Wager for a Wife

by Karen Tuft

“It is true.”

  “As you say.”

  He was silent then, and so was she. She dabbed at her eyes again. As a young girl, whenever she’d cried, Anthony had teased her that she was such a talented watering pot she should work with the gardener. Alex would counter that Anthony’s suggestion was an impossibility, as her resulting splotchy face looked so much like Medusa, she would turn the gardener to stone. Then they would laugh uproariously while she dashed off to the nearest mirror to see if what they had said was true. It hadn’t dawned on her until she was older that if what Alex had said was indeed true, her brothers would have turned to stone long since.

  She’d also learned, however, that while she didn’t look as bad as Medusa, it wasn’t her most flattering look by any stretch either.

  How utterly mortifying to be in this situation with a virtual stranger. This stranger.

  “Lady Louisa,” he said gently, “I promised you a stroll in the garden, and yet here we are, still on the terrace, when we could be enjoying the moonlight and the fragrance of the flowers.” He offered her his arm. “May we?”

  She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. But what was she to do? She’d already given her word regarding marriage to him. “Very well,” she said.

  * * *

  They descended the stairs into the garden, Lady Louisa’s hand tucked tentatively in the crook of William’s arm, and walked along the path that led to a lush bed of roses. And all the while, William felt an aching constriction at the back of his throat. Her words had struck at him like knives.

  “What of me? What of my hopes and dreams? What of love?” she had cried.

  He recalled his mother’s words—words flung at his father. William had been but a young lad at the time, standing outside the door of her room, eager to show her his latest drawing. “What of me? And what of your son? Have you no love for us?” Even at William’s tender age, he’d recognized the desperation in her voice.

  He pushed the thought away. “Your brothers are devoted to you,” he said to Lady Louisa. He had to say something to break the silence.

  “There have been plenty of times over the years when I would have called them pestilential rather than devoted,” she replied in a slightly nasally voice as a result of her tears. “Including today.”

  William knew what a truly pestilential person was like, and her brothers didn’t qualify. “They love you.”

  She heaved a sighed. “I know they do, and I feel the same about them. If anything were to happen to either of them—well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I worry about them, you see. I spent my childhood chasing after them; I know the kinds of mischief they got into back then. It actually served me well a time or two, as I was able to blackmail them into including me in some of their less dangerous escapades.” She sniffled and wiped her nose again.

  William had the sudden urge to kiss that nose, swollen and red though it was at present—for, truly, her nature was so opposite his own that he found her captivating. His eyes dropped from her nose to her lips . . .

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she muttered. “I suppose it’s because they’re right.”

  He pulled his attention back to the train of the conversation. “About?” he asked.

  “About how once I begin to speak, I can’t seem to stop.”

  “I haven’t found that to be the case. Your brothers were only teasing.” William didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so ingenuous, so guileless and open as Lady Louisa Hargreaves. Did she know that every nuance of her emotions was apparent in her expressions and in her words? He doubted it.

  He snapped a bloom from a rosebush with his free hand, briefly held it to his nose to breathe in its scent, and then handed it to her. “For you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But don’t try to make me like you, as I still feel inclined not to at present. Oh, but it does smell lovely, does it not?”

  “Indeed.”

  They walked along in silence again. William thought carefully about what to say next. He wanted to discuss their wedding plans further, but he didn’t want to broach the subject until he was certain she was of a frame of mind to do so. Considering how upset she’d been on the terrace, now was not the time—at least, not yet.

  “I remember you from a visit you and your parents made to Eton,” he said finally.

  “Do you?” she said, looking up at him in surprise.

  The moon broke through the clouds then and illuminated her face—and her eyes, still slightly swollen from her earlier tears, glowed with curiosity. If he were a true artist and not a plodding amateur, he’d paint her just as she looked right now, he thought to himself, drinking in the sight of her. She was Diana, goddess of the moon—pure and youthful and, oh, so lovely. Unattainable. His studies of Roman and Greek mythology, along with the classics, while at university were infinitely more gratifying to him at this particular moment than they had been before. And then the clouds shielded the moon once again.

  “You were wearing a blue dress,” he replied in answer to her query. “I remember because it matched your eyes quite remarkably. Of course, you were only a little girl and, therefore, of no interest to a houseful of sophisticated young gentlemen, including myself.”

  “I was always envious of Alex and Anthony,” she said in a thoughtful tone. “Going off to Eton seemed such an adventure. I felt sorry for myself, stuck at home with my governess, Miss Leggett. She was wonderful company—we had a grand time together and became fast friends. We still correspond, and I miss her dreadfully. But Eton seemed vast and exciting and scholarly and . . . oh, I don’t know. Mysterious.”

  “Let me assure you, there is nothing mysterious about a school full of boys.”

  She actually laughed for the briefest moment, a soft, musical sound that plucked at William’s heartstrings. “With two brothers to my name, I must agree.” She looked off into the distance, although there wasn’t much to see in the nighttime darkness. “But I was referring to the exclusivity of the school, the subjects boys—not girls—were allowed to study.”

