The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  Aunt Blanche, though, was all the audience that Lady Rutherford could ask for. She drew in a long breath of astonishment and disapproval. “No! And he seems such a nice young man.”

  Lady Rutherford shrugged and said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Drink has always been his downfall. Even before he became the heir. He was drunk at his own sister’s funeral.”

  “No!” Aunt Blanche gasped again, her hand flying up to her breast.

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Rutherford nodded. “I was there. I saw him. He was drunk and loud. It was utterly disgraceful. He even came to blows with Terence when Terence tried to get him to leave the gravesite. Lord and Lady Selbrooke were humiliated.”

  “I can imagine!” Aunt Blanche’s eyes glistened with horrified enjoyment of the tale. “It must have been awful.”

  “It was. He left shortly after that and bought a commission in the Hussars. I rather think Lord Selbrooke must have banished him from Redfields.”

  Aunt Blanche tsk-tsked, shaking her head. Constance glanced at the Norton sisters, who were gazing at Lady Rutherford, wide-eyed, taking in her story. Constance wished she had some actual knowledge of what had happened, so that she could refute the other woman. It galled her that the woman was spreading such tales about Dominic, wantonly damaging his reputation, and she could not keep from thinking that Lady Rutherford was telling these stories primarily for Constance’s own benefit.

  “And yet,” Constance said in a level voice, meeting the older woman’s gaze, “Lady Muriel is friends with Lord Leighton, I believe. I would not think a woman of her spotless reputation would want to be seen in the company of a roué.”

  Lady Rutherford’s eyes widened, and spots of color flamed suddenly on her cheeks. Her hands tightened on the embroidery hoop that she held in her lap. “That is entirely different,” she snapped, giving Constance a searing look.

  “Indeed? But I believe you just were saying that a young woman was not safe in his company….”

  “I was not speaking of a young woman such as my daughter, of course. Her reputation is unassailable. And he would not prey upon a young woman from a good family.”

  “Oh. I see.” Constance did not drop her gaze before the older woman’s angry glare, even though her aunt had now turned to glower at her, as well. “Still, appearances…”

  “There can be no appearance of anything wrong,” Lady Rutherford shot back, her temper flaring. “Muriel is engaged to Lord Leighton!”

  An icy blast swept through Constance. Leighton engaged to Muriel Rutherford? It was all she could do to keep her face blandly unconcerned when everything inside her was screaming that it could not be true. She sensed more than saw her aunt turn her avid gaze on her, hoping for some reaction on her part.

  Constance was determined not to let either of them guess how the woman’s words had pierced her. “Indeed?” she responded coolly. “One can only wonder that you have pledged your daughter to such a man as you have described.”

  Lady Rutherford’s pale eyes were like a cold blue flame. “Among our kind, Miss Woodley, marriages are an alliance between families, not some foolish love-struck joining. The FitzAlans are an important family. Dominic will be the Earl of Selbrooke one day. Those are the important things to consider, not the young man’s personal foibles.”

  “Ah, yes,” Constance replied. “I realize that many people consider it more important to marry to improve one’s position than to marry a person of character.”

  Lady Rutherford’s eyes bulged, and for an instant Constance thought she might throw her embroidery hoop at her. She rather thought she would have welcomed such a display on Lady Rutherford’s part, for it would have shown just how frustrated her own retort had left the woman. Constance had, she thought, rather neatly pointed out that Lady Rutherford’s daughter would be marrying up in the social order of things. The Rutherfords were only minor nobility, Lord Rutherford a baron of no ancient title, whereas the FitzAlans’ titles stretched back for centuries. The Rutherford name was no more aristocratic than the Woodleys’. Such a reminder would gall Lady Rutherford, yet there was no way she could wiggle out of the betrothal being for position only, given what she had already told them.

  “Constance!” her aunt said at last. “Really, such impertinence!”

  “Impertinence?” Constance repeated blandly. “Why, I did not mean to be impertinent, Aunt. I am sorry, Lady Rutherford, I thought that was what you were saying.”

