A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7)

by Rebecca Connolly

  A slight furrow appeared on Marianne’s face and her lips turned down. “Yes, I wondered if that might be it.”

  “Meaning what?” Gemma replied, wondering what she had missed.

  Marianne twisted her mouth and looked at Lily, who only shrugged.

  “What?”

  Lily gave her a hesitant smile. “You and Blackmoor were the chief topic of conversation while you were away. Stories flew about with such speed and with varying levels of ridiculousness that it was dizzying. It made Marianne’s adventures look rather boring.”

  “Excuse me?” Marianne huffed, but she smiled and wrinkled up her nose in delight.

  “What did they say?” Gemma whispered, feeling the color drain from her face.

  Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “There was some speculation as to whether you would come back at all. That you would end up…” She grimaced and waved awkwardly. “You know.”

  “Dead,” Gemma replied flatly.

  Lily only nodded.

  Marianne cleared her throat. “Others thought you must have been far more wicked and perverse than they’d thought, that Blackmoor had compromised you beyond a hope of recovery, that you were a desperate fortune hunter who only wished to marry, and that the pair of you would end up killing each other before the month was out.”

  “And then some said that suggested you might…” Lily blushed and wrinkled her nose. “Well, that you might have… helped him. With his first wife.”

  Gemma gaped at her friends in shock. No one ever had ever spoken of her in such horrifying terms before. She had certainly been gossiped about on occasion, but with pity or sympathy and a hint of a smile. Never like this.

  “I heard that you were sold to him for salvation of your father’s debts,” Lady Cartwright mused as if speaking of the weather. “Discard, if you please, Mrs. Gerrard.”

  Marianne did so, smiling at Gemma kindly. “It isn’t that bad, Gemma. Really.”

  “Not that bad?” she choked, the room seeming to spin about her. “It’s horrible!”

  “Considering what is being said about your husband at any given moment,” Lady Cartwright said in her offhand way as she discarded a card of her own, “it is really quite tame.”

  Gemma glared at her, though she did not know her well enough to do so. “You are not helping, madam.”

  Lady Cartwright cracked a smile. “I never said I was. Discard.”

  Gemma flung a card out moodily.

  “Straighten up,” Marianne hissed through her false smile. “Smile. They can’t touch you, remember?”

  Instinctively, Gemma obeyed, though it felt like a complete betrayal to her husband to smile at a time like this. “So why invite me anywhere if I am so horrible a creature?” she asked, looking politely at Lily.

  Her friend patted her knee under the table. “Because everyone wants to see. They want to know if your husband has corrupted you or if you might give them anything to gossip about. You haven’t, which is brilliant.”

  “They are very upset with you, my dear,” Lady Cartwright said softly, nodding at Marianne to play. “You aren’t supposed to be happy.”

  “Well that is rather unfortunate for them, because I am,” she snapped.

  Lady Cartwright gave her a half smile. “Too right, my lady.”

  Marianne cleared her throat in the most delicate manner possible. “Now, what about Blackmoor is worrying you?”

  Gemma chewed her lip gently, glancing over to where her husband and the other men had retreated into a separate card room. “He is just so quiet now,” she half-whispered.

  Marianne let out a rather indelicate snort for her perfect persona. “Darling, that is the nature of Lord Blackmoor.”

  “I have only heard him speak a handful of times myself,” Lily added.

  “With me,” Gemma clarified irritably. “He has never been this quiet with me.”

  Marianne’s expression cleared and she gave a soft “Oh,” of understanding.

  Gemma released a sigh. “Something is troubling him, I know it. But he will not discuss it. Adamantly refuses. And that was all right for a while, I assumed that patience would reward me.”

  “It still might,” Lily said with gentle hope.

  Gemma laid down a card she didn’t even look at. “I know that. I do. But it was easier to wait when he was… there.”

  Marianne pursed her lips. “Might I offer some advice about being married to a reserved man?”

  “Please,” Gemma begged, knowing she would seem desperate.

  “Let him have his reserve,” Marianne urged softly, smiling with only a little force. “You knew he was a reserved man when you married him, and you still married him.”

  Gemma nodded, her brow furrowing. “But he was not as reserved with me.”

  “No, and nor would he be. And compared with what he is like in public, Gemma, he is undoubtedly still not as reserved with you.” She flicked her glance to the gentlemen’s card room, then back to her. “He does not like London. And knowing what he faces when he comes, I can’t say I blame him. He will tell you in time, I feel certain of it. But when you are at home, do not press him. Let him open to you in his own way.”

  It was excellent advice, and she wished she had considered that herself.

  “You think he will?” she asked in a small voice.

  Warmth hit Marianne’s eyes and she winked. “I think he will, when he can. You’ve only been married three weeks, dear. It will take longer than that for Blackmoor to let himself be vulnerable.”

  “Especially after years of being so guarded,” Lily murmured sympathetically, blinking when their three husbands entered the room together.

  Gemma could not take her eyes from Lucas as his tall and imposing form entered the room. Even in this small gathering, the conversation softened at it.

