The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  Constance did not understand why the Duke was dancing with her. Surely he must realize that his asking her to dance would raise her social standing immeasurably, which could only help Lady Haughston’s plan for her and therefore increase the possibility of his losing the bet. Perhaps he was simply curious about her, or maybe the bet was, for him, such an insignificant amount that he did not care. But she could not help but worry that he had some ulterior motive in dancing with her, that he hoped to gain some knowledge from her or trick her into doing something that would ruin her chances in Society.

  A faint smile touched his lips, and Constance had the suspicion he knew the direction of her thoughts. “Indeed,” he said, a wry twist in his voice. “I have heard that she is.”

  Constance glanced at him, wondering a little at his tone. She was unsure whether the Duke and Francesca were friends, mere acquaintances or perhaps even enemies. It was difficult to tell; she had quickly discovered that in the beau monde, the most vicious of enemies often smiled at one another like the dearest friends. Even the ladies who ruled Almack’s together often made mercilessly unkind remarks about each other.

  The Duke asked her then where she was from, and she told him, explaining that she lived with her aunt and uncle.

  “And are you enjoying your time in London?” he went on.

  “Yes, thank you. Very much. It has been a great deal more fun since I met Lady Haughston.”

  “That is generally the way.”

  It was, Constance thought, the most prosaic conversation one could imagine. She still could not understand why he had asked her to dance. Certainly it had not been for a scintillating discussion.

  “If you follow her ladyship’s advice, you will do quite well, I am sure,” the Duke continued.

  “I hope so,” Constance replied, adding, “I would not think that would suit Your Grace, however.”

  She was surprised at her own daring, but frankly, she was growing a little tired of the way they had tiptoed about the subject that connected them.

  He raised his brows in a way that she was sure dampened most pretensions. “Indeed? And why would you think I wished you ill, Miss Woodley?”

  “Not ill, precisely. But I am aware of your bet with Lady Haughston.”

  “She told you?” He looked surprised.

  “I am not entirely stupid,” Constance retorted. “And it is a trifle difficult to make a new woman out of someone without revealing what you are about.”

  “I suppose it would be,” he commented. Constance was almost sure that she had seen the flash of a smile in his eyes. “And you are agreeable to her plan?”

  “I do not expect that Lady Haughston will win her bet,” Constance told him. “I am not counting on that. However, I found the idea of a Season…appealing.”

  It definitely was a smile this time, for it touched his lips, if only briefly. “Then I hope it will turn out to be so for you, Miss Woodley.”

  They finished the dance in silence, though Constance thought that it did not seem so uncomfortable anymore. When the waltz ended, the Duke escorted her back to Francesca. Francesca, however, was about to take the dance floor herself. Constance glanced around, thinking that she should seek out her aunt. She had been having far too enjoyable a time to even think about her aunt and cousins, and she felt a trifle guilty about that fact.

  As she looked over the room, she caught sight again of the young woman whom she had seen staring at her so balefully earlier in the evening. She was no longer standing with her mother but was walking out onto the dance floor on the arm of Lord Leighton.

  Could it be that the young woman had been looking at her with such dislike because Lord Leighton had danced with her earlier? It seemed rather absurd, Constance thought; they had, after all, merely danced one waltz together. Still, she could not deny that she was feeling a certain pinprick of jealousy herself as she watched Leighton take the floor with another woman.

  In any case, there was nothing that she could do about the matter, she thought, and she tried to put it out of her mind as she continued looking for her aunt and cousins. She strolled through the room, winding her way around the small clumps of guests. She was vaguely surprised at the number of people who nodded to her or bowed. Some were men whom she had met and danced with earlier, and she recognized a few women who had come up to talk to Lady Haughston, as well, but there were several others whom she was rather sure she did not know at all. It was amazing, she thought, the influence that Lady Haughston’s friendship brought.

