The Marriage Wager

by Ashford, Jane

  Emma met his eyes. Depths, she thought; she had been right about that.

  “We have both endured much,” Colin went on. “We can offer each other the compassion that comes out of such experiences, and perhaps lighten the burden somewhat.”

  He had truly caught Emma’s attention now.

  “I do not wish to spend my life with someone who is constantly asking me what I mean or cajoling me for smiles that I do not feel.”

  A chord of fellow feeling rang through Emma. She knew precisely what he meant. “Alone amid laughter,” she murmured.

  Colin’s face lit. “You see? You do understand me.”

  “Yes.” Emma looked at him with new eyes.

  Encouraged, he stepped forward and took her hand. “When I was twenty, I assumed that I would one day fall head over heels in love and be swept into marriage by strong emotion. I am nearly thirty now, and I fear emotion has been burned out of me by long years of battle.” He gazed down at her. “Perhaps you understand this, too, somewhat.”

  Their eyes held steadily. Emma was finding it difficult to breathe.

  “I have found a great deal to admire in you,” he continued. “You are extremely intelligent. You have a great deal of integrity. I believe we could offer one another comradeship. And perhaps that is the most we can expect at this point in our lives.”

  Shaken, she scanned his face. “Comradeship?”

  He nodded.

  “You are offering me a bargain?” she concluded.

  “Yes. You can’t wish to return to the life you left. I require a wife who will not drive me to murder within a week. Our needs seem… suited.”

  Emma gazed up at him. She was thinking not of the barren and precarious life she would face abroad, or even of the luxurious existence she could expect as Baroness St. Mawr. What transfixed her was his voice as he spoke of the dark days he had endured in the war and their common understanding of hardship. Something deep inside her had come awake at those words, had responded profoundly to the tone of them, to the reminiscent shadow in his eyes. She had never before met with such kinship. She had never expected it. Emma trembled with the strength of her emotion, though she wasn’t sure what it was. “I…” she began, and could not finish.

  “You cannot condemn me to be surrounded by people who know nothing but sunlight,” he said. “I will not abandon you to that fate either,” he added.

  A bargain, thought Emma. A clear agreement between two people who understood each other, which offered advantages to each. Not, most emphatically not, a heedless, headstrong leap into disaster. Not the risks and stupidities of a naive young girl’s illusion of true love. This was safe. It was sensible. And it did offer her many things. Comradeship, Emma thought. It was a pleasing concept. “No,” she said.

  “No?” he repeated.

  “No, I could not condemn you to that,” she added, conscious that it was the truth, even if she was making a serious mistake.

  Arabella Tarrant, peering through a crack in the door, put her hands to her mouth to stifle a gratified squeal. This was really a splendid development. Though she hadn’t understood half of what they said, this pair had clearly come to an agreement at last. And the Baron St. Mawr and his new wife would both have reason to be grateful to her for bringing them together. Surely, she thought, as she watched Colin offer his hand, and Emma take it as if sealing a business transaction, surely they would be very grateful indeed.

  A pang of envy shot through her, like a sour surge of bile. Emma would have everything now. It wasn’t fair, she thought vaguely. Nothing in her life had been fair. But perhaps she was going to make up for that at last, she thought as she crept away.

  “There is one—rather delicate—thing I must ask you,” Colin said then.

  Emma raised her head at his tone. “What?”

  “I owe my name and title an heir,” he said evenly.

  It took Emma an instant, then she understood. “I… I was with child in the first year of my marriage,” she said. “I lost the baby during a rough journey to Vienna.” She swallowed at the pain of the memory. “The doctor told me there was no reason for concern in the future. But then, after that first year, Edward spent most of his nights at the gaming houses, and drinking. He hardly ever… that is… it became obvious that his true passion was gaming.”

  Colin felt a mixture of compassion for her and jealous contempt for the man who had treated her so.

  A moment passed before either of them spoke again. Then Colin took a breath and contemplated the opposite wall. “First thing tomorrow, I will visit my great-aunt Celia,” he told her. “I believe I can make her our ally in this, and she has great influence in society.” He smiled slightly. “Even better, my mother is terrified of her.”

  “Your mother will not be pleased,” concluded Emma.

  “She will make a great fuss, but you must pay no attention. My mother has not been pleased with anything I did since I left the nursery. You should have heard her screech when I accepted a commission in the army.”

  “You do not get along?” she wondered.

  “I get along perfectly well,” Colin replied. “But my mother is overfond of her own way. And she will not be convinced that I have no desire for her… guidance.”

  Emma sighed.

  “I should go and begin to put things in motion,” he said. “Do you… need anything to help you prepare for the wedding?”

  Emma stood straighter. “I shan’t take money from you. I’ll do quite well with what I have.”

  “Of course.” He hesitated. “It’s just that my mother is very… susceptible to appearances.”

  “Is she?” Emma’s chin came up. “I shall do my best to, er, satisfy her.”

  Colin smiled slightly. “I’ll call again this afternoon,” he said. “All will be well,” he assured her.

