The Marriage Wager

by Ashford, Jane

  “So you see how it is,” said the count, shrugging as if there was nothing he could do.

  And not just herself, Emma thought. Colin would suffer along with her—or more. She couldn’t bear to think of his humiliation if Orsino’s lies began to be whispered through the ton. It would be the last straw, Emma thought despairingly. They had weathered the irregularity of their match, and Lady Mary’s ridiculous allegations, but this would be too much. Colin could not be expected to allow the ruin of his family name. He would have to reject her. She turned and glared at Orsino, rage and contempt in her gaze.

  It had no effect.

  “But the solution is so simple,” he said, once more spreading his hands. “A few introductions, perhaps an invitation or two, and you are rid of me.”

  That was another lie, Emma thought. Once he had a hold on her, he would never go away. She would be doing his bidding, slowly destroying her self-respect, for the rest of her life. She clasped her hands tight together. She had to have time to think, to discover a way to stop him. “I… I must think it over,” she said, pretending to be beaten and near surrender. “In a week… or, no, two. Yes, in two weeks, I will—”

  “Alas, my dear baroness, I fear I cannot wait so long,” was the answer. He smiled, and Emma marveled at his ability to look benevolent. He hid his true self so well. And that just made him more convincing, she thought savagely.

  “A week, then,” she said.

  He hesitated. “Very well,” he replied finally. “But in the meantime I shall of course cultivate my acquaintance with the interesting young woman you presented to me.”

  Emma ground her teeth together. “You will leave Lady Mary alone!” she said.

  “As soon as you agree to my terms,” he replied.

  “You devil,” said Emma. “You wretched, cowardly—”

  With one rapid step, he was upon her, catching her upper arms in a painful grasp and pushing his face close to hers. His breath smelled of spirits even so early in the day. “Take care what you call me,” he said softly. “You are alone in my chambers, after all. And I would not be averse to making my claims about our intimacy quite real.” He bent to fasten his lips on hers, but Emma jerked away.

  “Ferik!” she called.

  “Yes, mistress,” replied a deep voice from the hall. Heavy footsteps approached.

  Count Orsino let his hands drop and moved hastily back. “Blast that overgrown barbarian,” he hissed. “I heard what he did to Charlie Todd in Constantinople. He is no fit servant for a civilized woman.”

  “On the contrary,” said Emma, with the first satisfaction she had felt during this interview. “He is precisely the servant for a civilized woman. An uncivilized one would not need him, because she would scratch your eyes out herself. Ah, Ferik, we are going.”

  “Yes, mistress,” said Ferik, looming in the doorway.

  “This changes nothing,” declared the count spitefully. “You have a week.”

  Emma left the room, very conscious that she had no answer to this taunt.

  ***

  Outside, it was still raining, though not as hard as before. Emma started off down the street at a rapid pace, paying little attention to the direction.

  “Shall I find a cab, mistress?” asked Ferik, lagging behind her.

  “I wish to walk a while. I need to think.”

  “But it is raining, mistress,” said Ferik in scandalized tones.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “But, mistress.” All of the giant’s dislike of the English climate vibrated in those two words.

  “Please be quiet. I must try to decide what to do,” was Emma’s reply.

  Ferik subsided into offended silence. Emma strode along the muddy street, oblivious to the increasing dampness of her cloak, turning over alternatives in her mind. She felt trapped, like a fly struggling in a spider’s web. She knew from experience that Orsino could be horribly convincing, and he had such damning details to embellish his story. Emma had seen the count wreck a dozen reputations with a few well-placed anecdotes and his pose of complete sincerity.

  She shuddered, but not from the cold and damp, and pulled her sodden cloak closer around her shoulders.

  She could try to discover what crimes the count was fleeing on the Continent, she thought. But she didn’t have much hope of success. She didn’t know whom to ask, and Orsino had been known to use false names and identities. It was most unlikely that she would happen upon anyone who could accuse him and force quick action under English law.

  She could leave, Emma thought bleakly. But he would tell his story out of spite in that case, and it would follow her wherever she went. Colin might, too. Or he might not, she realized with cold dread. He might let her go in disgust.

  Emma drew her arms tight around her chest under the cloak. There seemed no way out. But she was fiercely certain of one thing; she would not let Orsino win.

  They came out onto a busy street. Sheets of water splashed from beneath the wheels and hooves of a stream of passing equipages. Pedestrians had their heads down against the rain. Emma turned to look at Ferik. He was very obviously wet and miserable.

  Emma felt a pang of guilt. She had been so absorbed in her own concerns recently that she had not given much thought to Ferik. He did not belong in England, she admitted now. She should not have brought him. But she had needed him; she could not have survived without his protection. Her guilt increased at this admission of selfishness. She would have to do something for him, she thought. Eventually, he needed to go home, with a munificent reward for his service to her, though no sum of money could ever repay him. She didn’t want to ask Colin for money, however, especially just now. She would have to see to this, also, herself.

  But there was, at least, something tangible she could do right now. “Why don’t you find us a cab, Ferik?” she said gently.