  As she circled around a large group of people standing and talking at the edge of the dance floor, she saw her uncle’s family at last. She made her way over to them, noting that her aunt was watching her with a grim expression. Constance sighed inwardly. It was clear that Aunt Blanche was not pleased with her; she presumed that the woman was still smarting from their argument the day before about Constance’s attending the party with Lady Haughston. Aunt Blanche had not tried to stop her, wisely realizing how foolish it would be to cross Lady Haughston, but Constance was sure that she had thoroughly disliked not being in control of her niece’s actions.

  Constance greeted Aunt Blanche with a smile, but the older woman was having none of it.

  “Well, so you have decided to grace your family with your presence at last,” Aunt Blanche said sourly. “But then I suppose we are not nearly important enough for you now. Lady Haughston and her friends are all you care about.”

  “That’s not true, Aunt,” Constance said, striving to maintain her calm. “But as Lady Haughston was kind enough to favor us with an invitation to the party and to bring me here herself, it seemed only proper that I should remain with her during the ball.”

  Aunt Blanche greeted this sensible reply with a disapproving sniff. “Oh, yes, very proper indeed—making a show of yourself. Dancing with half the men here. Acting as if you were a green girl instead of a grown woman. Dressing like that. I am sure that everyone was laughing at you, the way you are behaving.”

  Constance’s cheeks flamed—whether from embarrassment or anger, she was not sure. “Aunt Blanche! You wrong me. How have I been making a show of myself? I was properly introduced by Lady Haughston to every gentleman with whom I danced. I am sure there was nothing wrong with my dancing with them if Lady Haughston approved of it. And as for my dress…”

  She cast a glance down at herself, then looked pointedly at her aunt’s gown, which exposed more bosom than her own. “There is nothing indecent about my dress.”

  “It is far too young a color for you,” Aunt Blanche said flatly. “You are not a girl anymore, Constance. A woman of your age dancing so, flirting with men the way you have been…well, it’s disgraceful.”

  “I was not aware that one could not dance past a certain age,” Constance responded coolly. “I am sure there are a number of women on the dance floor whom you should inform of that rule.”

  “I am not speaking of married women,” Aunt Blanche told her. “Of course, if one is married it is perfectly proper to dance with one’s husband or a friend. But for a spinster, it is simply not the thing.”

  “Why?” Constance asked.

  Her aunt looked startled. “What do you mean, why?”

  “Exactly that,” Constance responded, her eyes flashing now with temper. “Why is it not the thing to dance if one is unmarried? At what age does a woman have to stop dancing if she has not married? Twenty? Twenty-five? And does that apply to men, as well? Are bachelors not allowed to dance?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be foolish.” Aunt Blanche bridled. “There are no hard-and-fast rules. It is simply understood that if a woman has not married, she—”

  “Ceases to exist?” Constance asked. “Really, Aunt Blanche, you make it sound as if a woman must retire from life ashamed if she has not caught a husband.”

  “Well, if you have not caught one by your age, there is little likelihood you will now,” her aunt retorted, scowling. “You came to London to help me with Georgiana and Margaret, but inst
ead you are—” She made a gesture toward the floor with her fan, apparently too overcome by emotion to speak. “You danced with all those men, and you introduced none of them to your cousins. Not a single one.” Lady Woodley had now, apparently, reached the crux of the matter. “You danced with the Duke of Rochford—a duke!—and you did not make the slightest push to bring my daughters to his notice.”

  “Oh.” Constance glanced at her cousins, who were regarding her with pouting expressions, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

  Her aunt was right in saying that she had not spared a thought for her cousins. She had been too caught up in her own excitement. She could have returned to her aunt’s side after dancing and introduced her family to the men with whom she had danced. It was not the girls’ fault, after all, that their mother stuffed them into dresses so bedecked with ruffles and bows that they resembled over-decorated wedding cakes. They would need every bit of help they could get, and Constance knew that she could at least have brought them into the proximity of some eligible bachelors.

  “Yes, we would have liked to talk to a duke,” Georgiana whined.

  “Jane Morissey would have been ever so jealous of us then,” Margaret added, and the two girls giggled together at that thought.