  Emma wished she could believe him.

  ***

  Colin rang the bell at his mother’s town house and was admitted by her butler, Riggs, with a somber greeting. Moving with austere dignity, Riggs escorted his lordship to the drawing room and sent a footman to inform their mistress of her son’s arrival. Then, finding himself unobserved, the butler raced down two flights of stairs to inform the senior staff that a blowup of major proportions was about to take place. Those with the least excuse to loiter near the drawing room promptly took their places. Thus, the baroness had a gratifyingly large audience when she swept down the staircase and along the corridor, like a frigate under full sail, to confront her erring offspring.

  “So,” she said accusingly when she entered the drawing room.

  Colin turned from the window, where he had been observing the coaches passing in the street. “Good afternoon, Mother,” he replied. He was still immaculate in pale pantaloons and a dark green coat, his neckcloth a perfect Oriental. “You look well.”

  “I do not,” replied the baroness, irritated by his refusal to acknowledge her dramatic manner.

  Colin raised his dark eyebrows.

  “I am prostrate with anxiety,” added his mother pettishly.

  “Indeed. Do you wish to lie down?”

  “No!”

  “But if you are prostrate…?”

  “Colin! Stop trying to goad me by pretending that all is as usual. I insist upon discussing this impossible engagement of yours.”

  “I am here to discuss my engagement,” he acknowledged.

  “Well, there is only one thing to be said about it. It must be broken off immediately. It is the most scandalously unsuitable, ridiculously—”

  “Before you say more, Mother, I should warn you that I fully intend to go ahead with this marriage.”

  It was like running into a wall, thought the baroness, trying to control her temper. One had just about the same chance of having an effect. “And that is that?” she asked. “Without hearing my opinion, without
consulting your family, or indeed, anyone?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said, with a slight smile.

  His mother’s jaw set. “You have not heard what I have to tell you about this woman,” she continued.

  “I don’t think there is anything you can tell me that I do not know,” was his calm reply.

  Though this idea rattled her a bit, the baroness refused to give up. “Really? Did you know that it is almost certain her first marriage was an elopement? And that her husband was fleeing England because he could not pay his debts of honor? He left unpaid bills all across London. They spent their life in gaming hells, and I have just today learned that her husband was killed in a filthy tavern brawl, over a game of dice he had fallen into with a common carter.” She crossed her arms on her chest and gazed at him as if daring him to contradict her.

  Colin looked calmly back. “You have made a strong case against Edward Tarrant,” he said. “And I agree that the man must have been a thorough blackguard. But I don’t see what that has to do with Emma.”

  “Don’t…?” The baroness struggled for words. “A woman who has lived in that way? A creature of gaming hells and low alehouses? A ruined, grasping—”

  “Mother!”

  His voice was like a whiplash; she clamped her lips shut on further epithets.

  “Your excuse must be that you have never met her,” said Colin more gently. “Emma is very little touched by the life she was forced to lead. It’s remarkable, really.”

  “She has bewitched you,” exclaimed the baroness. “She has used her wiles to addle your wits.”

  “On the contrary…”

  “She did not scruple to visit your house,” snapped his mother. “And before there was any talk of engagement, I would note.”

  Colin went very still. Foolishly, he had not expected this. “You are mistaken,” he said coolly.

  His mother felt a surge of triumph. Finally, she had penetrated past his infuriating, imperturbable surface. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I have it on the best authority.”

  “You have been misinformed,” he said.

  “I have not. Crane had it directly from…” She stopped and flushed slightly.

  “Servants’ gossip, Mother? I hadn’t thought it of you.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “Did Crane’s ‘informants’ give you my visitor’s name? Was she known to them?”

  “No, but the description was quite detailed and—”

  “Misleading,” he declared.

  “Are you trying to tell me that you had some other female in your house only days before you offered for this… this…”

  “I am telling you to cease this interference,” he replied. “The matter has come up between us before.” He was terrifically angry, Colin realized dispassionately. The threat had roused every defensive instinct.

  “Will you abandon your family for a woman with no background, a creature of the gaming hells and—”

  “Emma is as wellborn as you,” he said crisply.

  The baroness’s head jerked back. It was a sore point with her that she was the child of a mere country squire, with no pretensions to nobility. The subject was not customarily mentioned, and she could not believe he had brought it up.

  “She is intelligent, well-mannered, with a strong natural dignity,” he went on. “You will accustom yourself to the idea that we will be married. And you will not”— he fixed her with an icy gaze—“not repeat any gossip about her. Is that clear?”

  His mother blinked. Colin did not sound like a man enmeshed in the toils of passion. Could she have misjudged the situation after all? “I do not understand you,” she complained.

  “Very true,” he agreed blandly.

  “I have presented every eligible girl in the ton to you,” she wailed. “A number of them were quite ravishing, and all of them were above reproach. Any one would have been overjoyed to receive an offer. Why must you—”

  “As you pointed out, you do not understand me,” he answered. “Now, let me tell you about the plans I have made.”

