The Marriage Wager

by Ashford, Jane

  ***

  Colin spent the day following a number of the threads he had unraveled in his earlier investigations. He visited the English government office once again, and came out looking very satisfied with the result. He spoke with his new friend at the Italian embassy. He met with two somber, extremely muscular individuals who came highly recommended by the elusive Mr. Smith and reached an agreement with them. After lunch at his club, he was on the way to his last destination of the day when he encountered Robin Bellingham sauntering toward the park. “I’ll walk with you partway,” he said.

  Robin agreed a bit uneasily. His formidable brother-in-law still intimidated him slightly, especially after the recent incident in the drawing room. Wareham was everything that Robin longed to be, and when he was with him, it became all too obvious that he had a long way to go before reaching his ideal. “I was, er, just going to take a toddle along the Row,” he said, striving for nonchalance.

  Colin merely nodded and fell into step beside him.

  They began to walk together. “You told me you were going to stay away from the gaming tables,” Colin said after a while. “I took you to be a man of your word.” He watched his companion unobtrusively, with quick sidelong glances.

  “I am,” said Robin stiffly. “You don’t understand.”

  “Explain it to me,” was the curt response.

  “Oh, well…” Robin felt trapped. He didn’t know whether he might be betraying Emma’s confidence. On the other hand, he could not stand to have St. Mawr think he was not an honorable man. “The thing is, I had to help Emma,” he said finally.

  “Emma?” Colin echoed, in a soft, possibly dangerous voice.

  “I had to distract this fellow Orsino. He’s been making up to Lady Mary, you know,” he confided. “And she can’t seem to realize that he’s not the sort of man she should so much as speak to.”

  “And what else?” demanded Colin in the same tone.

  “Else?” Robin looked bewildered.

  “What else has Orsino been doing?”

  The young man stared at him, a bit unnerved by the implacability in his voice. “He’s been gambling with me,” he offered, and then quickly amended. “But I was just keeping him away from Lady Mary, you see. As soon as he’s out of the picture, I mean to give up gaming.”

  When Colin made no reply, he added nervously. “Emma says he cheats. That’s why I’ve dropped so much blunt.”

  “What is he to Emma?” Colin demanded, fixing his companion with an inexorable gaze.

  “Emma?” Robin fumbled for words. “Friend of her… of Edward Tarrant, she told me. That’s how she became acquainted with the blackguard, which is something I cannot like.”

  “No,” agreed Colin quietly. He examined Robin’s face for a moment longer, and concluded that the young man knew no more than this about the count. And he was convinced that there was more to know concerning Orsino and Emma. Prey to a mixture of relief and frustration, Colin put his hands behind his back as they walked on along the pavement.

  “This Tarrant must have been a dashed loose screw,” Robin complained, feeling considerably better now that Colin was no longer looking at him.

  The baron said nothing.

  “I hate to admit it, but I think Father was right about him.”

  “He was indeed,” said Colin.

  “Of course, I didn’t realize all this when I met Orsino at the Royal Academy with Emma.” Robin’s handsome face darkened. “Lady Mary was there, too. Unfortunate, that.”

  “Yes,” replied Colin absently.

  “But you may rely on me. I’m keeping an eye out in that direction,” Robin assured him. “No need to worry.”

  There was more to young Robin than he had given him credit for, Colin realized. And while he had little interest in Lady Mary Dacre, it was gratifying to observe the lad’s growing maturity. He decided to share a small piece of information with him. “You will not have to worry about Orsino much longer,” he promised. “Steps have been taken to, er, remove him from the country.”

  “Really?” Robin looked impressed, and a little envious. “Can’t be too soon for me,” he said. “I’m dashed sick of being cheated at cards.”

  “No doubt.”

  His tone made Robin look at him. “What are you going to do with the blackguard?”

  “Make sure that he cannot harm anyone here,” said Colin grimly.

  “How?” Robin looked eager. “If you need any help, I’m your man.”