  Lady Rutherford glared at her. “I would not expect you to understand such things.”

  “Yes, I rather think you are right,” Constance agreed. “Now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I think that I shall take a turn around the gardens.”

  She bade them all goodbye by name, nodding to each, then moving unhurriedly out the door. She would not let it appear that she desperately wanted to sprint out of the room, to run as far away as she could from Lady Rutherford’s sharp gaze and painful words.

  Dominic was engaged!

  She walked down the hall and through the conservatory, finding the door that led out into the garden in the rear of the house. She struck off down the path, not knowing or caring where she was going, only seized by a desire to get away. Once she heard the sound of voices and quickly turned down a side path to avoid whoever might be approaching. She followed that path, taking any narrower walkway that branched off from it, moving ever deeper into the garden.

  She sat down at last on a bench that snuggled up against the curving wall of a hedge. The branches of a large tree on the other side of the hedge spread out above, casting dappled shade all around her. It was a peaceful spot, quiet except for the occasional chirp of a bird, and sweet with the mingled scent of flowers. But the thoughts that gripped Constance were anything but peaceful.

  Her first instinct, and the one to which she clung for a few desperate minutes, was that Lady Rutherford had been lying. She had to be. Leighton could not be engaged to that cold, disagreeable girl. Lady Rutherford had said that only to hurt Constance, or to warn her away from the man her own daughter so obviously wanted for herself.

  But Constance knew how unlikely that idea was. If Lady Rutherford publicly claimed that they were engaged and later it was revealed that they were not, the woman would be humiliated. Surely, no matter how much she disliked Constance or how much she hoped that Muriel would marry an earl, she would not have risked everyone finding out that she had lied. And she would know that the lie had to come out—the first time any of her listeners congratulated the groom or mentioned the wedding to Lord or Lady Selbrooke, the falsehood would be exposed.

  So, reluctantly, Constance had to admit that it was extremely unlikely that Lady Rutherford had lied about the engagement. And that meant that Dominic had deceived Constance. The thought made her feel ill.

  Oh, he had not lied directly to her, since he had never actually told her that he was not engaged. But the totality of his actions since he met her had been a lie. He had not once mentioned that he had a fiancée; he had never even brought up Muriel’s name. Indeed, if anything, he had seemed to avoid her, and when she had joined him yesterday afternoon, it had appeared to Constance that he had been irritated by her presence.

  Most of all, he had flirted with Constance, had sought her out on several occasions and had talked to her as if he had no ties to any woman. Worse, far worse than that—he had kissed her! Morally and legally bound to one woman, he had made advances to another. His actions were those of a cad, and it was clear to Constance that Leighton’s only interest in her could have been to seduce her.

  He must be, as Lady Rutherford had said, a rake. And not just a libertine who sought the pleasures of the flesh with demireps or experienced ladies of the Ton, wives or widows who knew exactly what they were doing. He was the sort who seduced virgins, young ladies whose reputations would be ruined as a result. He was, in short, the kind of uncaring roué whom Constance would have sworn he could not be.

  Her disillusionment was bitter. She felt wounded and betray
ed. It hurt to know that Dominic was engaged to another woman, but it hurt even more to realize how mistaken she had been in her estimation of him.

  Slowly, sadly, she got up and walked back through the garden and into the house. There was the sound of many voices, some of them masculine, coming from the sitting room as she passed, and she thought that the hunters must have returned. She did not pause, however, just quickened her steps until she reached the stairs.

  Upstairs in her bedroom, she closed the door behind her and went to sit down beside the window. She wanted to leave, just pack her things and go, but that was impossible. She could scarcely explain to anyone why she no longer wanted to be there, and even if she could, she refused to admit that she had been so naive as to have been deceived by Lord Leighton or so foolish as to have been hurt by learning that he planned to marry another woman.

  Clearly, she must stay. And just as clearly, she told herself, she must avoid Lord Leighton. But she could not remain in her room, as she wished to. That would be not only impractical, but also cowardly. Besides, she refused to allow anyone to see that his actions—or Lady Rutherford’s news—had in any way bothered her.

