Wager for a Wife

by Karen Tuft

  “She’s well-educated, which accounts for her former position as a governess. She’s fought out of dire straits before this, I imagine,” William said. “The lady has a great deal of poise. I must think. Blast it all; her children are my blood relatives. I cannot in good conscience abandon them.”

  He already knew what he must do, may his cursed father rot in Hades for all eternity. “Do you have a paper and ink I may use?” he asked Heslop. “I’m afraid I have a letter to write to my betrothed, informing her I will not be seeing her this afternoon after all. And then I will be escorting Miss Purnell and her children to Farleigh Manor. God help me.”

  How he was to explain any of this to Louisa, he had no idea. He’d promised her an afternoon dedicated to candid answers to all her questions. Now he would not only be canceling their afternoon plans, but he would also be dashing off to Buckinghamshire once again—this time with a secret he felt unable to share regardless of his promise of honesty to her. For it was Miss Purnell’s secret to tell, not William’s, and the poor woman needed time to sort out her life and settle her children into a safe home before concerning herself with the scandal and humiliation brought upon her by her bigamous fraud of a husband.

  William’s father.

  He loathed even acknowledging the familial connection to the man.

  He would find a way to be back for the second reading of the banns. He would find the words to reassure Louisa that his travel to Buckinghamshire—for the second time in less than a week—was reasonable and necessary and not suspicious in the least. Without telling her the reason for it, no less.

  He doubted she would believe him. Of course she wouldn’t believe him—it was ludicrous to think otherwise. Oh, but he should take her in his arms and explain what a bad choice of a husband he was. He came with a family and a past that would be unfair to any young lady but particularly to Lady Louisa Hargreaves, who could have any suitor she chose and, in fact, still had an offer from one of the most eligible and high-ranking gentlemen in England. She was open and artless and loving. One only had to witness her interactions with her brothers or see her face light up when chatting with friends to know this. William was drawn to that light like a moth to flame. He longed for her warmth and brightness.

  He dashed off a note, explaining that once again he’d been summoned to Buckinghamshire. He apologized, assuring her he would be at the church for the banns on Sunday, and vowed that he would dedicate his time upon his return to answering all her questions. They would get better acquainted, he promised. He would allay her worries. He wanted to know her better just as she claimed she wanted to know him.

  It sounded like drivel, but it was the best he could do on short notice, especially with his mind scrambling to come up with a solution for these people—including children, for heaven’s sake. With Wilcox’s assurances that he would deliver the note directly into Lady Louisa’s hands, William rejoined Heslop and Miss Purnell.

  * * *

  Louisa had been struggling ever since Lord Kerridge had approached her at the theater night before last. At the time, she’d been taken aback by his remarks about her decision, and then she had been embarrassed by them. That embarrassment had turned to bitterness that had manifested itself in angry words flung at William, who had caused all of this to occur. Her words to him had not been ladylike at all, and her mother would have taken her to task over her lack of propriety if she’d been present, despite the unique circumstances involved.

  Oh, but it had felt good to say those words.

  She woke up the following morning and decided to stay in bed for a few minutes, propping herself up with pillows. She wanted time alone to think before her day began. It had dawned on her at some point that despite her lashing out at William at Vauxhall, he had been solicitous and understanding. He’d urged her to speak her mind. No one had ever really done that for her before. Her brothers tended to tease her about her excessive wordiness—never out of meanness, certainly, even if it had occasionally stung. But William had understood her innate need to express herself, and he had comforted her and held her in his arms until she’d regained her composure, even though most of her vitriol had been directed at him.

  Unlike herself, however, William was not an open book. He always replied to her questions with the fewest words possible. He rarely even smiled—in point of fact, he gave away little by way of expression. But yesterday, Louisa had learned that he was kind. Considering his unwillingness to free her from the vowel, the discovery had surprised her.

  The man was a paradox.

