Wager for a Wife

by Karen Tuft

  It was not like the polite, gentle kisses she’d shared with the Earl of Kerridge. Not at all.

  This kiss flared with a heat Louisa hadn’t experienced before. Her senses collided—the leather of his glove on her cheek, his lips pressed to hers, the scent of his shaving soap, the steady swaying of the carriage all coalesced into a sweet yearning she didn’t understand.

  Long before she was ready, he ended the kiss and brushed his thumb across her chin. “Now you look like a woman who is newly betrothed.”

  She pushed his hand away, feeling crushed and embarrassed. “Are you saying this was part of some strategy? How dare—”

  His lips returned to hers, more insistent this time, his hand at the back of her head, taking his fill and yet giving too. And her senses responded once again, betraying her when she should be angry and indignant instead.

  “No strategy,” he murmured a hair’s breadth from her lips.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. For why else would he have said such a thing to her after such a kiss? She closed her eyes, struggling to regain her composure and her dignity.

  “It’s true, nonetheless.” His hand dropped to his lap.

  They sat silently side by side during the all-too-brief carriage ride that remained before arriving at Lord and Lady Melton’s residence. Through the window, Louisa could see footmen in pristine livery assisting other guests from their carriages; nevertheless, when they themselves made it through the queue of arriving carriages, Lord Farleigh quickly descended and handed Louisa down himself, placing her hand securely in the crook of his arm.

  “Courage, my lady,” he whispered to her as they entered the front doors to join other guests waiting to be received by Lord and Lady Melton.

  Courage, indeed, she thought shakily.

  * * *

  William led Lady Louisa through the main doors, all the while wishing he could be anywhere else. His gut churned. He could almost smell the stench that clung to him from his father’s misdeeds and unsavory reputation. Beyond the Meltons’ gracious willingness to allow Lord Ashworth to announce the betrothal, William was uncertain what sort of welcome he would receive. He’d taken Lady Louisa’s hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, as it had seemed the gentlemanly and most confident approach to take. In reality, it undoubtedly gave him more support than it did her.

  Lord and Lady Melton’s residence was an impressive dwelling, which only heightened William’s anxiety. The front doors opened to a spacious entry hall whose high ceiling echoed with the sounds of newly arrived guests greeting one another as they removed their wraps and handed them over to the footmen on duty. To the left of the entry hall, beyond a pair of open double doors, was an equally spacious sitting room, where William could see Lord and Lady Melton receiving their guests.

  William expected to know very few of the people at the assembly this evening. There might be one or two classmates from Eton in attendance and some acquaintances from his Oxford days, but William had made few close friends during those years. He was not gregarious by nature, like Lord Halford, or even as amiable as Lord Anthony, the more reserved of Lady Louisa’s brothers. He’d simply gone about his schooling, happy to have something that occupied his mind and kept his days filled. And he’d continued that rather aloof behavior upon completing his studies at Oxford by heading north to Scotland and attending the University of Edinburgh, which was where Heslop had finally caught up with him and sent him word of his father’s death. He doubted any old acquaintances he’d had would even remember him.

  It might have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that the echoing sounds in the entry hall increased in volume as the other guests began to notice that Lady Louisa Hargreaves was with a gentleman who was not Lord Kerridge. William was relieved to see that she was smiling, at least, even if there were signs of strain around her eyes. He doubted anyone else would notice, but William had an awareness of such subtleties of expression that his father had drilled into him. He pressed forward, his eyes firmly set on the door to the sitting room, hoping to get his introduction to his host and hostess out of the way. Meeting them would give him his first real clue about how the evening would play out.

  Eventually, it was their turn. Lord Melton was a slightly built but distinguished-looking gentleman with hair the color of granite and a face creased with wrinkles that William suspected he’d gotten from smiling too much. Lady Melton was slightly taller than her husband and had similar wrinkles. They looked like a matched set.

  “Lady Louisa, welcome,” Lord Melton said in a cheery voice. “Look who has finally arrived, Lady Melton.”