  “Thank you, but matters are well in hand.”

  “I could help, you know,” said the younger man resentfully.

  “There is really nothing more to be done,” put in Colin. “But should anything come up, I will feel free to call on you.”

  Robin grunted, unsatisfied. “Well, at least Emma must be relieved,” he said after a moment. He brightened. “That’s good. She’s been jumpy as a cat over the fellow.” His expression grew even more pleased. “And I won’t have to spend any more time with him. I must say, I don’t care for him at all.” Robin let out an expansive breath and walked with a bit more spring to his step. “Should have known you’d take care of the matter,” he added. “You’re her husband, after all.” He smiled at Colin.

  The baron merely gazed back at him a little blankly.

  “You all right?” wondered Robin.

  Colin nodded.

  “Right.” Robin took another deep breath. “Actually, I’m glad to have this thing taken off my hands,” he admitted. “Wasn’t at all sure how to resolve the matter. And I’ve nearly used up my quarterly allowance on the blackguard as it is.”

  “I’ll replace it,” said Colin somewhat mechanically.

  Robin looked delighted briefly, then his face fell. “Can’t let you do that.”

  “It is my responsibility,” was the reply.

  Robin gave his brother-in-law a sidelong glance. He sounded dashed odd, and he had a queer look on his face, too. “Well, it’s good to know that you and Emma have settled everything between you,” he said heartily. Seeing the gates of the park ahead, he walked a bit faster, the strain of this lengthy conversation beginning to tell. “There’s Jack,” he added gratefully a moment later. “Do you… do you care to come along with us?”

  Colin shook his head, not even noticing Robin’s relief. After cordial introductions, he left the two young men and hailed a cab to take him home. Sitting in it, he leaned back against the cushions and listened to mental echoes of the phrases Emma’s brother had used. “You’re her husband, after all. Good that you’ve settled everything between you.”

  Emma was deeply disturbed by the intrusion of this devil Orsino from her past, he thought. That was clear, though her exact reasons remained cloudy. He had the means to remove that threat; indeed, he was in the process of doing so. And he had not told her. He had not even thought of telling her. Instead, he had brooded over her reluctance to confide in him, and left her to fret and worry.

  Colin shifted uneasily on the leather seat. He remained unshakably convinced that Emma hid nothing dishonorable from her past life. He had seen too much evidence of her integrity to imagine otherwise. Why, then, had he not openly offered his help?

  What if, instead of silently railing at her, he had gone to her and let her know he was having the man expelled from the country? Could he doubt that she would then have told him everything? If he had given her one clear opening… but he had held back. As he always held back.

  Stubborn pride, Colin muttered to the passing street scene. He would tell her as soon as he reached home, he thought, and then things would return to normal between them. There would be no more of these silences and distances. They would resume their former easy, comfortable relationship.

  A tremor went through him. He was afraid that was no longer possible. And he was even more afraid, because—he clenched his fists—because it wa
s no longer what he wanted.

  He thought of Emma as he saw her a dozen times a day—sitting at the dining table, speaking to one of the servants, walking briskly along a corridor on some household errand, bending over one of the estate documents that he shared with her. She had made his house a place he longed to return to. She had made his life something far more than the bleak round of duty he had contemplated on the boat coming home.

  He thought of their days at Trevallan. She had listened to the worst he had to tell and never drawn back. He thought of the odd circumstances of their original meeting, and how easily it might never have happened at all. And he remembered other times—how she responded to his touch with such ardor and tenderness that it made his breath catch to think of it.

  This was love, Colin realized. This rich, complicated web of feelings that occupied his whole soul was the love that he had given up hope of ever finding less than a year ago. He shook his head dazedly. He hadn’t understood. He had thought love came in one great sudden swoop. But it was far otherwise. Parts of it had indeed emerged as soon as he met her—the passion, the laughter. But others had come more gradually, adding one to another until he finally, belatedly, reached this moment of revelation.

