties for information leading to smugglers. But they totaled two hundred, four hundred, or six hundred pounds at most. Enough to buy a new wardrobe for one lady or a suitable albeit small new carriage. But the Craymore girls needed none of that. So what else drove Bee to catch a smuggler? Her sense of justice? Perhaps. And what drove Marjorie to gamble against a man who had robbed her father at the same game? “A bounty. I see. To pay for what?”

  Marjorie surveyed the party dismounting the carriages and assembling in the tent. She stared at everything, anything but him.

  “Look at me.” He took her hands. Beneath her kid gloves, her fingers were cold as ice. “Be frank. I beg you. Are all of you in some trouble?”

  “No,” she said quickly and he believed her.

  He cocked his head. “Does Delphine want money too?”

  “Eventually, yes. She does.”

  All of this smacked of truth. In the distance he saw Delphine talking—no, arguing—with Bromley. That man, newly enriched with French titles and enormous lands, wanted nothing more than to correct the error of his ways years ago and propose to the only woman he’d ever loved. “So Del will work as a teacher?”

  “If she can. Why not? She’s good at it.”

  “And what will you do? Gamble the rest of your life?”

  “For fun, I hope, yes. Do let me go, Griff.”

  His whole life she’d been his friend. His tormentor. When her brother George died, the two of them had consoled each other and found more than solace. They’d discovered relief, calm amid the storm of life’s injustices. In those minutes together, he’d welcomed the mingling of their warmth, their grief, their affection for each other. Their ardor ended too soon. He returned to the battles. She to the dismantling of their home and the transfer of their father’s estate to a distant and uncaring relative. She and he had had no time to discover what else they might become together. “You confound me, darling.”

  This same endearment that he’d uttered last night had her staring up at him now, her lips parting in awe. But she shook her head. “Griff, you must let me go. People will wonder at us. At this.”

  “Let them.”

  “I cannot. We live in the same house. I cannot allow anyone to assume that I would allow you liberties.”

  “I know you haven’t.”

  “Kisses,” she whispered.

  “A lot of them. And wonderful, too.”

  “There’ll be no more. I cannot permit—“

  “To hell with what others assume.”

  She scoffed. “You’re a man. You can proclaim your indifference. I cannot.”

  “I’m merely holding your hands.”

  “Griff, stop.” She tugged at his grip. “You are meant for...for s
omeone other than me.”

  “Who says?”

  She yanked away. “I do.”

  “Tell me you don’t care for me.”

  “Oh, Griff.” She shook her head, her eyes to the ground, her voice ragged with tears.

  That gutted him. “Deny you care for me.”

  “Oh, you see me undone here. Why must I—?”

  “Say it.”

  “I do care for you. Always. I did. Will. Forever.” She turned aside, ready to walk away from him. Again. “But I must leave you. Your mother’s house. We all must.”

  Fright turned his blood as cold as the wind whipping around them. He caught her forearm. “That’s what you want money for?”

  She firmed her lips, straightened her spine. “To be independent is noble.”

  “Bee cannot earn enough discovering smugglers, you cannot play enough games, Del cannot earn enough in a schoolroom to—”

  “To live like this?” Her gaze encompassed the numerous guests, the elegant carriages, the liveried servants, the white linen-clothed table groaning with fruits and turkeys, cakes and teas. “No, never. But we will no longer be shamed by our father’s intemperance. We will be poor. Poor but once more proud.”

  Later after the guests had left the remainder of the greenery decorations to the expert hands of the staff and a light supper was called, Marjorie encountered Bee.

  "Where is Alastair?” Bee stepped to Marjorie's side as they walked toward the dining room.

  “Gone to town.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  "Why would you ask?" Irritation with her sister rang through her.

  "Because the three of you had your heads together earlier. He appeared distressed or ill. What did you discuss?"

  "Your refusal to marry him."

  "He told you," Bee said sadly.

  "Did you think he'd keep it secret?" she snapped. Sorry at once, she said, "Oh, Bee. You care for him. Do you realize what you give up in the name of pride?"

  Using the same argument against Bee as she herself had used to justify her own actions appalled her.

  How could she be so shallow?

  Chapter 6

  “What do you think, Mama? You must be honest with me.”

  Dropping his hand from the mantle, he turned from the fire in the grate. He’d cornered his step-mother after all had retired. What she knew about Marjorie he must learn. Even if Marjorie had revealed nothing of her intentions to her, he understood full well that his devilishly charming parent was addicted to gossip of the ton. If others had seen Marjorie, spoken to her of this or that, his step-mama would have learned. “How often is she in the Lanes?”