  But, true to form, Lucas did not react. He merely turned his head to listen more intently to whatever that horrid Mr. Granger was saying.

  “Why can’t they leave him alone?” Gemma whispered before she could stop herself.

  Lily covered her hand and Gemma glanced at her. “He has done well enough with it. Perhaps it only takes some getting used to.”

  Lucas had said the same sort of thing only weeks ago, and Gemma had doubted it at that time. Looking back at him, knowing him now as she did, caring for him as deeply as she did, she was even more certain of herself.

  “I shall never get used to it,” she hissed, her eyes burning. “He is my husband, and I will not stand for it.”

  “Don’t make a scene about it,” Marianne insisted, though she bore a faint smile that she shared with Lily. “Nothing will do the trick like supporting your husband and behaving as though it cannot touch you.”

  Gemma frowned. “That seems counterproductive.”

  “Our instincts will us to act,” Lady Cartwright said with a sigh, “but all it does is whip people into more of a frenzy.”

  She wondered what on earth that could mean, as she had never heard a single breath of anything remotely shocking about the Cartwrights, but now was not the time to ask.

  “So I am supposed to stand idly by and do nothing?” she groaned, looking around at them.

  All three were nodding, although how Lily could do so was beyond her. Everybody loved her husband except them and Lily was declared the most fortunate of women, despite the fact that her heart broke a little more every day.

  “And smile,” Lily suggested as she did so. “No one will argue with your smile. You’ve done a marvelous job so far, people are beginning to talk for other reasons.”

  “Good,” Gemma sniffed.

  “And I think that would help your husband, too,” Marianne mused softly, a small smile on her face as she dealt a new hand of cards.

  “Do you?”

  She nodded primly. “The way he is looking over here now, Gemma, I think he is very concerned about you. The pair of you will worry circles around each other.”

  Gemma glanced back to find Lucas’s
gaze on her with such intensity that her breath caught. She knew how to read his expression and his eyes so much the better now, and for all the outward stoicism, she could see the concern and warmth and apprehension in his gaze. And she was forgetting to be composed while chatting with her friends.

  What had he seen? He could not have heard, but what would he think?

  Somehow, looking at him made smiling easier. The pain in her chest, though her heart still ached for him, for them. But her friends were right. If Lucas could stand all that was said about him, though it must pain him somehow, then she could bear it as well.

  It may bristle her, it may take every ounce of resolve she had, but she could act the part. For him.

  After all, she had been acting for the world for most of her life.

  Now, however, she would not have to do so alone.

  She tilted her head, and let her lips curve into a small smile, her eyes softening.

  The change in Lucas was astonishing, though she doubted anyone else would see it. His face relaxed, his eyes lost their wariness, and a hint of the playful man from Thornacre appeared.

  Then, impossibly, his mouth curved just a hint, and her heart threatened to burst completely.

  “Oh my,” Lily murmured, an obvious smile in her voice. “I feel very much like an intruder at the moment.”

  “I do believe I owe you a pound,” Marianne said with a laugh.

  “Not yet,” Gemma murmured, her smile deepening with pride and emotion as she watched her husband and he watched her. “I can do better than that.”

  As if he knew what she had said, Lucas cast a very faint wink at her.

  She suddenly felt the urge to laugh.

  “My dear Lady Blackmoor,” Lady Cartwright huffed with a teasing smile, “do cease flirting with your husband and lay a card before I do it for you.”

  Gemma winked boldly back at her husband, and returned her attention to whatever game they were playing, feeling a little better.

  Perhaps they could weather this storm after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The may have been mistaken in her optimism.

  A scant three days after Lady Cartwright’s card party, Gemma was beginning to wonder if she had married a stranger after all.

  She only saw him at meals, and that was only if she could be so fortunate as to find him there when she arrived. She had actually been reduced to sending him missives by one of the servants, as she had no idea where he was or what he was about.

  The first day she had scoured the townhouse for him, only getting lost twice, and then asking the severe housekeeper of his whereabouts, which had only earned her a pitying look and a useless answer.

  She knew better than to think he was upset with her. She hadn’t done anything that anyone could construe as being in error or improper. On the contrary, her behavior had been more perfect than it had been in her entire life.

  But Lucas was absolutely nowhere to be found when she wished to. There were no notes for her, no indication of where he might have gone or what he might be doing. She imagined he must have some pressing matters of business, but was it so much that he could not speak to her about it?

  Or inform her of his plans?

  She had received more invitations since Lady Cartwright’s card party, but hardly as many as she had been receiving. And they were beginning to be most curiously addressed.

  To her alone.

  Not her husband.

  That had made her frown and she really did need to speak with him about it. She could hardly represent them well if she did not know which invitations to accept and which to decline.

  As he had been so remarkably absent, she had been forced to use her best judgment, which had never been perfect where Society was concerned. Thankfully, her sister, Marianne, and Moira, Lady Beverton, were of much use there. She’d been seen out in public with them on various excursions, earning stares and whispers as she did so. She smiled serenely and even dared to meet some of the gawkish looks, which only led to flushed cheeks and sputterings on the part of the others.