  “Oh, good, milady, you’re awake now,” Tibbetts said, peeking through the doorway. “Here’s your chocolate and toast.” She set the tray on the table next to Louisa’s bed and poured her a steaming cup. Louisa took it gratefully from her and breathed in its aroma before taking a careful sip. “Mm, thank you, Tibbetts.”

  “We’ve finally got us some English weather for once.” She went back into Louisa’s dressing room and brought out one of Louisa’s favorites, a pale-blue muslin dress and a matching shawl. “It’s cloudy and threatening rain.”

  “Rain? Are my brothers still at home?” Louisa asked, taking a bite of toast. If they were here, they’d be calling her Lady Cumulus again, regardless of the different dress, and accusing her of causing the rainy weather. “So far, we’ve had a London spring filled with very un-English blue skies.” She took another nibble of toast.

  “That’s to be sure, milady. Oh, I nearly forgot. You need to dress quickly, as there’s a gentleman downstairs says he won’t leave until he’s delivered a letter into your very hands. He wouldn’t give it to Gibbs, and he wouldn’t give it to me either, even after I told him I was your personal maid. I told him you were asleep and I had no intention of waking you, and he said he’d wait until you did.”

  “Who is it, Tibbetts? Did the man give his name?” She was sure the staff would recognize William and Lord Kerridge both. It was odd that the man insisted on staying to deliver the letter only to her. She set her cup aside and got out of bed, allowing Tibbetts to assist her in removing her nightgown and stepping into the dress.

  “It’s a Mr. Wilcox,” Tibbetts said as she buttoned up the back of Louisa’s bodice. “That’s all he said: Mr. Wilcox, and that he’d come to personally deliver a letter to you and wasn’t leaving until he put it directly into your hands. Gibbs put him in the small parlor, he was that annoyed.”

  “Hmm,” Louisa remarked. “I’ve never heard of a Mr. Wilcox.” She sat in front of her dressing table and began unbraiding her hair. “Do something simple, Tibbetts. I’m curious to find out who this letter is from and what it contains.”

  There were really only two people who could have sent Mr. Wilcox here. He was either one of Lord Kerridge’s servants, Lord Kerridge perhaps feeling it beneath himself to request an answer to his marriage offer this time around. Or it might be someone acting on behalf of William; however, she couldn’t imagine why since she was seeing him this afternoon. He’d promised her last night that they would finally spend time together and that he would answer her questions openly.

  Tibbetts fashioned Louisa’s hair into a simple knot at the back of her head, and after a quick check of herself in the mirror, Louisa left her bedroom and descended the stairs, her heart beating a bit faster than usual in anticipation.

  She found Mr. Wilcox in the small parlor, where he was pacing back and forth.

  “Mr. Wilcox,” she said.

  The man immediately stopped pacing and turned to face her.

  “I am Lady Louisa Hargreaves. I understand you are here to see me.”

  “Lady Louisa,” the man said, bowing politely.

  “I was only just informed that you were here,” she said, crossing the room to sit in one of the upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace. “I’m sorry if it caused you any inconvenience. Would you care for tea?”

  “No, thank you kindly, milady. No inconvenience at all. I don’t mean to take up your time, only to give you the letter I w
as asked to place into your hands.” He reached inside his coat and removed the letter in question.

  “A letter. But from whom?” she asked, yet she was confident she already knew the answer. Mr. Wilcox was not dressed in the Kerridge livery. He wore the plain, modest clothes of a London businessman, which meant William had sent him. Her spirits began to diminish, and that surprised her. If it was important enough for this Wilcox person to give her the letter personally, it wasn’t good news.

  He handed her the letter. She examined it briefly and then broke the seal and unfolded it.

  My dear Louisa,

  Unforeseen circumstances have arisen that require I leave immediately for Buckinghamshire once again. I am profoundly sorry that I cannot spend time with you this afternoon, but I assure you in the strongest possible language that I will be at the church on Sunday for the reading of the banns, and I promise I will dedicate all of my time upon my return to you and to our getting more fully acquainted with each other. I sincerely hope you will forgive me.