  This was why he hadn’t confronted her, Colin saw. What he wanted was not the details about Orsino. He didn’t care a snap of his fingers for the man. He wanted Emma to love him. He wanted her to turn to him and tell him she was in love with him, as he was with her.

  Colin drew a shaky breath. She had never claimed to love him, never promised to love him. He, blithering idiot that he was, had specifically excluded love from their agreement. He had no right to expect love.

  But he wanted it.

  She had drawn away from him recently. What if she wouldn’t come back? The possibility was more frightening than any battlefield he could recall. Colin Wareham, who had faced countless cannons and bayonets and lances in his life, sat rigid in the moving hack. He couldn’t bear any more losses. And the loss of Emma would be a catastrophe beyond any that he had so far endured.

  Colin bared his teeth. He wouldn’t lose her, he vowed. He would fight his way through any obstacle. He would take the risk. And the time—as much time as necessary. He would destroy this Orsino, and anyone else who dared threaten Emma, and he would show her what it meant to love.

  The driver knocked on the roof of the cab. “Here you are, guv,” he said.

  Becoming aware of his surroundings once more, Colin climbed out and paid the fare. He would say something to Emma tonight, he thought, make some beginning. Then he cursed softly. The damned masquerade was tonight. He checked the watch that hung from a fob on his waistcoat. He was late. She would already be dressing for the wretched thing. Frowning, he walked through the front door of the house. Tomorrow, then, he decided. By then, he would most likely be able to tell her that Orsino was gone. That would make a good beginning, he concluded with satisfaction. And his campaign could go on from there.

  Thirteen

  “I look silly,” complained Colin a little later that evening, as Emma made a final adjustment to his costume for the masquerade and stood back to judge the effect.

  “No, you don’t. You look very dashing and romantic. Here, let me just…” She straightened his shirt collar at the back. “There.”

  Colin wore loose trousers of pale buff cloth tucked into his own high riding boots. His white shirt was also loose; it had an open neck, showing the bronze column of his throat, and broad, billowing sleeves. Emma had just finished tying a dark blue sash around his waist, letting the ends trail rakishly, and inserting a sheathed dagger in it at a jaunty angle.

  “You’re the very picture of a noble Turkish gentleman,” she added.

  “And you are, what?” he replied, running his eye over Emma’s unusual garb.

  She looked into the long mirror behind him with a satisfied smile. Sophie had outdone herself when offered the challenge of creating her costume. Though it was actually a normal silk gown, it was so carefully cut and hung with scarves that it looked like a collection of multicolored, diaphanous veils fluttering around her body. A piece of actual veiling covered her hair, bound across the forehead with a glittering riband. “Why, I am a member of your harem,” Emma laughed. “A mysterious lady of the East.”

  “You are extremely pleased with yourself,” said Colin, sounding puzzled and a bit strained.

  “Well, you have trousers,” countered Emma. The truth was, she was in a state of nervous exaltation, anticipating the dangerous events of the night to come. The day appointed for Orsino’s elimination was upon them, and she was finding the whole thing unreal—like a story or a dream. Or rather like the few times when she had drunk too much champagne, she thought. She felt giddy, reckless, and slightly sick. She was doing her best to mask her jangled state with superficial gaiety. “Come,” she said. “We promised to fetch the Nettletons in our carriage.”

  As they walked downstairs together, they encountered many more servants than usual as staff members lurked about pretending to work at important tasks and actually hoping to catch a glimpse of their costumes. In the front hall, a small, murmuring group of footmen and maids had assembled. “What the deuce?” wondered Colin. Then the group shifted, and he added, “Good God!”

  Ferik awaited them near the door. He wore baggy pants of bright red gathered in at the ankle over low leather slippers. His upper torso was bare except for a jeweled and brocaded vest, revealing his massive muscles to all observers. On his head he wore a turban, fastened at the front, just above the center of his forehead, with a gold pin in the shape of a coiled snake. The snake’s green eye glinted ominously above the heads of the smaller Englishmen.