  Of course, Constance reminded herself, bringing a gentleman within the girls’ orbit would scarcely guarantee them any success. A few minutes of Margaret and Georgiana’s vapid conversation was apt to send any gentleman with wit hurrying away.

  “I am sorry,” Constance apologized. “I should have introduced you. I will introduce my next partner to Margaret and Georgiana. However, the Duke, Lady Haughston told me, is quite the confirmed bachelor.”

  “Well, the man has to marry someday, doesn’t he?” Lady Woodley countered. “He has to have an heir. And it might as well be one of my girls as anyone else, eh?”

  Wisely, Constance refrained from answering. It was this sort of baseless reasoning that was the hallmark of Aunt Blanche’s thought processes, and she had learned long ago that any attempt to point out the errors and inconsistencies in something her aunt said was not only useless but also tended to arouse her ire.

  “It is a beautiful party, is it not?” Constance asked cheerfully, deciding that the best course of action was to steer the conversation in a new direction.

  Lady Woodley looked as though she would have liked to pursue the subject of Constance’s neglect of her proper duty to her cousins, but after a moment she gave in to her even greater love of gossip and began to relate to Constance each influential member of the Ton whom she had seen tonight and what she knew about each one.

  Constance listened with more attention than she normally did in an effort to placate her aunt, but it was not long before her thoughts began to wander. She cast a look about the room, hopeful that she could find something to distract Aunt Blanche.

  It was with some relief that she saw Francesca strolling toward them, and she straightened, smiling at her. “Lady Haughston.”

  Aunt Blanche turned and beamed at Francesca, her voice raised as she said, “Lady Haughston! I am sorry to have missed you earlier tonight. So many people, you know. Girls, say hello to Lady Haughston.”

  Georgiana and Margaret obediently chorused a hello to Francesca, who acknowledged them all with a smile and a nod. “How do you do, Lady Woodley? It is so nice to see you again.”

  They exchanged a few pleasantries, remarking on the warmth of the June evening, the excellence of the punch and the loveliness of the ballroom. Aunt Blanche, Constance thought, could go on all night about such commonplaces. However, when she reached the subject of her daughters’ gowns, calling upon Lady Haughston to note the fine French lace that adorned the bodices, Francesca cut into the flow of Lady Woodley’s speech.

  “Has Constance told you that I have invited her to Redfields next week?” Francesca asked as Lady Woodley paused to take a breath.

  Aunt Blanche looked at Francesca blankly. “What? Where?”

  “It is my father’s estate in Kent. They hold a house party there every summer. It is not far from London, only a few hours’ drive. I asked Constance to go with me. I hope you will not mind. It is for two weeks, and I vow I shall be quite bored without her company.”

  Aunt Blanche turned toward Constance, and Constance could see the deep dislike in her eyes. She was going to refuse to allow her to go, Constance thought, and she wondered what she would do in response. If she were to defy her aunt and go without her permission, she feared that her aunt would have no qualms in casting her adrift.

  “Oh, my lady, how very kind of you,” Aunt Blanche said, turning back to Lady Haughston. “But I am afraid that I cannot allow Constance to go off on her own in that way. It would be most improper for her to be alone among strangers for two weeks. I must think of her reputation, after all.”

  Francesca’s eyebrows went up delicately, and she said in a cool voice, “She would be with me, Lady Woodley. She would not be unchaperoned, and I can assure you that the Earl’s parties are quite respectable affairs.”

  “Oh, I am sure they are, Lady Haughston,” Aunt Blanche told her, her voice somehow managing to be both fawning and obdurate. “And your reputation, of course, is above reproach. But I am afraid that I take my responsibilities to Constance very seriously. I could not possibly let her travel or be on her own for such a length of time without a member of her family there.”

  “Indeed.” Francesca studied Constance’s aunt, and Aunt Blanche returned her gaze steadily.