  With the greatest regard, William.

  Mr. Wilcox had moved a few steps away from her, allowing her to read privately.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox,” she said with a surprisingly steady voice. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, milady,” he said, but then he made a noise that sounded to Louisa as if there might be something else.

  “Yes?” she asked. “Speak up, Mr. Wilcox, if you indeed have something to add. This letter gave me information, but no real knowledge. And I suspect you know more than you are telling me about the situation.”

  “It is not for me to say,” Mr. Wilcox replied. “Nor do I wish to speak out of turn. I was instructed to deliver the letter into your hands by Lord Farleigh and Mr. Heslop, my employer, and that I have done. Anything more than that is for them to explain. But I can assure you that the reason was urgent and not to be taken lightly.”

  “But you will not tell me what this reason would be,” Louisa said.

  “It is not my place, milady.”

  She wasn’t going to learn anything more from Mr. Wilcox, then. She wasn’t about to press the man for more details; she actually admired—albeit begrudgingly—his loyalty to his employer and William.

  “Thank you, then, Mr. Wilcox,” she said. “Gibbs will show you out.”

  The man made his bow and left.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon, Louisa found herself seated once again at the pianoforte in the music room, wreaking havoc on a Scottish air she usually played rather decently. Huffing out a breath, she began again, paying the strictest attention to the notes written on the page, and yet her fingers still stumbled over them.

  She set the music aside and selected another, but it went no better.

  “What was that terrible racket?” Alex strolled into the room and planted a kiss on Louisa’s cheek. “Thank goodness it has ceased; my ears were nearly bleeding from the pain. Now they will have a decent amount of time to recover before I must show my face at the Marwoods’ musicale this evening.”

  “Another opportunity to spend time with Lady Elizabeth under her parents’ noses, eh?” Louisa said with a smile.

  “More like an edict,” he replied with a dramatic sigh. “I might find I could tolerate the chit if her father weren’t so emphatic that our connection begin now. She’s not even made her come-out yet, and it seems everyone is already slavering over the dynastic union to come.”

  “I suspect they’re afraid you’ll get snatched away by a scheming young lady before you realized what has happened,” Louisa said.

  “Heaven forbid. I shall have to go into seclusion somewhere—the antipodes, most likely. I am beginning to think Rome not far enough.”

  “Come now, Alex, I know very well you like Lady Elizabeth.”

  Alex ignored her and fiddled with the lace on her sleeve. “Young ladies are getting younger every year,” he drawled, trying to sound comically philosophical—if that was a thing.

  “Ah, it’s you, Alex,” Anthony said, poking his head into the music room. “I thought I could hear a dog baying at the moon, and yet it is still daylight.”

  Louisa bit her lip.

  “What you undoubtedly heard, little brother, were the melancholic tones of our poor, dear sister’s attempt to make music on the pianoforte, for which the instrument will assuredly never forgive her.”

  “It was hardly me who was baying at the moon,” Louisa countered. “What have you come to complain about today?” she asked Anthony. “Alex is bemoaning the efforts of certain parents to thrust him and Lady Elizabeth together, although neither of them is ready. And I—well, never mind.”

  “I suspect yours has to do with the mystery of the missing husband-to-be,” Alex said.

  “We expected you to make some sort of appearance last night with him, and yet you were not to be found,” Anthony said.

  “I told Mama I had a headache, which was true enough, and that I wished to stay home. Must a person go out into Society every night of the week?” She could feel herself getting defensive.

  “Assuredly not; don’t be silly, Weezy,” Alex said. “But as a newly betrothed couple, especially when the gentleman is a virtual unknown—I shall be polite and refrain from mentioning the known facts of his predecessor—then appearing in public is essential; even I know that. We are not total fools, you know. We can tell when something is amiss.”

  “What is going on, Louisa?” Anthony asked, seating himself next to her on the bench, while Alex leaned against the side of the piano. “You clearly have not been yourself the past day or two.”