  Having made her decision, she went along the corridor to Francesca’s room, where she offered to sit with the patient while Maisie took another break. Francesca awoke at Constance’s entrance and smiled weakly.

  “Oh dear, I have been a very bad hostess, I’m afraid,” she said, stretching out a hand.

  Constance smiled at her reassuringly and took her hand. “No, of course not. I have been doing very well on my own. There was the trip yesterday to St. Edmund’s, which was quite enjoyable, and today I walked a bit in the gardens, and before that I visited with your mother and my aunt and Lady Rutherford.”

  Francesca made a face. “Oh dear. I am even more surprised that you are not angry with me, then.”

  Constance smiled and lied, “It was not so bad.”

  “You are very good to lie to me.” Francesca sighed. “Maisie tells me I am better. I do not feel hot now, at least. But I am so very tired. Still, soon I will be well.” She forced a faint smile. “And then I promise I shall be a more entertaining companion.”

  “Do not worry about it. Would you like me to get you anything? Or to read to you?”

  “No, ’tis enough for you to sit here with me. Tell me what has happened.”

  “Why, very little, really,” Constance said, sitting down in the chair beside her bed. She longed to ask Francesca if it was true that Lord Leighton was engaged to Muriel Rutherford, but she could not think of a way to phrase it that would not reveal her own interest in Francesca’s brother.

  “Tell me about Mr. Willoughby and the others. Have any of them made any headway with you?”

  Constance shook her head and let herself be diverted. “I fear you will find me a hard case, indeed. But I promise you that I will do my best to spend more time with them this evening and tomorrow.”

  After all, she thought, she would have to occupy her time somehow if she was to manage to avoid being around Lord Leighton.

  With that aim in mind, Constance went down to supper later. She cast her eyes over the people in the room. She quickly spotted Dominic’s tall figure standing on the far side of the room, talking to Mr. Norton and his sisters. He looked up and saw her, and a smile crossed his face.

  Constance glanced away, searching for some other conversation to join. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lord Leighton leave the Nortons and start in her direction. Quickly she walked to her left. Her aunt was sitting against the wall, and she could join her, if nothing else.

  Fortunately, Sir Lucien, who was chatting with Alfred Penrose, turned at that moment and saw her, and he smiled. “My dear Miss Woodley, do join us. You have met Mr. Penrose, have you not?”

  “Yes, indeed. It is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Penrose.” Constance’s smile was bright with relief, so much so that Penrose straightened a little and looked back at her with interest.

  They chatted a little about the visit to the church, which Sir Lucien said—with a certain twinkle in his eye—he regretted he had missed.

  “Indeed, sir, you missed a great deal,” Constance told him. “It was very interesting.”

  Mr. Penrose looked at her in such astonishment that Constance was betrayed into a giggle.

  “It was a dead loss,” Penrose told Lucien bluntly. “Unless you’re one of those poetic sorts who likes to hang about in graveyards. Or look at effigies of people who died four hundred years ago. Gave me the shivers.”

  “Ah, Miss Woodley, Mr. Penrose has shamed you with his candor. Now tell me, how did you actually enjoy the trip?” Sir Lucien grinned impishly at her.

  Constance chuckled. “You will not lead me to criticize it, Sir Lucien. I fear I must be one of those ghoulish sorts who likes to look at effigies. It is quite an historical church. And as I had never seen it before, I found it enjoyable.”

  “Hear, hear, Miss Woodley. I am glad to see that you are a staunch supporter of our small country entertainments.”

  Constance turned quickly at the sound of Leighton’s voice. He had walked up to the edge of their group and was standing just behind her. He smiled at her, and she felt the familiar flutter inside.

  For an instant her resolution wavered. Surely Lord Leighton could not be the man Lady Rutherford had described. He could not be a cad who pursued young females while he was engaged to marry another.