  The baroness sank onto the sofa, her plump face creased into petulant lines. “You are the most annoying person, Colin.”

  “Doubtless,” he said, brushing this perennial complaint aside. “Great-Aunt Celia is giving a dinner to celebrate the engagement Wednesday week.”

  “Aunt Celia is taking your side in this?” His mother looked uneasy.

  “She has… come to appreciate my point of view.” He did not tell her that their formidable relative had made her help completely probationary. Or that she had said, “Mind you, young jackanapes, if I don’t care for the girl, I’ll put an end to the match. And if you think I can’t, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “How could she?” complained the baroness.

  “All the family will be invited,” Colin continued. “And I shall expect them to attend.”

  “We couldn’t refuse an invitation from Celia,” she said faintly.

  Which was exactly why he had gone to her, thought Colin. “Afterward, we will attend the Cardingtons’ ball together,” he told her. “Will you ask Lady Cardington to include Emma among her guests?”

  “Ask her?” exclaimed the baroness. “She will fall over herself to invite her. Do you have any idea of the gossip you have stirred up, Colin? Felicity Cardington will be the envy of every other hostess in London if she has you and your… intended at her ball.”

  Colin nodded, his mouth tight.

  “I suppose you realize that we will be the targets of rude stares and every fool who fancies himself a wit?” she added pettishly.

  “It can’t be helped,” he said. “We must just see that the talk dies down as soon as possible.”

  “But—”

  “I expect your help in this, Mother,” he warned.

  “I don’t—”

  “And Caroline’s as well.”

  “You want us to help you ruin yourself?” she complained.

  “On the contrary, Mother. On the contrary.”

  She watched him, puzzled by the look on his face. “Do you care for this woman, Colin? Is there something that you’re not telling me?”

  “She will do very well,” he replied.

  “That does not answer my question.”

  “It is all the answer you will get.”

  “I declare I hardly know you anymore, Colin,” said his mother peevishly. “It is the war, I suppose. It has changed you.”

  “I believe it has,” he acknowledged. “But if your memory suggests that before the war I allowed you to order me about, it is seriously flawed, Mother.”

  “You have been impossible since you were eight years old,” she complained. “I remember distinctly the day you turned to me, with precisely that superior look on your face, and informed me that you did not wish to see boiled carrots on your plate ever again.” She sniffed. “Independent, your father called it. Headstrong and ungovernable is nearer the truth.”

  He smiled very slightly. “Good day, Mother. Until Wednesday.”

  “Colin!” But he left the room without acknowledging her protest. “Arrogant, too,” said the baroness. “Not to mention incredibly irritating.” She vented her frustration on a small embroidered footstool, kicking it aside as she stalked from the room.

  ***

  Emma carefully restacked the pile of coins and banknotes she had set out on the small table in her bedchamber. The last time she had contemplated marriage, she thought, she had had her own secure income of six hundred a year and very little understanding of money. This time, her entire fortune consisted of four hundred seventy-nine pounds and some odd shillings, most of it won from the fat woman at Barbara Rampling’s card party, and she had become a frugal and efficient manager of her funds. She fingered the two pieces of jewelry she had been able to keep thro
ugh the downward progress of her life—a modest string of pearls she had inherited from her mother and an exquisite cameo brooch in tints of peach and ivory that had belonged to her wealthy grandmother. She had sold her wedding ring in Constantinople to pay Edward’s final debts, which had seemed to her a suitably symbolic gesture.

  Emma swept the money into her reticule and put the jewelry away. It was not much on which to rig herself out like a baroness, but she had great faith in her own powers of contrivance. As she moved toward the door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and gave it a wry smile. Two things she had learned in recent years—gambling, and how to clothe herself stylishly on nearly nothing.

  Finding Arabella in the drawing room, she inquired about shops. When the older woman began to name some of the fashionable Bond Street establishments, Emma shook her head. “Not where the ton goes. I cannot pay for an address. There must be other places.”

  “Well, I have heard that one can get things very cheap at the Pantheon Bazaar,” replied Arabella doubtfully. “But I have never been there.”

  “We shall take a look,” said Emma cheerfully. “That is, if you care to come with me?”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” wondered Arabella.

  “Ferik will be with us. No one has ever dared accost me with him present.”

  “I suppose not,” she replied doubtfully. Arabella had not developed a fondness for Ferik. “But will you really find anything suitable in such a place?”

  Emma smiled. “I will tell you a secret, Aunt. Cities are full of interesting places where the fashionable people never go. There are thousands of respectable women in London who cannot afford to shop in Bond Street—wives of barristers and shopkeepers. I wager they have no trouble buying a length of fine muslin or some trimming for a gown.”

  Arabella looked shocked. “You cannot think to dress like a shopkeeper’s wife?”

  “No. But I may use the same materials. Come, I’ll show you.”

  Arabella went to fetch her hat. Knowing that it would take her some time to prepare to go out, Emma used the opportunity to summon Ferik to the drawing room.