  Lady Louisa slid her hand from the crook of William’s elbow and extended it to Lord Melton, who bowed over it. “Thank you, Lord Melton.”

  William wanted to snatch her hand back.

  “We are so honored to play a small part in this happiest of occasions,” Lady Melton said, taking both of Louisa’s hands in her own and sounding for all the world as though she meant what she said. “And you must introduce us to your young gentleman here.”

  “Lord Melton, Lady Melton, this is William Barlow, Viscount Farleigh,” Lady Louisa said, her smile still firmly in place.

  “How do you do, Lord Farleigh?” Lord Melton said, offering William a less-than-enthusiastic nod of his head. Lord Melton must have been acquainted with his father, then, William surmised. “Your parents are here already, my dear, but, assuredly, you must know that,” Lord Melton added. “I believe they expressed an interest in viewing some of my recent art acquisitions in the gallery.”

  “Lord Farleigh,” Lady Melton said, tapping her chin in thought. “I remember a young lady who made her come-out with me—I believe she married a Lord Farleigh. Sweet girl, as I recall. I didn’t know her well and never saw her again after her wedding. Her name was Margaret Strickland, if I’m recalling it correctly. She was an heiress; her father had made his money in coal, I believe. Any relation of yours?”

  “She was my mother. She passed away several years ago,” William said. He detested speaking about her with virtual strangers. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the flood of emotions he felt at hearing his mother’s name from pouring out.

  Lady Louisa was watching him too closely.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Lady Melton said kindly.

  “Thank you,” William replied, ready to be done with the conversation.

  Fortunately, there were more guests for Lord and Lady Melton to receive, so he and Lady Louisa excused themselves and moved through the crowd into an adjoining room, where refreshments were being served. They continued on through that room, however, and finally spotted the marquess and marchioness in the music room down the hall, where a nondescript young lady was attempting—rather badly, it seemed to William—to play the pianoforte. He and Lady Louisa stood quietly inside the door and waited for the piece to end before moving farther into the room.

  William used the time to study the marquess and marchioness more closely.

  Lord Ashworth was a tall man, like his sons, with dark hair that had gone silver at the temples. This evening, along with his typical aristocratic bearing, there was an air of grim resoluteness about him as he sat and listened. Lady Ashworth was fanning herself, and her lovely face—so much like her daughter’s—had a drawn look about it. They weren’t looking forward to the announcement to come, but then, no one was; they all merely wished the deed done.

  The young lady eventually finished her performance and stood to receive the weak but polite smattering of applause that followed.

  “Poor Harriet does try,” Lady Louisa whispered to William as they clapped. “I will credit her that. I think her mother puts her up to it.”

  Now that the performance had ended, they made their way across the room to where Lady Louisa’s parents were sitting. Luckily, and not surprisingly, considering what they’d just listened to, there were vacant chairs nearby. “We were on our way to view Lord Melton’s latest additions to his art collection when
Lady Putnam invited us to hear Miss Putnam perform,” Lady Ashworth said, glancing beyond William’s shoulder. “How could we possibly refuse such a kind offer?”

  William turned his head and quickly concluded that Lady Putnam must be the woman who looked rather like a man-o’-war under full sail and who was heading in their direction with Miss Harriet Putnam in tow.

  “Lady Ashworth, Lord Ashworth, so thoughtful of you to deign to listen to our dear Harriet,” Lady Putnam gushed. “She has worked diligently at perfecting her finesse at the keyboard. I am quite delighted at her progress. And here is our dear Lady Louisa too . . . with a young gentleman, no less.” She smiled at William, who presumed the man-o’-war was wrangling for an introduction, if her hungry look—and her daughter’s—meant anything.

  “I must say, your performance of the Haydn was very energetic, Miss Putnam,” Lady Ashworth said tactfully. Lord Ashworth stood by, looking aloof, and said nothing.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Miss Putnam said to Lady Ashworth, albeit her eyes never left William, which, honestly, was beginning to make his skin crawl. “It is kind of you to say so.”