  “You’re just like a storybook,” Nancy the maid cried shrilly. “I keep expecting you to say, ‘Open, sez me’ and pull a genie out of a bottle.”

  “Be quiet, Nancy,” said Clinton.

  “I look like a palace eunuch,” complained Ferik in response, drawing a piercing giggle from Nancy.

  For the first time in the history of their association, Colin gave him a sympathetic glance.

  “I would never wear such things as this at home, mistress,” Ferik continued.

  “Well, no one knows that,” replied Emma ruthlessly, “and you look splendid.”

  “It is not dignified,” muttered the giant.

  “Do you have a heavy cloak?” asked Emma, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You will be cold without a shirt.”

  “Yes, mistress,” Ferik replied resignedly in his deep, resonant voice. “I am always cold in this cursed country,” he murmured to himself.

  Colin raised an eyebrow.

  “And your mask?”

  Ferik nodded.

  “That will make him unrecognizable,” commented Colin. “We may as well leave ours at home, Emma. Everyone in London knows Ferik by this time.”

  Emma went pale.

  “Though in the crowd these masquerades attract, who knows?” Colin added. “I have heard the costumes are quite fantastic.”

  She relaxed a little.

  “I will stay in the shadows, mistress,” murmured Ferik, bending so that no one else heard him. “I will not be recognized.”

  Reassured, Emma followed the two men out to the carriage, where Ferik swung himself up beside the driver as they got in.

  After picking up their friends, they proceeded along the dark streets to the Pantheon, where the masquerade was already under way. As planned, they met the rest of their party outside and, safely masked, went in together.

  Tom guided them directly to the box he had reserved, which was in the second tier—well above the rowdy floor of the building, but low enough so that they could easily observe the scene. An attendant took their wraps, and they spent a few minutes fulfilling their obligation to admire one another’s costumes.

  Tom had come as a pirate, in an outfit rather li
ke Colin’s. His wife was Marie Antoinette; she wore a brocaded satin gown with huge panniers that she had unearthed in an old trunk and an elaborate wig that added almost a foot to her height. The Nettletons were ancient Romans, though Victoria Nettleton seemed to be highly distrustful of her long, draped toga. Every few minutes she would jerk its folds as if she was afraid they were falling off. The fourth couple—Freddy and Liza Monckton—had dressed as Romeo and Juliet, even down to a doublet and tights for Freddy, which made him the focus of a good deal of raillery from the other men. “You’ve let down our side, Freddy,” Tom insisted. “Don’t you remember we drew the line at tights?”

  Freddy, who was known to be much under the influence of his beautiful new wife, simply grinned good-naturedly and ambled over to investigate the refreshments laid out on a side table.

  Emma saw that Ferik was settled in a dim rear corner of the spacious box, then took her seat and looked out over the huge room. The scene spread before her made her draw in her breath.

  Tiers of boxes circled the wide floor, filled with groups like their own, some in costume and others wearing regular evening clothes and masks. They chatted together, leaned out to watch, and drank wine from stemmed glasses, forming an animated frieze around the perimeter of the great room. But the truly amazing sight was the dancers, who filled the floor to bursting. There, milkmaids whirled in the arms of multicolored Pierrots, queens partnered pirates, Egyptian princesses danced with Spanish grandees. Some of the costumes were shockingly skimpy, and as Emma began to notice details, she realized that the standards of behavior were extremely loose. Gentlemen leered and ogled; given any encouragement, they fondled breasts and limbs left bare for the purpose. Revelers continually approached those in the lowest tier of boxes and tried to lure them out for a bit of dalliance. Often, they succeeded, though Emma did not believe they were necessarily acquainted with the boxholders. It was a wild melee, a twirling pinwheel of color and animated faces lit by a thousand candles. The air was heavy with conflicting perfumes and the musky odor of unwashed bodies. Voices rose to a muted roar. Emma grew slightly dizzy observing it all.