  “Most boys would have used the term required rather than allowed,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t. My father let me join Alex and Anthony with their tutor for part of each day until they went off to Eton. Quite forward thinking of him. I was better at Latin and Greek than either of my brothers—at least, I was before they left. They’ve surpassed me by quite a bit now, sadly; however, my French is much better than theirs.”

  “Had you been allowed to attend Eton, then, you would have continued with your Greek and Latin studies?” he asked, surprised and pleased to find her so interested in academics—something he enjoyed as well.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps I would have studied mathematics—I’m fairly good with numbers too—or astronomy or architecture or philosophy or, oh, I don’t know. There are so many things one can be curious about, you know? Perhaps I would not like any of the subjects once I began, but I would know that for a fact afterward, would I not? At any rate, I have certainly learned it to be true when it comes to ladies’ arts.”

  “I take it you are not a fan of needlework,” he said, amused by her admission.

  She snorted indelicately, then had to dab at her nose again, and William had to stifle the urge to laugh. Such a faux pas seemed out of character for her—and yet also completely in character. What a delightful creature she was.

  “I can do needlework competently enough, and I’m not terrible on the pianoforte—although I’m not a great performer,” she said, responding to his comment. “I can dance, stand, sit, and walk with deportment and even a touch of elegance. I made my curtsy to Her Majesty without tripping on my train.”

  “Well done.”

  “I thought so too. That entire day was a horrible ordeal and also a truly fascinating study in politics and protocol—and the queen spoke to me, which is quite a coup, you know.”

  “I do not doubt it,” he said.

  They had reached the end of the rose garden, where an
arched trellis covered in climbing roses stood. Underneath it was a bench.

  “Would you care to sit?” he asked her.

  “I’ve been rattling on again, haven’t I?” She removed her hand from the crook of his arm—William missed her touch the moment it was gone—and sat.

  He sat next to her, as closely as he thought she would allow. She was like an open book, and he’d learned a great deal about her in the past few minutes—more than he’d expected to know in such a short amount of time. He actually liked everything he’d learned—even her tendency to “rattle on,” as she’d put it. He hadn’t planned on any of this when he’d first learned of the vowel.

  “Lady Louisa,” he said, “I brought you outside where we could have some privacy for a few minutes, but I fully expect one of your brothers to come looking for us shortly. Therefore, if you’ll forgive me, I’ll come right to the point.”

  He instantly felt her withdraw into herself.

  It was a strange, empty feeling—to have been surrounded by her words and her open expressions and then to have them all suddenly closed off from him. It was like being a starving man who’d tasted a banquet and then had it snatched away before he could be filled. He cleared his throat and began again. “With your permission, I would like for us to discuss the matter of a wedding date. I have procured a special license—”

  “No!” she cried, startling him into silence. “No special license. Please! Only yesterday I was expecting to marry someone else. I need time to think and adjust to everything that has happened. Just because I am trying to be polite and agreeable this evening doesn’t mean I am anywhere near ready to marry you. It is too much! Can we not have banns read instead? That would give both of us time . . . to get to know each other, at the very least. The marriage would not appear hurried and give rise to gossip. Wouldn’t that be a good thing? You have not even been in Town for people to get acquainted with you or to see us together before our marriage is announced. There will be talk. Three weeks is all I ask. You cannot deny me that. Please, I beg you.”

  Her words stung his conscience. He wondered again about her attachment to Lord Kerridge. She would have been seen on Kerridge’s arm the past couple weeks, and people would have understood that they had been courting. Kerridge may have even told a few acquaintances that a betrothal was in the works. There was logic in her request, he knew it, and yet he didn’t want to give her the three weeks needed for banns to be read. It was too much time, and too many things could go wrong during those three weeks.

  But how could he not allow it when he’d taken so much from her? “Very well. You have your three weeks,” he said reluctantly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands together. She was so young—unspoiled by the harshness of the world, a beloved daughter and sister, doted on and protected. He longed to put his arms around her and comfort her, assure her that he would do all in his power to keep her from regretting her decision to marry him, but he couldn’t. How could the person who was causing her such pain now be her source of comfort? He remained unmoving at her side.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She rose to her feet and briefly laid her hand on his shoulder before rushing back to the house, leaving him alone in the garden.

  Chapter 5

  Four days had passed since Louisa’s entire life had turned upside down.

  Lord Farleigh had not called upon her yesterday, which showed a great deal of prudence on his part, as Louisa had needed time to herself to adjust to her new future. Instead, he had sent her a gift—not flowers, thank heavens, as she was still receiving bouquets from hopeful gentlemen, including Baron Moseby. Those gentlemen’s ambitions would be dashed soon enough.

  No, Lord Farleigh had sent her a small oil painting of an oak tree, of all things.

  He was escorting her to Lady Melton’s assembly this evening, their first public appearance together, and Lord and Lady Melton had given permission to use the occasion of their assembly to announce the betrothal. The first of the banns was to be read in church on Sunday, two days hence. Marriage to Viscount Farleigh was becoming all too real.

  Louisa’s parents had already left for Lady Melton’s, and Anthony and Alex had gone out with friends and would be joining them later in the evening.