  “And are your two sons intending to join us here this evening?” Lady Putnam asked. “Such elegant young gentlemen, they are.”

  Lord Ashworth rolled his eyes skyward.

  “Thank you, Lady Putnam. Yes, they should be here shortly,” Lady Ashworth said.

  With Lady Ashworth’s assurances that her sons were planning to attend, the feral glint that had been directed at William turned immediately to focus instead on the marchioness and her words, thank goodness. He needed no complications tonight other than to get the betrothal formally announced.

  There was much he had been spared by haring off to Scotland: marriage-mad mamas and their daughters, for one, besides having to watch his father’s dissipation and ultimate ruin.

  “Lord Farleigh, allow me to present Lady Putnam and Miss Putnam,” Lady Louisa said, pulling William back from his gloomy thoughts. “Lady Putnam, Harriet, this is Viscount Farleigh.”

  “How do you do?” Harriet said with a deep curtsy and a flirtatious smile. “So very nice to meet you.”

  “Viscount Farleigh,” Lady Putnam said, her eyes narrowing. “Hmm.”

  “A pleasure, Lady Putnam, Miss Putnam.” Ah, yes, William thought. He’d also forgotten that he’d been spared the gossips that abounded in Town and was certain he had just met one of the most accomplished, if Lady Putnam’s eyes were anything to go by. No doubt his name and title would make their way through the rooms of Melton House like wildfire.

  William would not have Louisa suffer the ill effects of his father’s foul reputation. Notwithstanding the cordial welcome he’d received from Lord and Lady Melton, he could not guarantee the reactions of any other guests, especially with the likes of Lady Putnam and her loose tongue in attendance. It was time to prepare for the battle that loomed ahead.

  He had a great deal of work to do.

  * * *

  “If you would excuse us,” Lady Putnam said to Louisa and her parents. “Harriet, come with me quickly. I believe the Earl of Cantwell and his brother have arrived—such charming young men. And you are looking so fetching in your yellow gown this evening. Too bad they didn’t arrive earlier so they could hear you at the pianoforte.” She grabbed her daughter by the hand and forged her way through the crowd.

  “Formidable woman,” Lord Farleigh murmured.

  Louisa bit her lip.

  “Very,” Mama agreed. “I almost wish I had encouraged Anthony to stay at Cambridge rather than join us here for the Season. It would have kept him safe from her scheming.”

  “What about Alex, Mama?” Louisa said. “Are you not equally concerned about his marital well-being?”

  “Lady Putnam is formidable, I’ll grant you,” Papa said, “but she is no match for Halford. Miss Putnam and her younger sisters will have to look elsewhere for husbands. Now then, shall we make our way to the gallery and view Lord Melton’s art before it is time to make the announcement?”

  Speaking of looking for husbands, Louisa belatedly remembered that she and Lord Kerridge had originally planned to attend the assembly together. She frantically glanced about her, hoping he’d had the sense and decency to stay home this evening.

  The gallery was a long, narrow room that ran parallel to the public rooms the Meltons used for entertaining. Louisa wandered from painting to sculpture to painting with Lord Farleigh at her side, his hands clasped behind his back. Lord Melton was an avid collector of English works of art, she discovered, but he also had an interest in antiquities, which accounted for the occasional Greek statue or broken bit of Egyptian pottery that sat in pride of place amongst the landscape paintings and portraits. Normally, Louisa would have found such artifacts interesting, but she was having great difficulty concentrating on anything but the man next to her—the quiet man who spoke very little and still wore a mask of inscrutability on his face.

  “Which is your favorite, Lord Farleigh?” she asked, unable to bear his silence any further.

  “Favorite?” he asked.