  But, of course, she reminded herself, a deceiver would not be so successful if his deception were written plainly on his face. She steeled herself and gave him a nod that was polite but nothing more. “Lord Leighton.”

  She turned back to Sir Lucien, who greeted Leighton warmly. So did Mr. Penrose, and Leighton took another step so that he was part of their small conversational group. Constance was careful not to look at him, and, fortunately, Sir Lucien engaged him in conversation so that she did not have to speak any further. When a few moments later the men’s conversation lagged, Constance looked across the room to where her aunt sat and quickly excused herself so that she might speak to Aunt Blanche.

  She gave a general nod to all three men. Sir Lucien and Mr. Penrose merely smiled and bowed. Lord Leighton, she noticed, was watching her narrowly. She turned and hurried away before he could speak. It would look odd and obvious if he followed her now, she knew, so she would be safe, she hoped, until they went in to eat.

  She was forced to endure her aunt’s chatter, of course, but she was correct in her estimation, and Leighton did not join them. Later, at supper, she was at the opposite end of the table from him, safely ensconced between Sir Lucien and Cyril Willoughby. When she sat down at the table, she was aware of Sir Lucien studying her for a moment, then glancing up the table. She followed his gaze. It seemed to her that he was looking at Leighton, and she wondered a little apprehensively if he had guessed something about her and Lord Leighton. Had she been too obvious in the haste with which she had left the group after Dominic arrived?

  But then Sir Lucien glanced at her and smiled, and Constance felt reassured. She turned and asked Mr. Willoughby about the hunt that morning.

  The meal passed easily enough, as did the rest of the evening. She was careful to sit between Miss Cuthbert and her own cousin Margaret after dinner. Miss Cuthbert said almost nothing, and Margaret chattered far too much; however, Constance had not chosen her position in order to enjoy the evening, but to ensure that it would be impossible for Lord Leighton to take a seat next to her when the men returned to the drawing room.

  When the men did return, Lord Leighton took up a post by the mantel, resting his elbow on it as he surveyed the rest of the room. Constance carefully did not look at him, though she was certain that she felt his eyes on her several times. She waited until Miss Cuthbert rose to excuse herself for the evening, then popped up with her, saying that she thought she would retire early, as well.

  She could not keep from casting a quick glance at Leighton and found him watching h
er, a frown on his face, as she walked out of the room with Miss Cuthbert. She had to pay, of course, for leaving early by spending a lonely hour or two reading or gazing disconsolately out the window before she was ready to go to bed. And even then she found it difficult to sleep, her mind retracing the same track it had run all day.

  She awoke the next morning, heavy-lidded and tired, and decided to miss breakfast, taking only tea and toast on a tray in her room. She put on the most attractive of her day dresses, thinking to lift her mood a trifle by looking her best, then went down the hall to Francesca’s room for a visit.

  Francesca, still stuffy-nosed and listless, was feeling somewhat better, and Constance stayed, reading to her for an hour or two until Francesca felt sleepy again. Then she made her way downstairs. She paused outside the cozy morning room where yesterday she had sat with the other women.

  She started to go inside, but her gaze fell upon Lord Leighton sitting on a chair by the window, looking supremely bored. Quickly she slipped past the door, and hurried as quietly and quickly as possible down the hall toward the conservatory.

  “Miss Woodley!” Constance heard her name called and glanced involuntarily over her shoulder.

  Leighton had come to the doorway of the sitting room and was looking down the hallway at her. Without replying, Constance turned and whisked through the door into the conservatory. Almost running, she hurried through the large plant-filled room and out onto the terrace. She trotted down the steps and into the garden. She had almost reached the path she had taken the day before when she heard her name again, louder this time. Leighton had followed her onto the terrace.

  She did not look back this time, but whipped around a hedge and down the path. Lifting her skirts to her ankles, she ran lightly along the path, following its twists and turns. She heard Leighton’s footsteps on the gravel behind her, and she knew that it would be impossible to get away from him.

  “Constance!” His voice was close behind her. “Bloody hell, will you stop?”