  Mama had stopped by Louisa’s room before leaving. “You’re sure you don’t want us to wait for Lord Farleigh to arrive?” she’d asked.

  “No, Mama, I’ll be fine,” she’d assured her. “If he’d wanted to kidnap me and drag me off to Gretna Green, he could have done it already rather than face you and Papa with the vowel.”

  “That is not particularly funny, Louisa,” Mama had responded. “But I take your point. Very well, we shall see you there, then.”

  Louisa spent extra time dressing and seeing to her appearance, as it was critical to look her best. She’d chosen a gown of purple velvet with a high waist and short puffed sleeves.

  There was bound to be gossip; she had been seen with Lord Kerridge often enough for marriage speculation to have arisen. Therefore, by arriving tonight at Lady Melton’s assembly on the arm of Lord Farleigh, Louisa must present herself as a mature woman who knew her mind and had made her choice.

  She fastened her pearls around her neck, which she’d deliberately chosen because they were not ostentatious, then pulled on her evening gloves and took up her reticule and lace shawl. She was dreading the evening ahead, but it had to be faced.

  The knock at her bedroom door that heralded Lord Farleigh’s arrival came at last.

  He was waiting for her as she descended the stairway to the entry hall. “Lady Louisa,” he said. “You look radiant.”

  He looked surprisingly elegant—and as unfathomable as usual. He wore black formal attire and had chosen a waistcoat of beige silk embroidered with gold thread, which complemented the black and the snowy white of his linens. His neckcloth was in a fashionable knot that wasn’t overly fussy and was held in place by a simple gold stickpin. The gold in his attire managed to bring out similarly colored strands in his brown hair, while the black of his coat made his dark-brown eyes seem even darker. Right now, they were directed at her, and she realized she had not replied to his compliment. “Thank you,” she said rather more breathlessly than she’d intended. How mortifying that he had this effect on her.

  Lord Farleigh handed Louisa into the carriage and then climbed in and sat next to her rather than across from her. She should have anticipated it, all things considered, but she hadn’t, and his proximity to her set her insides fluttering.

  “Are you ready for this evening?” he asked once the carriage was on its way. “It will be public knowledge after that.”

  “What are we to tell people about our nonexistent courtship?” Louisa asked him. “There are bound to be questions along with the obligatory congratulations, and I refuse to tell people you won me in a wager.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “It might help if I knew a little more about you than your name and title, for starters,” she replied, unable to hide the edge in her voice.

  “Very well. I am an only child. My mother died when I was sixteen. I attended Eton, as you know, and Oxford and the University of Edinburgh thereafter, where, unlike many of my peers, I happened to prefer studying to drinking, wenching, and wagering.”

  “That’s good to know. It’s also the longest string of words you have ever shared with me.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Oh, yes,” Louisa said. “I’m certain of it. I am so conscious of my own tendency to chatter that I’m highly attuned to others’ speech as well.” Despite her best intentions, she’d been affected by his words, especially his reference to his mother. She impulsively set her hand on his, causing his gaze to fix there. “I am sorry about the loss of your parents, you know. I would be heartbroken to lose either of my parents.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched before he spoke. “My mother has been at peace for many years now, and as for my father, I do not particularly gri
eve his passing—a sentiment that must horrify someone like yourself.” He raised her hand and kissed it before letting it go. “But let’s not dwell upon death tonight. What are we to tell others when they ask about our betrothal, then?”

  “I hate to lie,” Louisa said. “But I cannot tell the precise truth either.”

  “I shall say it was love at first sight and I did everything in my power to convince you to marry me. And that in the end, you were unable to resist my offer of marriage.”

  “Hm. Except for the first part, it’s all true enough, I suppose.”

  He said nothing to correct her. It was gallant of him to say he’d fallen in love with her as part of their plan for this evening, but it left her feeling deflated too, knowing it wasn’t true.

  “I can tell everyone about the gift you gave me,” she said. “It’s a very lovely painting of a tree.”

  “Not just any tree,” he said.

  She smiled. “I thought not. More precisely, I hoped not.”

  “It’s my favorite oak at Farleigh Manor,” he said. “It stands alone near a pond at the edge of the property, with a small wood not far from it. I spent many hours in that tree as a lad.”

  “You’re a tree climber? I scrambled up more trees than I dare remember now, especially with Anthony—Alexander was there with us too when he was home from Eton.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched in that way of his that was nearly a smile but not quite. “Just to clarify: I was a tree climber,” he said. “I can’t claim to have climbed any trees recently.”

  His words sent a small ray of light into Louisa’s heart—knowing he had climbed trees gave the two of them their first real connection—which was undoubtedly foolish since most young boys climbed trees, after all. “Was and is are only a matter of attitude,” she said.

  “I expect it shall remain a was, however,” he replied.

  “One can never know for certain.” The painting meant more to her, though, now that she knew the history and sentiment behind it.

  “We are nearly there,” he said, glancing out the carriage window. “And there is one more thing we must settle before we arrive.” Without any further warning, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, placing his hand on her cheek while he did, and catching her completely unawares.