  “Yes, mistress!” He leapt into the crowd, and in a few moments, despite active competition, had secured them a hack. Emma climbed aboard in silence for the ride home.

  ***

  Lady Mary Dacre called an hour early on the morning when they were scheduled to go out, and Emma was in no mood to see her, or indeed, anyone else. Since her visit to Orsino, she could think of only one thing—how to prevent the man from destroying her marriage and ruining her life. The threat colored everything she did. It made her distant and forgetful with acquaintances. It destroyed her interest in routine household tasks. And worst of all, it made her draw away from Colin at the very moment when she most wanted to move closer, to discover what his feelings for her truly were.

  And though she told herself that she must go on with her daily round and not let anyone see that something was wrong, Emma found the girl’s stream of chatter as irritating as the buzz of gnats around one’s face on a country walk.

  “Jane and Eliza think I made the whole thing up!” Lady Mary was saying indignantly. “They don’t believe St. Mawr ever showed any special interest in me at all.” Her pretty face set in petulant lines, she added, “Alice isn’t sure. Not sure! How can they treat me so? They are supposed to be my best friends.”

  Emma murmured something noncommittal.

  “If they were truly my friends, they wouldn’t doubt my word,” said the other fiercely. “I won’t have anything to do with them after this.”

  “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” said Emma. “People have different views—”

  “Friends don’t have perspectives,” interrupted Lady Mary. “They are supposed to be on your side no matter what. Did you think people were your friends when they told you not to marry your first husband?”

  Emma caught her breath, her attention firmly captured at last. The girl’s effrontery was amazing.

  “Well, did you?”

  She was like one of those small dogs that looked fluffy and harmless, and then fastened its teeth in
to you with mindless fury, Emma thought. “No,” she admitted.

  “There, you see!” said the girl.

  “And I was very, very sorry,” Emma added, half to herself. She had never been sorrier than right now, as the mistakes of the past threatened to wreck her future.

  “Why?” Lady Mary stared at her with wide, china-blue eyes that were completely devoid of tact.

  “Because they were right,” Emma replied curtly. “He was a hopeless gamester. He cared for nothing but the tables, and himself.”

  “You mean he didn’t love you?”

  “No,” said Emma, prepared to be rude if this went on much longer.

  “So you cared for someone who did not love you, either,” was the response. The thought seemed to give Lady Mary a great deal of satisfaction.

  Emma simply looked at her.

  “Of course, St. Mawr is not a gamester. I suppose he is a rather admirable person.” The girl was tentative, as if she had never considered such a question before.

  Emma said nothing.

  “So I chose better than you,” said the girl complacently.

  There was something almost awe-inspiring about this level of self-absorption, thought Emma.

  “And also, I shan’t have to endure years of unhappiness. I daresay the gossip will die down soon.” Lady Mary turned to contemplate her once more with those wide, merciless eyes. “So, you are not some perfect creature who has always had everything her own way.”

  Startled, she shook her head.

  “And you are not trying to make me look clumsy and ridiculous in comparison to you.”

  “Why would I do that?” said Emma, shocked at the idea.

  “Oh, people do,” said Lady Mary. She threw Emma a sidelong glance that suggested she knew far too much about this topic, and perhaps not all of it from the side of wounded virtue.

  “Vulgar, hateful people,” said Emma firmly.

  “Well, but—”

  The drawing room door opened and the footman announced Robin Bellingham, who strolled in on his heels.

  Emma’s brother wore an ensemble so fashionable that he could scarcely move in it. His heavily starched collar points framed his face like a white basket, and clearly made turning his head next to impossible. His neckcloth rose in snowy waves that looked to Emma as if they might strangle him at any moment. The excessive padding in his coat made his stance stiff. Only his fawn pantaloons, stretching smoothly over a creditable pair of legs, accommodated themselves to his movements. When he had made his bow to Emma, he had to turn his entire torso to look at the rest of the room. “You here?” he said rudely when he noticed Lady Mary.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” answered the girl, bristling.

  “Well, I’d think that was obvious,” he said.

  “Robin! Could I speak to you?” interrupted Emma. “A matter of family business,” she told Lady Mary as she drew him into the far corner of the room. Robin threw a smug look over his shoulder. The girl stuck out her tongue.

  Emma had meant to confer with Robin and explain everything before Lady Mary arrived, a plan that was thwarted by the girl’s early appearance. Now, she hurriedly explained everything to her brother in a low voice, ending with a plea for his help and support. “I would be so grateful,” she finished.

  Robin preened a little.

  “Of course, it means being polite to Lady Mary,” Emma warned, “and appearing to be her friend.”

  When Robin looked mulish, she added, “Or at least an amiable acquaintance.”

  Robin turned an unenthusiastic eye on the girl. She glared back at him as if he had leered. “But will she be polite to me?” he wondered.

  “It is a great deal to ask, I know,” soothed Emma. “But I have faith in you.”

  “You do?” He seemed startled by the idea.

  “Yes. I think you are capable of great things in the right cause,” she assured him.