  She retrieved the letter from her pocket. She’d been carrying it around with her since Thursday, when Mr. Wilcox had delivered it, and had read it several times over the past two days. “William had to go back to Buckinghamshire again,” she said, handing the letter to Anthony.

  He read it and passed it to Alex.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Alex said, shrugging and handing the letter back to her.

  “Alex is right,” Anthony agreed. “He’s the new viscount, and we already know his father left the property in shambles. Undoubtedly, there are matters he must see to that have been left languishing for too long. I shouldn’t worry, if I were you.”

  “Will Barlow wasn’t a bad sort at Eton, if it’s any consolation,” Alex said. “Quiet, but a generally decent chap. Older than either Tony or me, so I didn’t know him well. I think if there’d been anything untoward about his behavior, though, it would have spread through the school like wildfire. That’s what usually happened. In fact, a good share of the boys enjoyed having a rather devilish reputation.”

  “And if there had been anything untoward about his behavior, Alex would have probably been involved,” Anthony added.

  “Sadly true,” Alex said, winking at her, trying to lift her spirits.

  “I keep trying to think back,” Anthony continued. “But I am so much younger than he and would have been a new boy trying to hold my own with the older boys. My attention was riveted on survival back then. You know how boys’ schools can be.”

  “No, actually, I don’t, as you two dolts tend to forget,” Louisa replied with impertinence, their words beginning to make her feel a bit better.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Alex said, slapping a hand to his forehead as if he’d had an epiphany. “She is our little sister. How could we have forgotten, Tony?”

  “If it helps, I’ve asked about Farleigh in the gentlemen’s clubs,” Anthony said. Louisa looked at him in alarm. “Discreetly,” he added. “Good heavens, Weezy, I do have some sense, you know. I found few who knew him personally. I learned a bit more about his father though—not that I feel inclined to share the details with my sister.”

  “I didn’t know Lord Kerridge well enough, I am discovering,” she said. “But I know almost nothing about William, and yet I am to marry him in little more than two weeks’ time. I have tried to get him to tell me about himself but haven’t made much progress, ev
en though it was a condition I insisted upon when I agreed to the betrothal—that he allow the banns to be read so I had time to get to know him before . . .”

  “Before you were bound to him for life,” Anthony said softly.

  “Yes.”

  They were silent.

  “Such a heavy mood,” Alex said theatrically after a few moments, strumming annoyingly at the strings inside the pianoforte and making a terrible sound. “I hope you appreciate that few brothers would do as we are presently doing, Weezy. Our very manhood would be brought into question if it got out that we were fretting and wringing our hands and consoling our little sister about her love life. It is the role of mamas and sisters and spinster aunts and giggling young ladies.” He shuddered. “Certainly not something gentlemen are expected to concern themselves with. Even the most devoted of brothers.”

  Louisa smiled, and Anthony laughed.

  Anthony rubbed his hand over his mouth in thought. “What if there were an honorable way to get out of the marriage, Weezy?” he asked, finally. “Would you want that? What if it were proven, for example, that Viscount Farleigh was a scoundrel? No one has seen him since he left Oxford, and a man can change significantly in a few short years.”

  Louisa thought about how he’d let her rage at him at Vauxhall and had held her afterward and accepted her need to speak from her soul. She reflected on his promise to be more forthcoming, despite its being thwarted in each attempt so far. She thought he’d been sincere, but she’d yet to see any evidence of it. She remembered his kisses, passionate kisses that hinted at his otherwise unspoken feelings for her, and that she had little experience with men with which to compare them. She had enjoyed Lord Kerridge’s kisses; she would be lying if she denied it. But William’s kisses had been a revelation, a sharing of emotions that ran deeper than a mere reaction to the physical sensations. And in the letter in her pocket, he’d written, “My dear Louisa.” Was she dear to him? Had he meant it? On such short acquaintance, even though they were betrothed, he could have simply written “Louisa,” and it would have been entirely appropriate. Had he meant it, then? He was such a paradox.