  It was all too clear, Constance thought, what her aunt was after, and she squirmed a little inside with embarrassment. She was afraid that Francesca might simply give up on taking her to the party at Redfields. Constance was aware suddenly of how very much she wanted to go to it. She waited, holding her breath.

  “I see,” Francesca said after a moment, giving Lady Woodley a steely smile. “Well, of course, when I extended the invitation, I did not mean Constance alone. You and Sir Roger and your daughters are invited, as well.”

  “You are too kind, my lady,” Aunt Blanche replied, casting down her eyes to hide the triumph therein.

  SO IT WAS THAT A WEEK later Constance was in a post chaise with her aunt and uncle and cousins, rolling out of London and down the road to Kent.

  It had been a trying week. The house had been full of little except talk of Redfields and the treat that lay before them. Even Sir Roger, normally a most unexcitable sort, was filled with anticipation at seeing the house. One of his hobbies was architecture, and he had told them, a light gleaming in his eyes, that Redfields was one of the finest examples of Elizabethan architecture in the country.

  Aunt Blanche, of course, had rolled her eyes at such a peculiar notion of why they would enjoy Redfields. The house itself was of little importance, in her opinion—provided, of course, that it was grand. What mattered was the people who would be there. She spent most of her time that week calling upon her friends to impress them by dropping casually into conversation that she would be out of town for a while, as they were attending a party at Redfields. Her secondary purpose, of course, was to extract all the gossip she could about Lord and Lady Selbrooke, their family, the estate and all the people who were likely to be there with them.

  Aunt Blanche’s frequent absence, of course, meant that nearly all the work of planning, packing and preparing for their two-week sojourn was done by Constance. Between helping Georgiana and Margaret go through their gowns and choose what to take—doing her utmost to try to talk them out of their ugliest choices—and sewing back on buttons and flounces, and repairing rips to their clothes, as well as giving instructions to the housekeeper for the time they would be gone and guiding the maids in the packing of the family’s clothes, Constance barely had time to get her own things in order to take.

  Much to her delight—and dwarfing all the other problems that cropped up—the clothes that she had ordered at the dressmaker’s, as well as the ones she had ordered from a more ordinary seamstress, arrived before th
ey left. She could hardly restrain her excitement.

  Aunt Blanche, predictably, looked over the new dresses lying on Constance’s bed and gave a loud sniff of disapproval. “These are much too young looking for you, Constance. Not at all suitable for a chaperone. I cannot imagine what you are thinking these days. I only hope you will not embarrass us at Redfields.”

  Anger spurted up in Constance as she turned to look at her aunt. She had done her best for many years to please her. She had never expected her aunt to share her interests or be someone she would consider a friend; she knew they were far too different. But her aunt and uncle and their daughters were the only family she had, and she had thought that perhaps her aunt would have come to regard her with some affection. But over the last few days, since she had met Lady Haughston, it had been borne in on her that the only thing her aunt cared about in regard to Constance was Constance’s doing things for her. The moment she deviated from the path Aunt Blanche had set out for her, the woman was quick to belittle and hurt her.

  “I will strive not to humiliate you,” Constance said flatly, looking her aunt in the eye. “However, I feel I must tell you that I am not a chaperone. I have helped you with Margaret and Georgiana, and of course I will continue to do so. But chaperoning your daughters lies with you, Aunt, and not me. I was invited by Lady Haughston to Redfields to enjoy myself, and that is what I intend to do. I will not spend my time fetching and carrying for you and the girls, or hovering over them.”

  Her aunt’s eyes sparked with anger. “Well! You have become most insolent. I daresay it is Lady Haughston’s influence. I do not believe that she is a good companion for you.”

  “Indeed? No doubt you think it would be better if Lady Haughston removed herself from our lives.” Constance cast a challenging look at her aunt.

  Aunt Blanche drew a breath, but she seemed to think better of what she was about to say. She pursed her lips, then, after a moment, went on. “What is perfectly acceptable behavior in a woman of Lady Haughston’s stature is not necessarily attractive in an unmarried woman, especially one with no fortune or high name to recommend herself.”