  Robin stood straighter. Despite the stiffness of his shirtfront, he pushed out his chest. “I’ll do it!”

  “I knew I could count on you,” replied Emma, relieved that her plan for Robin seemed to be working. She would keep him occupied and far from the gaming tables. At least she could save him from ruin, she thought. “You will escort us to the Royal Academy, then?”

  “Pictures?” Robin balked.

  “All the ton is going to see the new exhibition of paintings. It seemed a good place to show ourselves.”

  He still looked mutinous.

  “Everyone I meet is talking about it,” she added. “I feel positively Gothic, not having been.”

  “All the crack, is it?” Robin frowned over this, then gave in. “I suppose I can look at a few pictures.”

  “Splendid.” Emma moved back toward Lady Mary. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  “He isn’t coming with us?” complained the younger girl.

  “He is my brother, and I wish him to come,” answered Emma gently.

  Robin gave Lady Mary a smug smile. She wrinkled her nose and sneered at him.

  Climbing into Emma’s elegant barouche, Robin and Lady Mary argued about who would take the forward seat. Lady Mary claimed that any gentleman would not hesitate to face backward to accommodate ladies. Robin maintained that a proper, modest deb would offer to take the less comfortable place, not wishing to thrust herself forward.

  Lady Mary won that round by the simple expedient of plopping down in the seat and spreading her skirts around her, giving Robin a look that was both triumphant and defiant. However, Robin got his own back when Lady Mary attempted to direct the coachman to the Royal Academy. He subjected her proposed route to severe, and justified, ridicule and substituted a better one with an annoying superior air.

  They were the same age, Emma realized, both just barely out of the schoolroom. And they brought out the lingering childishness in each other. With a tiny bit less control, it might have come to hair-pulling and shoving and shrieks for mother to mediate. She sighed quietly.

  At the academy, Robin offered Emma his arm with exaggerated politeness. Lady Mary sniffed and walked through the doors ahead of them, her head high. “We are friends on an outing together,” Emma reminded them. “We are having a pleasant time.”

  Lady Mary smiled, and as before, it transformed her conventionally pretty face. Robin blinked in surprise at the change, and then seemed to have difficulty looking away for quite some time.

  “Is that the best you can do?” hissed Lady Mary through her teeth. “You don’t look happy. You look poleaxed.”

  Robin smiled at her.

  He also had a beautiful smile, Emma thought. In fact, with his pale coloring and silly, dandyish clothes, you didn’t notice precisely how handsome a lad he was until he smiled. Oddly, it made him look more masculine and assured, too.

  It was Lady Mary’s turn to be startled. Her eyes widened and her lips opened a little, as if something completely unexpected had jumped out in her path. She examined Robin with more care, and seemed to find something of interest in the survey.

  “I suppose we must make a show of looking at these pictures,” Robin said. But this time he offered his arm to Lady Mary.

  Emma, in her turn, smiled as they walked into the gallery together.

  But the lift in her mood was brief.

  “There is that man we met in the park,” Lady Mary commented five minutes later. “The one you were so shockingly rude to.”

  Robin turned to stare, looking startled at this accusation of his extremely well-mannered sister.

  Emma turned as well, and her heart sank as she found Count Orsino approaching them with a broad smile. He had to be keeping watch on her house and following her, she thought with a tremor of fear. His constant appearances could not be mere coincidence. He was purposefully tormenting her. “Turn around,” she urged, taking Lady Mary’s free arm. “I do
n’t wish to meet him.”

  The girl pulled away. “I do. He’s interesting. Good day, Count,” she added in a louder voice.

  Orsino took off his low-crowned beaver hat and gave the group a bow. “Ladies,” he said, coming toward them, “you outshine the work of the artists around you.”

  Lady Mary giggled.

  “Are you enjoying the display?” he continued as he joined their group.

  “We just got here,” the girl replied.

  “Indeed? I am fortunate. Perhaps you will allow me to take you round. I have some knowledge of art.” He offered his arm.

  To Emma’s intense annoyance, Lady Mary took it. “I told my father I had met someone from Italy,” she said. “He spent the whole evening recalling his journey there.”

  Orsino smiled down at her. “Should I offer you my abject apologies for being the cause of this reminiscence?”

  She giggled again.

  “We already have an escort, Count,” said Emma a bit desperately. “So we will not require your services.” When he turned and looked inquiring, she cursed herself, for this forced her to introduce Robin to the man.

  “Young Bellingham?” was the response. “But I have heard of you, have I not? Someone was telling me that if I wished to know just how to get on in London, I would do well to model myself on Robin Bellingham.”

  Robin goggled at him, then flushed. “Me?”

  “Yes, indeed. And I can certainly see why. Would you consider it an impertinence if I asked who made that waistcoat?”

  Robin’s answering smile was like a knife through Emma’s heart. Her brother was far too young and inexperienced to see through this kind of blatant flattery. And he so wished to be seen as a pink of the ton. The look the count threw over his shoulder as the three of them moved away from her made it clear that he knew exactly what she was thinking and was enjoying her anguish thoroughly.