  She’d seen Lucas do that on occasion, and she suddenly understood the appeal of such an action.

  It was great fun.

  And she would have shared her amusement with her husband, if only he would be available to do so.

  This morning, however, she had no errands, no appointments, and nothing to divert her. As she had done at Thornacre, she had gone over each of the rooms and determined their state and any changes needing to be made, whether out of necessity or her own tastes. But the rooms were in perfect order and only slight alterations were needed. She knew each member of the staff and had been perfectly cordial and warm with all, but they seemed more inclined to be reserved, as their master.

  Only her maid was the least bit chatty, and Hattie was hardly someone she could sit and have conversation with without a reason. She was a maid, not a companion, and there were other things she needed to accomplish with her time than humoring the mistress of the house.

  She wandered the house aimlessly for a moment, then frowned to herself. This was ridiculous. She was moping around her house because she had nothing to do and her husband was avoiding her.

  A grown woman with an independent spirit should not be prone to such silliness.

  Lady Raeburn’s musicale was approaching, as was Miranda Ascott’s a few weeks after. She could select numbers to rehearse in preparation. It seemed an age since she had played, and even longer since she had done so for her own enjoyment.

  The music room in their London house was a very open room, allowing for as much of the natural light that London could offer, which generally did not amount to much. Today, however, the sunlight streamed through the windows and there seemed to be a glow about everything within. The gilded enhancements on the walls and ceiling transformed the room into an almost mystical place, and Gemma sighed in contentment.

  She pulled out her violin, tightened the strings, and began to play scales and light pieces to warm her fingers and the instrument.

  Then, when she was ready, she started a few pieces she knew already and had practiced before she had left for Thornacre. She struggled to find something that was adequate, as nothing seemed to suit her anymore. These pieces were innocent and delicate, simple and light. She could play any of them at this moment and receive her due praises, but she was not that girl anymore.

  She fumbled through some other pieces, finding a few that would be more of a challenge for her, and one she thought could pair well with Lily’s playing and Marianne’s voice, if they were so inclined. Marianne was still relatively timid with her musical abilities, but with the proper encouragement and the support of her friends, it might not be so terrifying.

  She found another piece in her collection that she pulled out with a smile. It had at one time seemed so difficult for her inexperienced fingers, and she’d worked at it for weeks without feeling comfortable with it, and had shoved it away.

  Now, however, she had the skills for it, and if she remembered correctly, the song was haunting and poignant and just what she needed at this moment.

  She set the music on her stand, scanned the lines, and with a faint smile, began to play.

  Softly, sweetly, the beginning notes rang out, innocent and sad. She smiled at the irony in that. Then they changed and deepened, and the melody flew from her violin, mingling with the magic of the room. In her mind, Gemma could hear the accompanying pianoforte, and the emotion suddenly came easier. The notes appeared in her memory and she closed her eyes, moved by the poignant strains.

  Other strings joined in, an orchestra to the music she led with her simple violin, as if her heart played all the rest. All of her pain, her confusion, her hope, her love… It all poured forth freely, set to the exquisite music of her soul, now filling her and the room around her.

  She felt herself moving with it, lost in the world of the song, to the instruments only she could hear. The music seemed to yearn with her, to feel everything she fe
lt, expressed in a more evocative manner than she could ever speak.

  As the tempo increased, she moved more, and the imagined symphony moved with her, a strange but fulfilling unison of form and feeling. She was dramatic and dynamic, open and alive, in agony and in ecstasy, no sign of the proper posture or poise that she had perfected for performance. This was music spreading the wings of her soul and she was helpless to resist its lure.

  Then the song slowed, sobered, and one by one the other instruments faded into the background as she and her lone violin sadly, solemnly, finished the last few notes, which hung in the air as a fog over morning dew.

  She exhaled and dropped her bow, fighting back tears that she didn’t know had sprung into being. She lowered her head and forced them away, blinking hard. When they were at last gone, she pulled the instrument away from her and turned to replace the music and find another.

  She caught sight of the open door and jerked with a gasp.

  Lucas leaned upon the doorjamb, perfectly proper but for his lack of jacket and his slightly untidy cravat. His eyes were wide and his breathing seemed unsteady. His gaze was riveted upon her, more intense and potent, somehow, than any look he had ever given her.

  How long had he been there?

  Long enough, it seemed, for he regarded her in a sort of wonder.

  She blushed and swallowed hard. If he had witnessed the entirety of that piece, he had seen her, and she had hardly been composed or refined. She could not have said how it must have looked to anyone else, no matter how freeing it had felt. The awkwardness that had existed between them of late was suddenly present within her in full force, no matter how remarkable the change in him was now.

  Lord only knew what he must have thought of her.

  “I…” she began, stumbling over the words. She cleared her throat. “I imagined I was being accompanied by several others.” She gestured to the open, empty room, then shrugged. “It all sounded very grand in my head.”

  “I heard it,” he murmured, his lips barely moving.

  She frowned and cocked her head. “Heard what?”

  “The rest,” he said simply. “All of it. I heard everything.” And he sounded as awestruck as he looked.