  His one word reply only served to increase her prickling sense of anxiety and irritation. “You know—your favorite piece of art from Lord Melton’s collection. We’ve just spent the last half hour gazing at art and antiquities, Lord Farleigh, so it ought to be obvious what I’m asking about. If I were looking at a roomful of art, which I am, I would certainly have formed an opinion about them and would undoubtedly have chosen a favorite or two.” Oh, dear. Her agitation had loosened her tongue once again. Additionally, she sounded shrewish, which was not an attractive look—not that her intent was to appear attractive to him; they may be planning to wed in the near future, but she wasn’t about to encourage the man whose presence had altered her life forever.

  “Very well.” Lord Farleigh’s gaze turned toward a particular landscape of a stream bordered by a copse of trees, with a small stone cottage nestled beneath it. “That one,” he said, gesturing discreetly.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I suppose it reminds me of Scotland,” he said. He lowered his head. “Perhaps it might be a good time for you to begin calling me William. May I call you Louisa?” he murmured in her ear.

  Hearing her name on his lips, spoken in such quiet tones, was startlingly intimate. Her thoughts immediately flew back to their last few moments in the carriage when he had kissed her. Now you look like a woman who is newly betrothed.

  She drew in a breath and let it out. “Certainly . . . William.” It rolled off her tongue smoothly, like rich custard.

  “It is time,” Papa said behind her, interrupting them and, thankfully, breaking the spell Louisa had found herself in. Mama and Lord Melton were with him.

  “Louisa?” William said, looking intently at her. “Are you ready?” His face was still frustratingly impassive, but his eyes searched hers with an intensity that hadn’t been there before.

  She nodded her consent.

  * * *

  They all returned to the room where Lord and Lady Melton had received their guests. The assembly was a crush, the Melton’s spacious London home full to overflowing with the cream of Society, and if not for Lord Melton, who led the way, parting the crowd like Moses had the Red Sea, they should have had great difficulty making their way through the house.

  Both of Louisa’s brothers were there when they arrived, looking more like they’d prefer to escort William into the mews behind the house and thrash him soundly than stand here and listen to the announcement yet to come.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Louisa’s eldest brother, Lord Halford, whispered to her just loudly enough for William to overhear. “You do not owe your entire future to our grandfather’s folly.”

  “How can you say this to me now?” Louisa whispered back to him, her eyes wide with a hurt William didn’t wish to see or acknowledge.

  “Because it is never too late until you say the vows,” he said.

  Louisa didn’t immedi
ately respond; William tensed and held his breath.

  “What if your name were the one on the vowel?” she asked Halford.

  “It’s not the same thing, and you know it; I am a gentleman, and Tony is a gentleman,” he answered her. “You, on the other hand, are not.”

  William began breathing again. Halford had miscalculated; he’d said the absolute worst thing possible if he were to convince Louisa not to marry him. William knew Louisa well enough by now to know that she felt the family honor as keenly as her brothers did.

  “Oh, Alex, you don’t understand anything at all,” she said, shaking her head—and proving William correct.

  “We’re with you, whatever you choose to do,” Lord Anthony said, squeezing her hand. “You know that, Weezy. But Alex is right—do think about it, right now, before it becomes public knowledge.”

  “Thank you, Anthony,” she said. “But I have thought about it. You cannot know how much I have thought about it. If you were challenged to a duel, would you go, Alex? Even if you knew it meant losing your life? If you were facing battle against Napoleon, Anthony, would you desert? I know you both, and I know you would rather face death than act dishonorably. I am no different from you. I am my father’s daughter.” She straightened her back and nodded to Lord Melton, who was waiting for a cue to begin.

  It rankled William a bit at being compared—once again—to imminent death. Apparently, kissing Louisa in the carriage hadn’t quite won the lady’s affection, he thought sardonically.

  The guests gradually quieted when word spread through the crowd that Lord Melton wished to speak.

  “Dear friends,” he began, “Lady Melton and I are thrilled to welcome you to our home this evening and hope you are enjoying yourselves. It is always an honor and a delight for us to mingle with you and strengthen our connections with one another. I am happy to announce that we have an additional treat for you this evening. Lord Ashworth, I turn the floor over to you.”